Thursday is usually a very easy run day for me. I meet my two friends on a hilly course and run/walk with them. I’m not bragging, but they are going very, very slow, almost too slow for me. So, I run just far enough ahead for them to hear my watch to signal when they can run. Usually, I can get them to a little over 3 miles. Both of them had things to do this evening, so I decided that I would drag my butt out of bed to try to do some sort of speed work. I haven’t done anything speed wise in months. I’ve had so many ups and downs since my ankle break two years ago. TWO YEARS AGO!! That my initial goal was to get through this half marathon training and survive. Now, I just want to see if I can do better than survive.
If you want to run faster you have to train to run faster….blech.
My intermediate plan said 3-400’s. My initial thought was to do 6 - 400’s. In the past, I used to run 800’s, tempo runs, fartleks. I was a freak, now, not so much. Anyway, it turned into 5-400’s, then when I woke up and rolled out of bed, it became 5-3:00 minutes hard with 1.5 minute recovery. My former running coach introduced me to speed work with 3:00 hard/3:00 recovery. I probably should’ve stuck with that concept, but I didn’t want to walk for 3 minutes. In my head, .25 of a mile seemed harder and further to run than 3:00 minutes. I ain’t no genius. I warmed-up with an un-timed half mile and then started my watch.
Aye yai yai, why did I want to do this again? All the negative thoughts started to creep in like,
Can’t I just go for a run for health and not worry about time, speed etc.? Why am I doing this half-marathon? Do I have to do a half-marathon? I don’t have to do anything.
Turns out I ran further and faster than I thought and I hated every second, every minute. I used to run 800’s fast to the point of retching, but I just wanted the “feel” of going a little bit faster than normal, plus my left ankle (the bad one) was a little more sore than usual. While I didn’t feel like puking, it was hard for me. I wanted to stop after 2, then 3 and then I told myself to suck it up and finish. I’m going to have to get up earlier than 6:00, because traffic was awful. I would run in the street and then a car would come and then I would jump on the sidewalk. Up and down, up and down. I’m too lazy to do this on a track after work, plus it’s still hot here. It’s never going to cool down. I live in hell.
.36 - 8:24
.34 - 8:47
.33 - 9:12
.32 - 9:15
.33 - 9:13
I’ll probably try 400’s next week. You know, now that I’ve done this, I can’t go back.
Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.
“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?”
Ernest and I would’ve been good friends.
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