After getting home from what was an awesome weekend in the DC/College Park area - seeing friends, rallying to restore sanity, and having my first beer in weeks...and then my second, third, and fourth - I made the decision that this was the week to kick it up a notch. By which I mean, this was the week to kick my own ass.
In the past few weeks, my running workout hasn't changed too much - two days of light 3-4 mile runs, one fartlek-run day (usually 3 miles), one speed-training day (6 x 400 sprints, then 6 x 200 sprints), and then one long-run day (about 6.5 miles). The two days I take off for rest depend more on my work schedule than anything else, but I try not to follow a high-intensity run with another high-intensity run. But this week? HA.
On Monday, somewhere in the middle of my run (a fartlek session), I decided to add a mile - which, while by no means an impressive feat, was enough to draw my breath in jagged gasps at the end. And it felt good. Then came today, when - while warming up - I decided that it was a good day to run my 3.25 miles (the length of my course) at race-pace. Because I hadn't done that in a while, and wasn't it time? So that's what I did.
Flash back two weeks when I ran a 5k race around the park near our house and, embarrassingly, trodded across the finish line at 25 minutes, 31 seconds. I was mortified - times like 21 and 22 minutes used to come so easily to me, and yet here I was, huffing and puffing at a bit over 8 minutes per mile. I have never been overweight (not from lack of trying, though), but I knew that I was more out-of-shape then I had been in quite a while. And those 21 and 22 minute races only came easily when I had been involved in some sort of sport at the time. This...slowness...that I was experiencing now - that had to stop.
Traveling back to the present, I chugged across the end of my run - clutching at the stitch in my side and breathing in sharp, labored gasps - and glared at my watch, daring it to be anything around 25. And it wasn't. I had knocked about 4 minutes off that 5k time and rolled in at 21 minutes, 37 seconds.
Was I ecstatic? Absolutely not - my personal best is 20 minutes, 5 seconds, and my goal for Thanksgiving is to run under 19 minutes, so I have a lot more work to do. BUT, I knew this was a start. Throughout my run today, most of the pain seemed to stem more from my lungs than my legs, which means that with a few more weeks of conditioning, I might very well reach my goal. And this, more than anything else, is the reason that it's the perfect time to kick my own ass.
So, here's what my next 2 weeks are going to look like:
- 2 light runs, 4-5 miles
- 2 fartlek sessions, 4 miles
- 1 day speed intervals (200's, 400's, and 800's)
- 1 day long run, 6.5 miles
Around mid-November, I'm going to up my mileage in some regards, while also trying focus on finding my perfect race-pace. Until that time, though, I will work hard.
And will blink away the chilly-wind-induced tears out of my eyes.
And I will ignore the stabs of pain that come with every breath.
And I will revel in the after-run soreness that protests my every move.
Because this is what it means to be a runner, and that's exactly what I intend to be.
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