This week I'm holding down the fort with the dog and two cats. When it's just Miles and I, we have a nice routine down. Go to the dogpark one or two nights during the week (I know, we live life on the edge). I'll take him running with me more often. Etc. Last night I had a one hour run with some intervals. I usually don't take Miles running with me for workouts scheduled to last more than 45 minutes, or anything that has any type of speedwork. But I felt too guilty about putting him back in his crate for an hour, so on went the leash and off we ran.
Miles is a very predictable dog. I know exactly when he will want to go to the bathroom, exactly when he needs to eat, and how many stretches and shakes he will perform when he gets out of his crate every evening. He's also predictable when we go running. For the first mile, he is gung-ho, loving every step of the run. This is because he thinks we're running to the dogpark. We pass by the dogpark, where he looks longingly in that direction. Then, without fail, within 300m, right after we cross the small bridge over a creek, he puts on the brakes and refuses to run. There's usually some coddling and cajoling on my part and he eventually gets going again. About 3/4 of a mile later, he does it again. But then that's it. He sucks it up, realizes he's out there for the long-haul and we're not turning around anytime soon, and he just runs. Sometime when I'm out for a hard run, or in the latter half of the run in a half-ironman, I need to remind myself of this. I'm in it for the long haul. There's no turning back. Just suck it up and deal with it. And there's always rewards at the end. For Miles - it's the opportunity to slurp water out of the cats' water dish. For me, usually some sort of junk food. To each his own.