I ran the Putnam County Classic 8 miler yesterday, a race I ran last year. A great race that I’d highly recommend — it’s a challenging distance and a tough course, but we had well over 300 runners. I was drafted into MCing the awards, which wasn’t awkward as I placed 4th in my division so I didn’t get an award. Not that that would have been nice!
Last year I was well rested and feeling pretty good. This year, I was kind of stressed out as I’ve been on the road, and was trapped in Argentina for an extra day due to a poorly publicized volcano. But I’ve been training pretty hard, so I hoped to do well.
I did fine, but ran :17 slower than last year. I was actually glad it was that close, during the race I was pretty sure I was going to fall apart.
I’m using a Run SMART training plan this year and the plan had me running a 6:49 pace. It’s a hilly course, with 329′ of net climb. My first mile was a 6:57, then a 7:02, then a 6:44 (glee!), then a 6:59, then a 7:03, 7:24, 7:05 and 6:31. Last year, 6:46, 6:58, 6;45, 6:51, 7:07, 7:11, 6:58, 6:32. So freakin close. But still :14 closer, and a full 70 seconds off my target time. I’m a little concerned, but I don’t want this one off target race to shake my confidence.
Last year I ran with my friend Alyssa who is a great strong runner and I held on to her for the middle miles — this year, I was alone for a lot of it, showing once again I need to have the confidence to push hard with no one around to really see what I’ve got in me. Sleep or no sleep, I want to run a little better.
The great thing about SMART is that I can reach out to the coach and cry. I mean, ask for advice. My next race is in mid-august, the NYRR Club Championships. I think that’ll be a good time to gauge my progress and see how I’m doing.
The end of the race is around a track, and I was pretty beat up. I don’t think my form has ever been that bad on a track. Except maybe when I’m bending over to throw up. Or something.
Speaking of the track, I’m supposed to recover today (which I’m doing) and take an easy run tomorrow. But I’m going away on a family vacation this weekend, so I wonder if I shouldn’t hit the track a little sooner. What harm can come of that? I mean, running a less than perfect race and then putting in some shitty numbers at the track? That’ll build confidence. Right?
Just did a short job in Buenos Aires. Where it’s winter. It gets dark early. People walk down the street bundled up in scarfs and thick jackets. The other runners I saw were all in tights and compression sleeves. People huddle together against the cold while waiting for the bus.
It was 50°.
So anyway, it was great to take a break from the heat of New York. I was working with another guy who ran, so we went out pretty much every day. There are a couple of great parks, and tons of runners. It really feels like a vibrant community. There was a 10k today, but alas I left last night so I didn’t run it. Two good loops to share, both starting out from the Sheraton Hotel. The first is an easy out and back near the Puerto Modero waterfront. You can also run along the waterfront development itself, but I imagine during the summer months it’ll get quite busy with pedestrians.
The second isn’t perfect because it gets a little busy in the middle, but it’s a nice long lollypop loop through some nice parks.
All in all, it is a great place to run. There are some uneven sidewalks, but plenty of bike paths and a lot of grassy areas adjacent to the sidewalk — most runners seem to cut right over to the grass whenever they can.
I’m running in a race tomorrow here at home — hopefully I’ll do OK but as I’ve spent 18 of the last 24 hours on a plane, I’m a little nervous! Well, at least I have an excuse. Wait, I forgot, no excuses!
And, some pictures as I took some on my first day running.
Took the day off from the track today cause I’m feeling some hamstring pain from the race on Sunday. Decided to take it easy. Maybe run a quiet 7 miles. Catch up on some podcasts. Break in a new pair of shoes.
Instead, I ran into super runner and fellow Croton dad Tim Robinson at a school function (doesn’t “school function” sound like a statement of hope as well as an event?). We agreed to meet for a run. Tim works at home. As do I. Tim is fast. As am I. Not.
Tim wasn’t feeling well at the start. I thought maybe it would stay as a nice recovery run. It didn’t. Tim felt better. The bastard.
Not a lot of detail, but I wanted to mention that I used my new Garmin 610. Which uploads a crapload of data. Which I imbed here. Cool? Boring? You decide!
I’m a geek. And a runner. And a running geek. This manifests itself in many ways. I love to read a good training plan. My running clothes look like they were picked out each moment by someone who is visually impaired. I’m scared of new people. And, of course, I wear a GPS. Which I look at constantly. And while running.
