The SoCal Winter Night

Once a week at this point in the season, I hop onto the track to do some hard speed, but nothing more than 6 reps and nothing over 300m. Working my way back into it. Usually distance runners do hills, but I've never been a fan.

Tonight, it was 2x(300,200,150), going 41-26-18/42-27-19

Speed yes, Speed endurance no.

I jog around in the dark catching my breath, catching my stride. This cool night tips 50 degrees at most. Perfect.

My mind starts to wander, to think about the repressed track glory held inside throughout cross country.

I think about what I can do in this workout in March.

I think about the possibility of winning the alumi 1000m loop potentially 4 times.

I think about running 3:54 and hitting the NCAA provisional standard.

I think about running 3:48 and breaking the school record.

I think about getting hurt and running 4:05.

I think about Icing after this workout.

I think about my form, and how it needs to be fixed.

I think about my plan for the winter, and how it needs to be fixed.



I remember winning.



I remember the feeling of passing people like they're standing still.

I remember getting passed like I was standing still.

But mostly, I remember racing. That feeling with 600m to go when you know you're in it, and you don't know who feels good, but you know you do.

I have a distinct memory of every race I've ever won. Coming off of the turn to see the line. pushing, pushing, pushing.

Not knowing whether or not you're going to get caught, if you can hold on, if you can win.

Not knowing what you are capable of.

I remember the workouts being hard, but I don't really remember them in detail.

I remember racing.

I remember staring at my Victories as they edge the line. My heart rate drops into my stomach. I'm nervous. I'm worried. I'm shaking. The gun goes. I'm running, and I always settle. Always.

I honestly believe that I will run anywhere from 3:50 to 3:54 this season, and I can't see a damn reason why not.