Missed it, again. But, I did have a great time tailgating at Foxboro/Gillette and watching a rainy Patriots win.
I am a bit worried about continually missing these long runs. I tell myself it's okay, since I rarely ever run less than 6 miles, and exercise at least 4-5 days a week. I also tell myself it's best to err on the side of caution, since my leg has been hurting after all my runs and I still worry it might be a pre-stress fracture. But it's still not a good way to train, especially if I want to actually finish this one without walking.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Captain Speedypants I am not
But still, I've been having some fantastic runs lately.
Ah, fall. Perfect running weather, but so tragically shortlived. I can't help but feel a twinge of sadness as I run across the causeway, and see the perfectly glass-like surface of Pleasure Bay. This too, shall pass.
Last week, after my miserable 800s fail, I took some time off from running for the rest of the week. Did I feel a little guilty about missing my scheduled tempo run AND 10-miler? Yes. Yes I did. Especially because it had only 70% to do with "I'm tired" and 20% to do with beer. Or maybe the reverse.
Anyhoo, I've sworn off the track. With my relatively well-calibrated Nike+ system, I can do intervals on the road, which I much prefer to the monotony and wind-in-my-facedness of the Dot track.
Monday night I did an amazing 6-miler, most of which was a tempo run. I'd planned on doing 4 miles at tempo, but was already warmed up from a long walk home, so I set off at a jog and them kicked it up to a 9:45 or so pace for the remainder. When I realized I was about to close in on under an hour, I kicked it up and sprinted up 1st Street towards M Street field to make 6.01 miles at 59:52. When I got to the end, gasping for air and laughing, I was so glad I'd decided to run instead of study (though that decision had me falling asleep in bed reading Montaigne the next night, but I digress).
Last night I did 800s/half mile repeats along the same route, sometimes with a pace under 8:30. And managed to do all 4 of them, each faster than the first. Ending, again, at M Street field. Again, out of breath and laughing, limping up the stairs, and doing some stretches in the grass while the neighborhood men's beer league had their softball championships.
I'm definitely set in my running route ways by now. I love this route so much I can't see changing it, but I know I need to. I have a terrifying 8 mile tempo run on my schedule (UGH) and that is just not going to fit in with my carefully planned out down-the-coast-around-an-island-and-ending-at-a-ballpark perfect running route.
Saturday I'm going to get that 10-miler in.
Ah, fall. Perfect running weather, but so tragically shortlived. I can't help but feel a twinge of sadness as I run across the causeway, and see the perfectly glass-like surface of Pleasure Bay. This too, shall pass.
Last week, after my miserable 800s fail, I took some time off from running for the rest of the week. Did I feel a little guilty about missing my scheduled tempo run AND 10-miler? Yes. Yes I did. Especially because it had only 70% to do with "I'm tired" and 20% to do with beer. Or maybe the reverse.
Anyhoo, I've sworn off the track. With my relatively well-calibrated Nike+ system, I can do intervals on the road, which I much prefer to the monotony and wind-in-my-facedness of the Dot track.
Monday night I did an amazing 6-miler, most of which was a tempo run. I'd planned on doing 4 miles at tempo, but was already warmed up from a long walk home, so I set off at a jog and them kicked it up to a 9:45 or so pace for the remainder. When I realized I was about to close in on under an hour, I kicked it up and sprinted up 1st Street towards M Street field to make 6.01 miles at 59:52. When I got to the end, gasping for air and laughing, I was so glad I'd decided to run instead of study (though that decision had me falling asleep in bed reading Montaigne the next night, but I digress).
Last night I did 800s/half mile repeats along the same route, sometimes with a pace under 8:30. And managed to do all 4 of them, each faster than the first. Ending, again, at M Street field. Again, out of breath and laughing, limping up the stairs, and doing some stretches in the grass while the neighborhood men's beer league had their softball championships.
I'm definitely set in my running route ways by now. I love this route so much I can't see changing it, but I know I need to. I have a terrifying 8 mile tempo run on my schedule (UGH) and that is just not going to fit in with my carefully planned out down-the-coast-around-an-island-and-ending-at-a-ballpark perfect running route.
Saturday I'm going to get that 10-miler in.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
When life gives you FAIL...
Last night, after an soul-suckingly unproductive day at work, I went to the track to do my first 800s workout. 4x800. I admit, I was nervous, but kind of excited to sprint out the frustrations of the day.
Fail fail fail.
My target pace was 4:22/800, which is about an 8:45 pace or so. I couldn't even manage that. I got 4:33 for the first one and 4:32 for the second. And then I was done. I just couldn't do any more. 2x800 crap.
It's either my body or my mind that betrays me. I'm not even sure which. But as I was jogging slowly to the start of the lane, giving myself a pep talk that if I could "just do one more, just one, then you can stop" I found myself just walking away. Through the gates, towards the road. And jogging off into, quite literally, the sunset. It's like my mind, through the pep talk, always just makes my body do what it wants.
It took awhile to get my breath back. I walked for a bit. Cursed myself. Wondered if I should just give up on running. If after a year of regular running and exercise, a 9 minute mile still feels like a dead sprint to me, it might just be time to find a new hobby. I'm not exaggerating - a 9-minute mile feels like a DEAD. SPRINT. I'm beginning to wonder if the only reason I did so well in my last 5k is because the course was incorrectly measured.
Anyhoo, I'm walking home all Debbie Downer and blowing my nose on my Ronald McDonald House tech shirt, when I decide on a whim to take off my shoes, jump the short sea wall, and do absolute-top-speed beach sprints barefoot. About 25 seconds each, jogging slowly back to the start, I think I did 5 or 6, and the sun was setting and frankly, it was amazing.
