Slow Down

My pup helped remind me that sometimes it’s good to slow down. The other night, she woke me at 1 a.m. needing to go outside. When I opened the door she darted out and in a few steps made it clear why. Poor thing, she needed to do the same thing every hour for the rest of the night. So I got very little sleep and woke up exhausted. It was a long day at work on top of that plus endless driving the kids to and fro and hither and yon. By evening I was beyond wiped out. But rather than just crawl back to bed and pretend I didn’t have to figure out what was for dinner I knew I’d feel better if I first pushed myself outside for a shorty.

It was a trudge from the very first steps. “Hey, Mike,” I said to my neighbor a few doors down as he was getting out of his Hyundai. He waved and gave me an odd look. Then I remembered that his name is Steve.

Not long after that, I slowed to a walk. I didn’t have any fizz. I almost turned back. Then I forced myself to pick up the pace again. But for whatever reason I tried something different: I only picked up the pace a little bit. I kept my foot on the brake. I forced myself to go slow.
Like. Very. Slow.

This changed everything. I was running ahead of my breath not on the edge of it. I stopped fighting my fatigue and let it be my pacesetter. I savored the nighttime scenery. Suddenly, the jog felt invigorating not eviscerating.

Going slow isn’t easy. Once I’m feeling recovered I tend to drift back into a faster pace without knowing it. When we’re out together my running buddy is there to tell me to knock it off. Solo, I have to scold myself.

I kept myself in check the rest of the loop, and finished with a little uphill sprint, feeling good.

My pup was feeling all better too. That night we both got the deep sleep we’d earned.