I’ve had a Garmin 305 for four years or so, a gift of a great friend. It’s served me quite well. I love it so. It’s got a rocking bike mounting kit. OK, so it’s a little big. But only 2-3 times the size of my wrist. But still, I love it.
Yesterday, I loved it a little less.
I rode down to the NYRR Portugal 5 miler with my friend John, who lives in the same town as me. John is a great runner, and I enjoy training with him. By training with him, I mean starting a workout with him, trying to hold on for five minutes, puking, and then taking the day off. But it’s still good to carpool.
We were talking about pace and our watches and if we should set a pace threshold so the watch will bitch if we’re running too slow (or, I imagine, too fast). For my fall marathon, I’m trying out a new training plan (see also: I’m a geek) — the Jack Daniels SMART plan, which prescribes particular paces for each and every workout. For this distance, it suggested a place of 6:31/mile would work for me, which seemed very fast to me. So I thought to myself, “Self, why not have the watch bitch at you so you can be stressed constantly about how you’re doing?” Perfect plan.
While in Starbucks before the race (wait? doesn’t everyone do that?), I turned the watch on, set up a “quick workout” of 5.5 miles and a pace of 6:31. Why 5.5 miles? Because, of course, we all know that we run a little longer than the couse distance in a big race — it just isn’t possible to run the tangents. The crowds are going to make the distance a little bit longer, and I didn’t want my watch shutting off at the 5 mile mark if I was short of the finish of the race
I guess, in the Starbucks, the Garmin asked “Are you inside now?” which is code for “Answer ‘no’ or I’ll stop looking for satellites.” I answered “yes”.
Good warmup in the park, saw a lot of other Taconics, which is always nice. Lined up in the first corale, which is freakin’ fantastic. Heard the nice lady sing the Portugese national anthem. Then our National Anthem. Then some more yapping from the race officials. Then the gun. I crossed the line, hit start on my watch.
Of course, I look at my watch all the time. It was about 30 seconds later when I looked down and saw the screen say that I had been running for about 30 seconds, and had traveled 0 feet and was running at a pace of –:–. Aw crap. So I had never restarted my watch since the Starbucks. No satellite for me!
There are generations of runners before us who never had GPSes. There were thousands of runners in the race who think anyone who looks at their GPS during a race is cheating. But I’ve almost always raced with one. What was I to do?
I just ran. And made a plan. I’d reset my watch. Ignore the time. Note my time at mile 1, restart the watch then, or something.
Mile one came at 6:10. Too fast. But I was feeling good. Watch was ticking along, but still hadn’t found any satellites. Hit mile 2. 12:20 or so, even with mile 1, but too fast. Watch was then working, so I tried to hold on to my 6:31 pace.
I had Tim Delaney in front of me pretty much since mile 1. He’s a great runner, and had won NYRR Runner of the year in 2010. I knew he was running a good pace for me, so I held on, tried to maintain contact. I ran with him for a little bit in mile 3, and we chatted. By chatted, I mean head said something charming and pleasant and I tried not to spit up blood. In mile 4, I actually passed him, I think it was a rush of euphoria because my watch was finally working.
I felt good, but found myself wanting the race to be over in the final mile. Too much stress at the start, but I’ve got to get over that. I imagine it was a blessing in disguise, maybe I can run a race with just a freakin stopwatch.
I tried to finish strong, but I was blown away by Tim’s finishing kick, I think he passed me with 200 meters to go or so, and he was running strong. Strong. Strong. It was a great feeling to think maybe we had helped each other get there.
Although I wish it had been a little faster, I really enjoyed this race. The 5 miler is a great distance. It’s not the blow out of a 5k and not as much of an emotional commitment of the 10k. This was my first race since Boston, and it was great to be running in Central Park again.
My overall time was 0:32:51 which is a 6:35. I don’t how much I slowed down in the final mile or so, but I must have. It’s depressing to know I won’t be able to obsess about the splits. Not having a GPS. Did I mention that? Oh, yeah, I guess I did.
I’m thinking hard about the fall. Which is strange, because we’ve had only about a week of spring. But I am thinking abou the fall. And a fall marathon. Because why not?
I’ll tell you why not. I’m feeling a little burned out. I mean, I still think about running all the time. I still eat like I’m running all the time. And I still feel like the whole world is out there for me to pee on whenever I want. That’s from the running. Right? Totally.
But I don’t wake up in the morning excited about improvements in training or races coming up. Actually, I wake up each day wondering why the alarm is going off, and why my kids don’t grow up and move out of the house. Or at least make themselves breakfast.
