That being said - I think I found a way to enjoy my running a little more, despite my painfully slowly increasing pace. I was coming home on Sunday in the last mile of my first 5 miler in 2 years, and while I felt accomplished at having finished and not walked, I was irritated at my overall time.
It was muggy and hot on Sunday morning, so I brought water with me AND should have expected slower time. But and hour and 13 minutes for 5 miles?? Yuck. People can walk faster than that!
As I was mentally slicing myself to ribbons, I got this little tug at my heart. For some reason I thought of my Dad. Then I started to wonder if he could see me from heaven. I pondered that this September it will be 5 years since I quit smoking. Dad died from lung cancer caused by a lifelong cigarette habit. If the old man knew I got up at 6:30 on a Sunday morning to run 5 miles...
He'd be mighty proud of me.
There wouldn't be a thing anybody could tell him to dissuade him from holding me high. He would be amazed and happy that I am treating my body nicely these days. He probably couldn't care less about my pace time, wouldn't mean a thing to him.
So then I'm running and crying (hey, don't laugh - it's cheaper than therapy) and I remembered that my Heavenly Father IS proud of me. He DOES see me and is right there with me. That felt a little more tangible. Next thing I knew, I was back home and feeling like a winner.
Slow pace or not.