When I got in from my long run this morning (technically it was afternoon, but we’re ignoring that fact), I tweeted that I was done, and had actually shaved a few minutes off my time. I got lots of virtual pats-on-the-back from my twitter friends, but the best one of all was from–Lee. He’s out of town for a conference, and I talked to him on skype right before I walked out the door, so he was paying attention to when I should be finished.
His message: “Sweet. Good job.”
For some reason, that made me as giddy as a schoolgirl.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this here on the blog, but he’s also training for the Kiawah Marathon. He’s going to walk it (the cardiologist doesn’t like for him to run long distances). He’s been following my training plan, but walking the mileage instead of running. We don’t go at the same time, obviously; he generally does his long walks on the weekend, while I try to do my long runs on Thursday or Friday. I figure if we were both catatonic on the same day, the children might burn the house down. One of us has to be functional.
But training for the same event is the coolest thing ever. We have a history of not seeing eye-to-eye on the subject of training. I love to run (and cycle, and swim), but I assume it’s like many things that give me pleasure–I don’t expect every second to be fun. As a matter of fact, sometimes it’s downright hideous, and I’m quite vocal about my misery. Lee has not always been especially sympathetic.
His favorite line: “It’s a hobby! If you’re not having fun, just stop.”
But now? Heh-he. He gets it. He walked 18 miles on Monday, and he was absolutely miserable Monday night. Miserable. I felt so . . . understood. It was great. In all seriousness–any difficult endeavor (be it running a marathon, losing a hundred pounds, or getting a PhD) is easier if you have someone in your corner, supporting you in the tough moments, and celebrating the small victories with you.
Thank you, m’dear. I’ve got your back, if you’ve got mine.