I think about the great loop I have from my house, which has some killer hills, has a mile or two on a great trail, and never gets boring. Except for when I think about it now. And the 10,000 times I must have run it. Over and over again. Dude. Game off.
I’ve got a lot of ideas. Maybe try to train for a triathlon. Like a short one. There have to be short ones, right? There are some called sprints. That sounds short. I even have the Triathlete Training Bible at my bedside. The alarm clock sits on it. As does a cat or two most nights.
Maybe target some summer races in the area. Wait, that’s what I did last year. Ug. A pattern.
The truth is, I seem most focused when I’m in a training plan. So maybe, and we know where this is going, a fall marathon. The truth is, with these new Boston qualifying standards, I almost certainly will be shut out of the race this year. So if I want a chance of running it again, I need to put in a faster number. Not 100% sure how I can do that. But picking a flat marathon couldn’t hurt!
I’m sending out feelings to some friends about the Hamptons Marathon and the Mohawk Hudson Marathon. Both have good (meaning fast) reputations. Mohawk is a little later in the fall, which means I could start training later. Which appeals to me greatly.
I have to do more thinking. Aloud and not aloud. I gotta fight the burnout, but I don’t want to get stuck in an endless cycle of training burnout. But everyone will be training for New York, right? And we can’t all be burned out. Right? More thinking to come.
I don’t want to bury the lede here. I ran Boston in 3:19:13, which is both a personal record and a qualifying time for next year’s Boston. So I should be very happy. With nothing to complain about. Maybe I could write a post about meeting our goals, about enjoying the crowd, loving the gift of running. Alas, that’s not a post I have in me.
Speaking of things I don’t have in me, I’m not 100% sure I have a marathon in me. The last four miles of that race were the freakin’ worst of my life. Slowest time. Searing calf pain. Delusional thoughts about short cuts. Pure amazement of my circumstances and apparent self-hatred that had brought me to a first rate race in a beaten up second rate body. Nice thoughts. Nice feelings. hmmm. Salty.
Let me start at the beginning, which was pretty great. I arrived at Athletes Village (which I shall forever refer to as “Stress Village”) early, and laid out a fantastically large piece of Visqueen, and waited for my friends to show up. Alas, they were taking the bus, and they showed up about an hour after I did. So I sat around like Billy No Mates for a while. Then Karen, Bill, Ted and Paul showed up and we moved our tarp out in to the sun and enjoyed some quality time. And by quality time we watched each other’s stuff while we lined up for the pora johns about five times each.
The heartbreak of the morning is that my friend John with whom I was going to run had gotten food poisoning the night before so he couldn’t make it to the start. These things happen, but not to people we know, right? Man oh man. He’s going to run the New Jersey Marathon on May 1st which he will freakin KILL.
Lined up in my corale — I was lucky to be in Wave 1. I really enjoy the dynamic in the corals. Everyone is so nice and seems to have the same thing on their mind. Not crapping. Of course. And the run ahead. We heard the gun, and I think it was a good five or six minutes to the line. Then we were off.
I was shooting for a 3:15 — based on the half I did a few weeks ago I should have been able to run a 3:13, but Boston is rough so I didn’t want to mess myself up. I got a pace band at the expo which was elevation adjusted, meaning it gives more time for the hills and less time for the downhills and the flats. If I were to run a 3:15 even, it would be a 7:26 throughout, so the band suggests running 7:21 for the first couple of down hills, 7:26 for mile 5 which is flat, and a 7:56 for mile 21 which has Heartbreak Hill.
For the start of the race, I was in love with that pace band. I was checking off miles right on the numbers. Well, I would be two or three seconds slow, but I’d think “That’s still cool, Greg, just relax. You’ll make it up later. You trained for this.” Yawn. Pathetic.
In the first three miles, I though I might be getting a little over heated. I was wearing a hat and a headband and compression sleeves. Not 100% sure what I was thinking. So I got rid of the hat and the sleeves, and started to feel a little better. I took water early and often — even if I could just get a little in my mouth I figured it was better than nothing.
I guess it was around mile 8 or so that I started to feel the tingling of pain — just a sense that everything wasn’t as perfect as it might be. I was taking all in stride (literally) and hoping that I would start to feel better.
I hit the half at 1:36:49, which was about 10 seconds off the pace band, but still I was feeling great.
And I was pretty much right on track — the first major hill is in the 17th mile (meaning after the 16th mile marker) and I was right on my number there. I crested over the top, opened it up, I felt great. As we started to get up heartbreak hill, I was still feeling strong, thinking of all the hills I had trained on and the work that had gone into my training. This is great, this is great.
