Little Dude and Little Dud

I excel at stopping. When I run, I have no qualms with slowing down, taking a break, even fully stopping for a mid-run stretch session. I love it when that blinky red palm tells me to halt at a crosswalk. But this love of stopping has led to bad running habits.

When I feel that urge to stop, I envision a little dud version of myself plopping itself down in my lower back, setting up camp, and settling in like a rock in a hammock. Little Dud drags me down. On my ten-miler yesterday, I was determined to knock Little Dud out of the hammock.

Instead of Little Dud, I need Little Dude. Little Dude is crowded up against the front of my chest, bouncing like a spring, Tae Bo punching the air like a little maniac. Little Dude's got spunk! I can feel that energy in my chest, driving me forward. When I picture Little Dude's relentless momentum, I'm less inclined to give in to the desire to stop. Little Dude's got the stopping qualms I need to develop.

Little Dude kept me running in miles 7-9 when Little Dud usually convinces me to walk. Unfortunately, at mile ten my hip, knee, and ankle started to hurt, and while Little Dude is pretty magical, her analgesic powers are limited. I walked most of that final mile. But I completed ten miles yesterday, when what I really wanted to do was sit next to the fire, eat Christmas candy, and read my book.

Thanks, Little Dude!