I’ve had to face an uncomfortable fact today.

I don’t know if Nathan and I can run this half-marathon together.

He is willing to run at my pace, but when I run with him my pace isn’t MY pace. Does that make any sense? I guess I don’t know what my pace is. When I have to think about it, I just don’t know what my pace is. It just comes naturally when I’m alone.

We ran together today. I thought I could run a short 2-mile run at his pace. 1 mile into his pace and I thought I was going to die. I haven’t been that out of breath for months. I thought that maybe it was good for me – that pushing myself would help me be a better runner. 1.25 miles into our run, on a long flat stretch, I bailed. I just couldn’t do it. We were running an 11-minute mile. My fastest mile before that was 11:30. I tend to hover around 12:15 when I’m alone.

But I’m not experienced enough to know what that feels like. I just fall into it. When I’m alone.

So I bailed. Stood on the sidewalk for a while, watching Nathan run away (at my absolute insistence). Then I ran back home. Finished the 2-mile plan. At a 12:00 pace. And I felt like I had pushed myself.

I don’t know what to do. He wants to run the half with me. To show support. To be with me. So I won’t be alone. And I want him to run with me. I just don’t know if we can.

But I don’t know if I can run it with him. I don’t know if I will be able to know my pace. And I don’t know if he can run it with me – if he would be able to hold back to my pace. If that would be frustrating for him.

I want to run with him. I want to be able to run with him. But I don’t know if I can. Not yet.

I sure do love him, though.