Mile 21, supposed to do a 7:56. Did an 8:07. Pretty great. A little off. But great.
Then not so great. It was coming off heart break hill when I thought “OK, Cohen, open it up.” I picked up my pace and then searing calf pain. Quad pain. Mental anguish. Misery. I just couldn’t run anymore. Or I couldn’t run fast. Is this the wall? It wasn’t mental — I could still remember my zip code and the name of the street I grew up in. Or on. Not sure which one it is.
OK, I guess it was the wall. I just felt like crap. I kept thinking “get through this, you’re on track to do a 3:15. Do it.” But my legs, they wouldn’t carry me.
I saw the mile 22 marker. Should have done a 7:16. Did a 7:27. I was only a little off, but mentally I was falling apart. The pain in my legs was horrible, and I tried all my mental trips. ”Four miles left, visualize four miles! That’s not far. That’s only 4 x 4 laps at the track. That’s 16 laps. That’s not much. 16 laps? What kind of a moron would run 16 laps? That’s way to far.” That wasn’t working.
Mile 23: Should have been a 7:26, did a 7:48. Maybe the mile was wrong. This is a fairly new course, they’ve only been running it for a little over a hundred years. Maybe no one has checked this mile.
Mile 24: Shooting for 7:24. Did a 7:45. OK, two miles to go. That’s like the top of the highest hill from my house. Run it home you bastard. I saw a woman I had seen earlier in the race who was running my pace at the start — hold on to her, I thought. Don’t loose contact. I matched my pace to her. And then, before my eyes, she vanished into the horizon like a bike rider peddling off into the sunset. I guess I was running even slower than I thought.
Mile 25. 8:33. Er. That’s like a long run. A long slow run. WTF. Well, whatever. I fell apart. No Boston Qualifying time for me. No PR. Good to be running. Lucky to be alive.
The final half mile of the course is on Boylston street, you turn a sharp left and you can see the finish. As I was approaching that left, a looked at my total time — something I rarely look at. 3:14:something. Man, if I freakin’ open it up, I can qualify again, and PR.
It was like magic. The fear of having to write a sad pathetic blog post I think was a big help. I ran like a freakin’ bastard that last half mile. My average pace in mile 26 was 8:00. My average pace in the .2 miles left was 6:25. I felt such a freakin’ rush. I crossed the line and just about puked. Man oh man. A PR. 3:19:13. A qualifier. And my impending death. All in a few seconds of thought.
I honestly don’t know what happened. There were period of self doubt throughout the race, but I was imaging good things until the back of heartbreak hill. I stopped for water a lot more than I ever have before, but I wonder if I shouldn’t try to get more Gatorade in me. It’s just so frustrating that my point of failure came at a point that there is no way to emulate in training. Or no way I can think of. There just aren’t races short of an ultra that can provide that level of sustained effort.
I will say that the training process was great this year — I came into the race feeling better than ever before, and I lined up with confidence. So even though I didn’t get the time that I wanted and suffered so much, I think that the lack of pre-emptive suffering is good for me (and my family!). Now I’m doing the marathon shuffle, walking down stairs backwards, and eating anything that looks like a brownie. I’ve learned a lot, to be sure, but I’m not 100% sure how to apply that knowledge to the future. There is no doubt that I’m going to think hard about my next marathon and a different way to prepare for the end.
But, of course, I’m thrilled that I PRed. I have a great support network and a am part of a great running community. I am lucky to have these kinds of issues to complain about. I am a fortunate man. In a great deal of pain. But fortunate none the less.
We, as humans, all stress. Some more than others. Some of us hide it. Some of us don’t. I can’t imagine where I fall on that scale.
We all have real things to stress about. Money. Relationships. Health. Why, then, do we choose to race? Why would I, a person who is no stress-enthusiast, choose to line up with a bunch of other jerks, often in the rain and sometimes in tights, to slog our way down the path of most resistance. Why? WHY? As you can imagine, I don’t have the answer. Or I don’t have the whole answer. I do, I hope have a little of the answer.
Life is, sadly, finite. It’s just par for the course. Everything ends. We graduate from our cushy liberal arts college. We lose our jobs. We lose track of our friends. Our loved ones pass. We ourselves are here for a short time, and the only thing that unites us all is that our time is limited. There is nothing we can do about this inevitability, we can only do more with the time we have.
