Permits.

I gave myself permission to relax. It happened at some point this winter, when I admitted that training was new and varied and difficult.

Whew. What a rep. Go ahead and hunch over, hands on knees, and take a breather.

It became a habit. And then there I was, at the mile six water station outside Framingham, taking a break. 

I could be making an egregiously ignorant correlation; or there could be some science-backed proof behind the self-imposed gap between what my body had been built to do and what my brain believed.  Regardless of the outcome in Boston, the habit of resting during intervals continues to disrupt certain morning workouts.

What hasn't been disrupted are the runs themselves. Until now I'd yet to allow for anything less than an easy run. But today, with the base-building back in effect for a summer of running on the trails, I finally faced the music. With a tight calf and rusted Achilles I shuffled to the street, bound instead for a car, and opted for a familiar round with the rowing machine and a spin bike.

Even if the brain and body still struggle to sync--even before I finished my spin I was conspiring ways to squeeze in a run--I proudly admit I avoided a second workout. And that's fine. At least I didn't stop during the spin intervals, collapse over my knees, and take a breather.

How my students shaped my training this week: When you're done, you're done. The student sentiment is, It's summer, brah, stop doing too much. Teacher outlook isn't much different, and so it follows suit that I must acknowledge a degree of fatigue. With the marathon(s) of spring in the rear view, it's time to admit that I'm tired.

What my son taught me about running this week: We managed to get the child-proofing up on the cupboards just before the Bub started exploring the caverns of the kitchen. Not all compartments are locked, but that doesn't mean my son doesn't operate as though they are. He bangs on the locked ones, rapidly tugging against the restriction. Then, often as I prep dinner, he moves to the unencumbered doors and does the same thing despite the fact that he could, if he so chose, open and investigate the contents.

His behaviors are based on expectations, not possibility. If I transfer this logic to my running, I see now how my actions merely indicate my false understanding of an undetermined outcome.