Just what I needed.
Fail fail fail.
My target pace was 4:22/800, which is about an 8:45 pace or so. I couldn't even manage that. I got 4:33 for the first one and 4:32 for the second. And then I was done. I just couldn't do any more. 2x800 crap.
It's either my body or my mind that betrays me. I'm not even sure which. But as I was jogging slowly to the start of the lane, giving myself a pep talk that if I could "just do one more, just one, then you can stop" I found myself just walking away. Through the gates, towards the road. And jogging off into, quite literally, the sunset. It's like my mind, through the pep talk, always just makes my body do what it wants.
It took awhile to get my breath back. I walked for a bit. Cursed myself. Wondered if I should just give up on running. If after a year of regular running and exercise, a 9 minute mile still feels like a dead sprint to me, it might just be time to find a new hobby. I'm not exaggerating - a 9-minute mile feels like a DEAD. SPRINT. I'm beginning to wonder if the only reason I did so well in my last 5k is because the course was incorrectly measured.
Anyhoo, I'm walking home all Debbie Downer and blowing my nose on my Ronald McDonald House tech shirt, when I decide on a whim to take off my shoes, jump the short sea wall, and do absolute-top-speed beach sprints barefoot. About 25 seconds each, jogging slowly back to the start, I think I did 5 or 6, and the sun was setting and frankly, it was amazing.
Just what I needed.
Friday, September 4, 2009
I am not going back to school
Back in possibly December, I mentioned that I was applying to a graduate program at the college where I work. One of the major major perks of working at a college is, of course, free tuition! I'm pretty smart (i.e. I know some big words and don't cross the street into traffic) but I've never been much of a school person. However, I'm much older than I was during undergrad, and felt this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
During my first year of work, I'd been deliberating over which program I wanted to pursue, and ultimately decided to go for my first choice, Publishing & Writing. This was risky on a couple levels. First off, this program is the most selective in the whole college. Of the 200+ applications they get every year, only 50 or so are admitted each year. Staff doesn't get any preferential treatment in the application process either - we are treated just like any other applicant and have to go through the same process, including recommendation letter, GRE, deposit, etc. I hit several snags in the process, including taking the GRE in a massive snowstorm, not thinking I was going to be able to get recommendation letters in on time, massive writer's block while writing my essay, and realizing via my transcripts that I failed Community Chorus sophomore year of college. Yep. I'd thought that was just some sort of bad recurring dream that I stopped going to a class and forgot to drop it. Not so much. Totally real.
Despite all of that, I managed to make it onto the waitlist in May. However, this past Tuesday I got the little ol' rejection letter. Wah wahhhhh.
I don't feel so bad about it, really. I tried, and I tried HARD. And I'll try again, I think. I can only take three graduate classes before I have to "matriculate or go home", and I've only taken one, so I've got the next year to dig in, get some As, and BFF it up with some of the professors in the department. So that's that.
I'm half going back to school, so I'm half running a marathon.
Yesterday did 4x400 @ 8:20/mile on the treadmill, then out to my friends' new house in the 'burbs to knock down some sheetrock. Which was AWESOME. Who knew I was so great at demolition?
This is why I work out/train/exercise, whatever you want to call it. So I'm the first person my friends think of when they need to knock down a wall. So that my hands are calloused enough from kettlebell swings that I can hold onto a crowbar without wincing and putting on gloves. So that I can knock down an entire wall in the time it takes both my friends to knock down half the same size wall. And so that afterwards, I can confidently walk into the Chinese restaurant down the street wearing jorts and a Doug Mirabelli t-shirt and order two scorpion bowls and still make it to work at 8am.
During my first year of work, I'd been deliberating over which program I wanted to pursue, and ultimately decided to go for my first choice, Publishing & Writing. This was risky on a couple levels. First off, this program is the most selective in the whole college. Of the 200+ applications they get every year, only 50 or so are admitted each year. Staff doesn't get any preferential treatment in the application process either - we are treated just like any other applicant and have to go through the same process, including recommendation letter, GRE, deposit, etc. I hit several snags in the process, including taking the GRE in a massive snowstorm, not thinking I was going to be able to get recommendation letters in on time, massive writer's block while writing my essay, and realizing via my transcripts that I failed Community Chorus sophomore year of college. Yep. I'd thought that was just some sort of bad recurring dream that I stopped going to a class and forgot to drop it. Not so much. Totally real.
Despite all of that, I managed to make it onto the waitlist in May. However, this past Tuesday I got the little ol' rejection letter. Wah wahhhhh.
I don't feel so bad about it, really. I tried, and I tried HARD. And I'll try again, I think. I can only take three graduate classes before I have to "matriculate or go home", and I've only taken one, so I've got the next year to dig in, get some As, and BFF it up with some of the professors in the department. So that's that.
I'm half going back to school, so I'm half running a marathon.
Yesterday did 4x400 @ 8:20/mile on the treadmill, then out to my friends' new house in the 'burbs to knock down some sheetrock. Which was AWESOME. Who knew I was so great at demolition?
This is why I work out/train/exercise, whatever you want to call it. So I'm the first person my friends think of when they need to knock down a wall. So that my hands are calloused enough from kettlebell swings that I can hold onto a crowbar without wincing and putting on gloves. So that I can knock down an entire wall in the time it takes both my friends to knock down half the same size wall. And so that afterwards, I can confidently walk into the Chinese restaurant down the street wearing jorts and a Doug Mirabelli t-shirt and order two scorpion bowls and still make it to work at 8am.
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