I’d suggest one of the most empowering things we can do in the face of this is start something. That’s a decision we can make. Today is a new day. Today I’ll stop eating crap. Today I’ll stop screaming at my kids every second. Today I’ll stop gossiping. Today I’ll look for a better job.
In training the first step is picking the race. ”I’m going to run a 5k in three months,” is more than an idle dream once that first step outside turns into the first run in the program. The start of the race in a month starts a new chapter in the runner’s life today. ”I’m starting training,” we realize. We turn a page. And we decide to make a change.
With running it’s always possible to start fresh. We all have running friends who have gone through incredible struggles, personal, financial, emotional and physical. Their struggles push them to start a new cycle of training. ”I’ll show that doctor,” or “getting laid off is going to get me a great marathon time,” add to the energy that their running buddies draw from. I show up at the track to run in ovals in the rain mostly for me, but also for anyone else who might be on the fence about coming next week, who might take an hour to run to fight their way out of a rough spot. Remembering we’re all in the middle of training for some future race brings us together to start the workout fresh each week.
Just by picking a race, by picking a date, by choosing or plan, showing up for a group run, or just heading out the door as we punch our watch, we are choosing to start something. To break the monotony of the problems that we’ve created as well as mitigate the weight of the problems beyond our control.
And that, indeed, is what I love about racing, about showing up on the starting line.
It’s not the finish, where often I find myself sweaty and looking at a number on my watch with which I’m not entirely happy. It’s not the middle of the race where I’m looking at the mile marker amazed at how much further I have until the suffering stops. It’s the start. Where the training is behind me and the race is ahead of me.
And it’s not just me, I look around at the other runners and I know, at least to an extent, we’re sharing the same feeling.
Today is different. Today I’m turning a page. I don’t know how this is going to end, but I’m choosing to start.
I’ve spent the last six days or so in sunny Phoenix, which has lead to some great runs. I was lucky enough to be on a job that wasn’t as busy as some, and with some great people, so all in all, it was more conducive to training that I had any right to expect.
I arrived on Friday and checked on the website of my favorite running store here, Sole Sports, which I’ve written about in the past. What an awesome store, which great staff. This time I was closer to their Scottsdale location, which is much smaller than their Tempe store, but plenty of good stuff to spend money on. Money that I don’t have. Of course.
The store organizes a group run on Saturday morning, which is great because that’s when I usually do my long run anyway at home with the Taconics. I gathered from their site that the runs were about 6-8 miles, and, according to my plan, I wanted to do 18, which the last 8 at marathon pace. I talked to the fantastically fast Terri at the store who was only doing ten, but was happy to start with me. It wound up being perfect — she is oh so much faster than me, but she was had an easy day on her schedule so she could match my pre-marathon pace pace.
Although I didn’t talk to that many people, it seemed like a great group run — lots of folks (20-30), running a variety of different distances and paces. One person from the store sort of organizes the run and gives a little information download at the start of the run, which makes everyone feel welcome and loved.
The runs take place along the Arizona Canal which is about as good as it gets for running. Flat, packed direct. Alas, there are a few streets to cross, but all and all, it freakin rocks. I think for my 10 miles with Terri we averaged 7:58 pace, which is awesome. I stopped back at Sole Sports to grab a glass of water and buy a vizor for my last 8 miles. Emmett, the manager on duty in the store asked how long I was going out for in my final stage of my run in case I didn’t come back. ”An hour or so. I’m moving here. I love you people.”
I wanted to pick it up to around 7:24 for my marathon pace for the last eight miles, and I did hold on to the pace… 7:18 overall, which is great. It was about a million degrees out at the end, so I was glad I made it, and I was glad to be done. I was sweaty and dehydrated and felt kind of weird. Like death. “I’m no longer moving here,” I told a not-disappointed Emmett as I picked up my keys.
Two more speed workouts along the roads in Phoenix, a 4 mile tempo, averaging 6:57 and 3 @ 2k tempo intervals averaging around 6:45 pace. All right on target.
Why the obsession with numbers? The freaking marathon is less than two weeks away. Less year at this time I was in Berlin totally freaked out. Now I’m closer to home, not as freaked, but I am I working a lot harder on getting rest and staying as calm as possible. Good luck with that, Self. Good luck with that.
