I am a girl who loves mountains, changing seasons, running, true backpacking, strong coffee, and knitting with high quality yarn.
When something bad happens, you have three choices: let it define you, let it destroy you, or let it strengthen you.
The purpose of life is to discover and develop your gift. The meaning of life comes from sharing your gift with others. - David Viscott
Thursday, August 31, 2006
I hate training. Or do I?
4:45 am, still in bed. I am trying to figure out a substitute for what’s planned as today’s run. 10 miles with 6x1000m repeats. May be I can do intervals while watching Stephen practicing soccer tonight. May be I can move it to tomorrow morning. I want to sleep, or at least lay in bed.
5:00 am. I pull myself up and throw into a bathroom. The water is cold, I hate this water system! It takes forever to warm up! I stumble downstairs naked, turn on coffee machine and look for running clothes in a dryer. I dread getting out, so I turn on the computer while sipping on a cup of hot coffee. I go over Craig’s blog and discover my last night’s comment didn’t go through. I am almost happy – I get to sit here and re-write it again.
Minutes are ticking. It’s past 5:30 am, I am never that late for a morning run. If I want to make it 10 miles I better get my ass out the door.
I slowly separate from the chair and step outside. Why did I plan 10 miles again? When was the time 10 miles was my long weekend run? I want to go back to this time. I want to go back to the time when running was just for pleasure and no other reasons.
Actually, it was never that kind of time. My first run was a 5k. It was training ever since, whether or not a sophisticated one – doesn’t matter, but always for something ahead of me.
It is cold out, and I am wearing shorts and a tank top. There is frost on the ground and I exhale a cloud. I am considering going back for a long sleeve, but understand that once I am in the room, I am crawling back into bed. I continue on.
Road turn, slow jog. My butt still hurts from that long run on Monday, almost as much as when the injury just happened. I lean to the other side and try to not move my left leg. Why am I doing it? Who knows.
It’s getting warmer in about 10 minutes, so at least that much is good. I am still in search for reasons to stop. My compartment syndrome is aggravated by constantly tensing up on the run now, as well as too much roads lately. I also developed a tendonitis on one leg and a plantar fasciatis on another – funky short gate do it to you.
I go to a turn-around of my warm up and jog to the track. 3 miles passed, but I am still not sure if I want any speed work. I visit a porta-potty just to waste time. I even do some stretches at the track. I am looking back in search of predicted times. 1000m had been my physical fitness estimate since last year under Scott’s training. Last year I did them in 4:15. This year before WS it went in 4:20. A week before injury I had 4:30. I promise not to get upset whatever I manage today. I quietly pray to break 5 min.
Eventually there is no lingering anymore, I ran out of options. I drop my bottle and toe the “start line”. I press the timer button on the watch and try picking up the pace.
I think in half-laps. I focus on a straight line and count. 800m left. My step is short and choppy, vividly different on left side versus right side. 600m. How weird – my breath never goes out, I am so slow. 400m. Almost done. Last turn. First one out.
I hit the stop button and walk to sense how it feels. Tight, but not crazy. I look at the watch. 4:45. I think for a few seconds if I am mad or happy, then smirk. Suddenly a memory of my telling Rob while pacing him about how I learned to spit on the run recently comes in and a smile crosses my face. It’s not very lady-like, I know. Who says what is or isn’t lady-like? I look at my hands and find a big non-healed wound from roping down that crazy section on the way to Hyak. Not very lady-like. I remember how on Monday after the long run my hamstring seized up so much, I couldn’t take my shoes off, so I laid on the tile floor of a shower room at work for 10 minutes to begin moving. Yep, I am not very lady-like.
I turn a corner on a track and spit. 5 intervals left. I can pull it off. I toe the start line and press the timer button.
p.s. I sent my application in today for RDL100. I am injured, untrained and unfit. I am not motivated to fight but curious if I have enough stubbornness to finish. And if I DNF I promise to have a smile on my face.