I've written before about how the husband and I are lousy, lousy workout partners. Nonetheless, when I needed to do a 16 mile run all by my onesies on Saturday, Mark stepped up and offered to pace me for the second half, since he needed to do an 8 mile run anyway. Around 11 miles, I seem to hit some kind of terrible wall which I can only solve by gossipping and babbling to the person next to me on the trail. If you are alone, you risk looking like a crazy person, so we set out.
I was concerned about the slushiness of the snow and the possibility of hypothermia, so we agreed I would cut my run short and Mark would wait for me at the car. 3.5 miles later, I came back to the car and we set out for our 8 miles together. Poor Mark tried to stay with me, and he even waited for me to catch up to him, and he tried finding me a playlist with a faster bpm so I might run at his pace and he even tried adopting a new stride that made him a little slower, and still, within the first mile, he was so far ahead of me that I couldn't see him.
After eight years together, the only thing I find frustrating about this is his insistence that no, he can slow down enough to run with me. It's like after every run, he immediately forgets how slow I am, because the next time we run together, he's next to me going, "can't you pick up the pace ANY?" Which is why I've mostly given up on us running together, and agreed to it this once because I was concerned about safety and also can't really drive myself home after long runs.
The funny thing was, even though he was nowhere near me, he still kept me going. When we got back to the car, he offered to drive four miles down the trail and let me finish my run so I didn't have to cut it quite so short. On the way, he stopped at the grocery store and bought all of their food, and then met me at the bottom of the trail. Knowing that he would be waiting for me and not wanting to keep him kept me moving for the last four miles. So as a pacer, he's pretty much useless, but as crew? Priceless.