With a half marathon trail relay coming up next weekend, the pressure has been on to make something of myself for the last few weeks. The holidays, combined with days upon days upon days of rain here in Georgia, not to mention the adjustment back to working night shift, has given me a plethora of excuses not to run. But today the clouds parted, the sun shone down, the air was warm, and I laced up my running shoes. Despite my legs howling in moderate protest, I managed to log eight easy-paced miles, just enough so I can taper back next week in the lead up to the race on Sunday, since my race leg will only be a little over six miles.

But more important than race prep, today’s run was a good opportunity to reflect on what my running year has been like. I’ve always been one who struggles with injury, and this year was no exception. Oddly enough, it wasn’t a lower extremity injury that held me back, it was a wrecked elbow from a bicycle crash. I realize that some might wonder how an elbow injury keeps one from running, but rest assured that a proper arm swing while running is NOT conducive to healing a joint with a newly installed titanium plate. That sucker hurt. So I spent a good portion of the year doing physical therapy and strength conditioning in an effort to get back on track. When I finally did manage to run again, the pervasive fear of stumbling and falling on that arm was such that my pace was terrible. I picked my steps like a barefoot fire walker. My first post-surgery trail race showed an abysmal finish time compared to previous years on the same course, but it was a huge personal triumph in that it helped me overcome the mental aspect of my recovery (I didn’t fall!). After that, my pace began to quicken and confidence in my stride slowly returned.

It’s strange really. Runners fight such a multitude of mental battles, even when we’re healthy: Do I really want to get out of bed and do this? Do I push myself today, or take it easy? Do I opt for the dessert? Do I stop here, or push through for another two miles? Do I pick up the pace to catch that next person ahead of me? Do I ignore that twinge, or stop and walk? But when we’re hurt, or in some stage of recovery from injury, the mental battles are magnified exponentially. All the normal ones are still there, but now they’re accompanied by all sorts of unrealistic fears surrounding the injury: Is that tendon going to snap completely in two? My knee is going to disintegrate, and the surgeon will have to have to cut it out with a saw and replace it! My ankle is ruined, I bet they’ll amputate the foot! Okay, maybe those are over the top, but injury and fatigue do strange things to the runner’s thought process.

Aside from the injury and surgical saga, I just never felt like I got into the groove this year. I really enjoy running when I feel like I’ve hit my training stride and the routine settles in. I feel like I’m physically on top of my game, lighter on my feet, quicker in my step. My body snaps into gear more smoothly when I start a run, and the recovery afterward feels more rewarding. But that never seemed to happen this year, perhaps because of the physical aspects of the injury, but I think it was just as much due to the fact that I let it beat me. Sure, I had times when I felt like the crest of the training hill was just coming into view, but I never got on top of it.

So that was it, I decided on my run this afternoon. This year is over. Done. Kaput. The fat lady sang, and she quite likely could have bested me in a 5K. My Garmin Connect account is proof. I’ve never been one to make New Year’s resolutions, and I won’t start now. But I must confess that I’m looking forward to doing things differently in 2016. Train better, run better, be better.

The last few days have been cold (relatively speaking, this is Georgia, after all), rainy, and windy. It’s almost November, so yes, it’s supposed to cool off, I get it.  But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Last week I ran in shorts and came close to ditching the shirt.

I don’t generally mind the change of weather this time of year, but when it comes to running I like it hot- the hotter the better. I’m talking about the kind of hot where I’m breaking out in a flop-sweat within five strides of starting. The kind of hot where the sweat rolls off in streams and I don’t even entertain the idea of taking my shirt with me.

Side bar: Sorry, but yes, I’m quite often that guy: running unashamedly shirtless if at all possible. It feels great and trust me, if you ever run shirtless- for the guys, obviously- or in a sports bra for you ladies, you’ll forever have to calculate another factor into your running logistics: the shirt decision.

“Is it really hot enough?”… “Did I put on sunscreen?”… “Did I do abs yesterday?”… “Will my route take me somewhere that my shirtlessness might cause for concern among the locals, prompting a call to the authorities?”

But I digress…

I’ll run in the rain, the wind, and the cold, if for no other reason than to overcome the guilt of not doing it, but also because I know the misery associated with coming back in the spring after a winter layoff (not fun at all, that one). Oh, and I’m going to gripe about it a little bit, too. I’m no different than most other southern runners in that respect; we complain about how hard it is to breathe the cold air and how we can’t quite seem to get the “too much vs. not enough” clothing equation right. And let’s not forget the shortened daylight hours that relegate most of us to running in the dark, wearing some silly little reflective band around an ankle or, perish the thought- a headlamp.

But I’ll do it despite the misery, because I know this is the south and the winter won’t last forever. Meanwhile I’ll run and think about sunnier days to come.