I had a tough workout last night.  Actually, I had a really tough workout Monday night which left me in a pile on the floor of my truck hovering on the edge of a heat stroke.  No heat stroke.  Anyway, it wasn’t a pleasant workout.

So yesterday I had another tough one scheduled.  And 5 minutes after waking up yesterday (4:00 AM), I started thinking about how tough it would be.  “Man, it’s going to hurt.  Last time you crashed and burned on this workout.  What do you think you are, 17 again?  Or even 27 or 37 again?  Nobody cares if you just bail on the workout.”  And those thoughts jumped in and out of my head at various times during the day.

In the attempt to actually use my brain a little, I delayed my workout until about 6:30 pm in the hopes for a little cooler weather.  Or at least no sun frying me.  And after bringing Mason to drums, eating dinner, and sitting on the couch for a while, I was ready!  Ready to crawl in bed and go to sleep that is.  But I didn’t.  I got up, put on my running clothes and went outside.  And then I walked around for 5 minutes pretending to “stretch.”  Actually, I just did not want to hit the start button.  Because once you hit start, you can’t hit stop until you are done.

Eventually, I hit start.  I made it through the 15 minute warm up in pretty good shape.  The legs felt surprisingly good.  The breathing was even.  And the sun was easing lower in the sky.  Not bad.  And then I started the hard part: 30 minutes of steady state pain.  It took a couple of minutes to get into the narrow pace range my plan called for.  And when I did, it was not a comfortable “conversational” pace.  I was lucky to smile and grunt “ugghh” at other people on the road as I ran by.  This was going to be a long 30 minutes.

And then I found my mind over matter condition.  My body was hurting but not in dire straits.  And every time my focus would wander and my pace would drop a bit, I just had to think “faster” and I got back on track.  It was mentally exhausting to keep concentrating, but I started realizing that I could do this.  And once that happened, everything was just peachy.

It still hurt.  But along with the pain I found something positive.  This can be done.

During many of my extremely long races or training, I have found that on the other side of the pain is a level of joy that is hard to describe.  It is not the jumping up and down and screaming joy, but that quiet deep inside your chest warmth that is like a gentle pat on the back.  It is almost as if you can feel the words, “Well done my good and faithful servant.”  And then you realize that He was guiding you through the pain all along.

Every time I get a email with the subject line, “A sponsor had donated to St. Jude on your behalf,”  I get that same feeling of warmth.  And once again, He was guiding me along.

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