Sometimes you just have those days.
You don't want to go run, but
convince yourself to head out the door under the assumption that
everything will feel great once you get started, and 99% of the time,
that's exactly what happens.
Then there are those days.
optimistically gone out the door and given an honest effort to get into
and enjoy the run, but the various bits, pieces, joints, and giblets of
your legs take turns protesting the decision to venture away from the
couch. Usually these protests subside after a mile or two, but on those
days, such twinges are relentless.
The "rhythm" of the run never
really materializes, and you feel sluggish and disjointed the whole
time. You chalk it up to a "mental training day" and hope for the best
the next day...
Then, with just a few
minutes left, a random stranger runs by, smiling, and says "nice race!"
no earthly idea who this person is, we are left to assume it was an
angel, sent from running heaven to save you from the demoralization of a
bad training day.
On occasion, we are all indebted to these road angels, who appear and disappear, and yet provide us with such a wonderful gift.
A run salvaged.