It was the inaugural run of Sleepy Hollow Half Marathon. It’s my first time running a virgin race, and I was a little nervous about logistics and the course. There was no elevation profile to obsess on, no lore of years gone by shared by other Taconics, no assurance that the porta potty count had been developed by years of planning and evolution. However, it was pretty awesome; it was very well organized by the Rivertown Runners, who did a great job. There was a little confusion out on the course, but nothing that won’t get sorted out next year, and they were able to execute a half marathon with I’d think about 500 runners without any major issues. Really well done.
I have to say that I was quietly hoping to do very well in the race. My Boston training has been going well, and in general I feel pretty relaxed. I thought, in a perfect world, I would be able to run 6:50 miles and break 1:30, which is a life-long dream. A quick aside, I freakin’ hate when people say “life-long dream” and they mean “something I’ve been thinking about for about a week.” While I’ve been thinking about it for longer than a week, it’s an exaggeration to suggest that I’ve been thinking of running a ninety minute half since birth. Luckily, since I didn’t hit it in this race, I can continue to dream.
I ran a great tempo this week, although it was a bit harder than I would have liked. In that run, as the sun was bearing down on me and I was dodging central Florida traffic, I started to develop a running mantra. Traditionally, I think these mantras are things that runners say in their head, something like “be strong”, or “stand tall” or “remember to pick up dinner” or something like that. But largely said in their head. Not aloud. As I was careening down Central Florida Parkway, no other pedestrians in sight, I decided to try screaming a mantra out loud. ”RELAX!” I kept telling myself. ”RELAX! RELAX! YOU BASTARD! RELAX!” Very relaxing. But it did seem to work, and I was happy with my run and my pace.
Trying to relax seems to be an important task for me. It’s not I’m so natural a runner that I wind up winning races just by relaxing, it’s more that I gain nothing by being tense and working extra hard. By telling myself to relax I hope that I can concentrate on good form, on cadence, or on pretty much anything other than “you suck, you’re going too slow, have a cheeseburger.”
However, in a race, I wasn’t quite so comfortable talking to myself, so I tried keeping my mantra to myself. ”relax” I thought. And I think it worked. I didn’t tense up, and I think it went pretty well.
I should say, for the record, that this is a HARD course. Mr. Garmin says there is 1,188 feet of climb. Man, that’s rough. Four or five major hills. And, in mile 6 through 8, it’s a long long long long (extra long for emphasis) climb up this slow grade. On a highway. The highway was closed to traffic. But let’s imagine it wasn’t. It was a long climb on a busy highway. In the summer sun. In the rain. OK, none of that is true. But it was a long climb on a highway. I had a quality 7:17 mile in there. That’s not so good.
At the end of the race, after the 12 mile split, I changed my mantra to “empty the tank, empty the thank, empty the tank” (extra empty the tank for emphasis). I was emptying the tank, rounded the corner, and found that there was a huge hill at the end. Empty the tank my ass. The tank was empty. And yet the hill. The hill. THE HILL!
I pushed through and finished in 1:31:38 for an average pace of 6:55. So I was off my target, but I still pushed hard and was happy. My fellow Taconics did well, with Karen getting first in her age — I know there were other winners from the team, but I cut out before the awards. I had stuff to do. And I placed 4th. I’m just saying.
I’d say the mantra worked. It was the mountain at the end that did me in!
Here, for anyone who has a love for numbers, is way too much information.
Too Much Information
I’m in Orlando, feeling guilty about missing yet another snow storm at home in New York. That being said, and expecting no sympathy from anyone at home, I should mention that it’s too freakin’ hot down here. Again, I can hear your groans. But it was 83° at 6pm today. Yesterday, it was even warmer. I went out running with my friend and colleague Paul, expecting to start with him, and then do a 4 mile tempo run. But it was just to hot. hot hot hot.
Today, I decided to give it another try. I drank water all day, vitamin zero, etc. I headed out once again, and the weather felt great. Nice.
I was trying to do a tempo run, a sustained effort for four miles, ideally at 7:00 pace. What the hell am I talking about? Here’s a fairly snarky article on the subject of tempo runs.The trafic lights weren’t with me with my tempo plan — I kept having to stop. Which feel like defeats the purpose of a threshold run. I was still fairly happy with the splits: 6:44, 6:38, 6:39, 6:44. At the end, I had to walk for a few minutes just to really cool down.
Then the fun began — I started to run back to my hotel, cut through a subdivision which turned out to be a dead end. My 15 minute run back to the hotel took 45 minutes. Ug.
I’m running a half marathon on Saturday, and I’m hoping to do well. That being said, running so hard today feels like a mistake. Stress! That being said, I’m happy to run in the warmth. Just don’t tell anyone up north.
