Just fuck it. I just finished a 9.5 miler in 65 minutes. 65??? That's 6:5x pace. I ran that for 20 miles a few weeks ago and now my heart rate was pushing 190 finishing this stupid excuse of a run.
I was dying out there. I was landing on my forefoot like I was in a god damn 800m race. I didn't even know that was possible running fucking 6:50s.
I'm training like I'm aiming to run a 4:35 mile, not a 3:50 1500. I'm sitting here, 5 months away from my first race feeling like I haven't gotten anywhere running 70+ weeks. My legs felt fine, even though I ran 200s yesterday. My chest was destroyed. It felt like a hard tempo run and it was slow as shit.
I stumbled into my house, downed a gatorade, grabbed 3 Fat Tire's and sat in a cold shower, drinking. For half an hour. I looked like something out of Black Swan or some shit.
Fuck this. I wish I were 60 and unable to run so I could watch Olympians and remember those days when you just feel like nothing can stop you, and forget about these fucking days.
After Sunday I'm taking next week at 20 miles MAYBE.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Upper Bound
The first week of August, my team has what it calls the 'long weekend,' in which we all are supposed to run the longest run of our lives to date.
For me the longest run was during the previous summer's long weekend, a distance of 17 miles. But thinking about it this week, I got the idea in my head to go for 20. My long runs this summer have been getting longer and longer, and I've handled them rather well, so I took my favorite 10miler, and simply turned it into an out-and-back 20miler.
I strolled out of my house and through the first 5 miles. Long Slow Distance runs (LSDs) are pretty easy for most of the way, it's just the time you are physically running that kills you in the long run (PUN).
The first 10miles peeled away with minimal effort. I lazily checked my watch every couple of miles, unconcerned with pace, just rolling along the long, soft hills of the northwest.
You know what, I don't usually like these runs but it's a perfect 75 degree day, I'm along the lake, the Blue Angels are out, this is fun
I reach the end of the first 10 miles without discomfort. 1:09:30. Not a bad pace. After a few minutes of stretching and buying bottled water, I turn and start plodding back the way I came, a plastic water bottle in each hand.
The second part of my run covered 10-16. These 6 miles I was growing anxious. I took in water every 10 minutes or so, and by 14.5 the first bottle was gone, a not-insignificant part ON me rather than IN me.
10-16miles was a completely separate part of the run because I was slowly getting Jello legged. I wasn't really that tired, but I felt it coming.
16-20 is its own part, because these 4 miles were absolute hell.
Mile 16-17 was entirely uphill. As I crested the bike-path on-ramp back onto Mercer Island, my hamstrings were on fire. They did NOT like the distance. On a dime I went from Jello legged to extremely sore and tired, and I still had to get through this last half hour.
The winding road from 17-20 which I usually know so well seemed like foreign soil. My pace didn't falter, but that was simply out of habit over the last 2 hours rather than willpower. If my pace changed, my stride changed, and if my stride changed.....it hurt.
17-18 felt long.
18-19 felt like an eternity. 19-20 was a desperate attempt to outrun my pain.
Fumbling inside my door, I tried to consume all I could that would benefit my recovery. Sweet potatoes, Gatorade, avocado, etc.
There is nothing worse than knowing you HAVE to eat when your body just doesn't want it. I spent 5 minutes chewing avocado, and that shit is just mush to begin with.
I sit here now, 4 hours removed from finishing that run, staring at my calves twitching like they're having some sort of seizure.
Tomorrow is going to be a rough day.
For me the longest run was during the previous summer's long weekend, a distance of 17 miles. But thinking about it this week, I got the idea in my head to go for 20. My long runs this summer have been getting longer and longer, and I've handled them rather well, so I took my favorite 10miler, and simply turned it into an out-and-back 20miler.
I strolled out of my house and through the first 5 miles. Long Slow Distance runs (LSDs) are pretty easy for most of the way, it's just the time you are physically running that kills you in the long run (PUN).
The first 10miles peeled away with minimal effort. I lazily checked my watch every couple of miles, unconcerned with pace, just rolling along the long, soft hills of the northwest.
You know what, I don't usually like these runs but it's a perfect 75 degree day, I'm along the lake, the Blue Angels are out, this is fun
I reach the end of the first 10 miles without discomfort. 1:09:30. Not a bad pace. After a few minutes of stretching and buying bottled water, I turn and start plodding back the way I came, a plastic water bottle in each hand.
The second part of my run covered 10-16. These 6 miles I was growing anxious. I took in water every 10 minutes or so, and by 14.5 the first bottle was gone, a not-insignificant part ON me rather than IN me.
10-16miles was a completely separate part of the run because I was slowly getting Jello legged. I wasn't really that tired, but I felt it coming.
16-20 is its own part, because these 4 miles were absolute hell.
Mile 16-17 was entirely uphill. As I crested the bike-path on-ramp back onto Mercer Island, my hamstrings were on fire. They did NOT like the distance. On a dime I went from Jello legged to extremely sore and tired, and I still had to get through this last half hour.
The winding road from 17-20 which I usually know so well seemed like foreign soil. My pace didn't falter, but that was simply out of habit over the last 2 hours rather than willpower. If my pace changed, my stride changed, and if my stride changed.....it hurt.
17-18 felt long.
18-19 felt like an eternity. 19-20 was a desperate attempt to outrun my pain.
Fumbling inside my door, I tried to consume all I could that would benefit my recovery. Sweet potatoes, Gatorade, avocado, etc.
There is nothing worse than knowing you HAVE to eat when your body just doesn't want it. I spent 5 minutes chewing avocado, and that shit is just mush to begin with.
I sit here now, 4 hours removed from finishing that run, staring at my calves twitching like they're having some sort of seizure.
Tomorrow is going to be a rough day.
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