Saturday was scheduled for 16 miles. Zero part of me wanted anything to do with that. The forecast was mid30s with 100% cloud cover nasty gloomy yuck. When I woke up, it was even worse. Big fat snowflakes were raining down taunting me, rubbing it in my face. Every tiny part of me that's tougher than weather shriveled up and cried uncle.
A few hours later it had stopped snowing, the ground was wet, it was windy, and damp! I knew exactly how the run would go. My feet would get wet and stay wet for hours, I would be sweating within the first mile then the wind would kick up and I'd be chilled to the core. Then I envisioned how far my 16-mile route goes and I started crying for mercy.
I couldn't skip it though. Back to Mom's, back on the treadmill. I set it slooooooow. I played two episodes of Survivor on her computer, I was bored, I sweated through a hand towel. I ditched my headband when I could wring out the sweat, I ditched my shirt when it was drenched. I sweated through a second hand towel.
Two and a half hours later I finally said I'm done. I don't know the exact distance, it doesn't really matter. I ran for longer than my most recent half. Going slow seems to have worked out well, I was dehydrated, but my body wasn't in pain like it so often is after my long runs. It was horribly boring, and yet, running while watching Survivor isn't that terrible.