I’ve made up two jokes in my life. One is so weird you probably wouldn’t get it. The other one goes like this:
Q: “What do you call used coffee grounds?”
It certainly is not an un-apt description of what I felt like after yesterday’s Peabody’s 10K. And no, I’m not talking about having had my requisite cup of coffee before I left home, unlike another unfortunate blogger for SBAA (maybe that’s why you couldn’t catch me, Nichol!). Yes, I had my Peet’s, and my Gu Brew, and my super-special asthma warmup that involves running a half mile in 3:20 ten minutes before the gun. I also had a good night’s sleep, and was wearing my brand spankin’ new CW-X compression shorts…
But none of that kept me from feeling like “has-beans” yesterday. I had planned to go out at a 7 minute pace, and pick it up after the turnaround if I felt good. “Dream on!” my legs shouted to me as we hit the half mile mark in 3:35. They harrumphed at the mile, which we hit in 7:12, and stopped talking to me altogether by mile two (7:15). I thought I had sweet-talked them into behaving by mile three (7:04), but my 7:31 at mile four showed just who was in charge here. Clearly, they were going to run their own race, my delusions of grandeur notwithstanding. This, after I dropped $70 on the fancy pants, just for them! I don’t get no respect.
I suppose they could turn around and demand just what the heck I was thinking after making them work three consecutive 70-mile weeks, and then asking them to pile on some overtime to boot. I’ll probably be talking to their union rep soon. Or the labor board, for what I did to them miles five (7:07) and six (7:06) trying to catch Liz Groom (not). Or the police, for the lashing I gave them trying to outkick Ali during the last .2 miles (1:21, a 6:40 pace).
I stole these pics from Brian’s YouTube video in HIS blog. Apparently, text alone isn’t cool enough anymore. Hey, I’m tryin‘.
My finishing time, 44:39, was on a par with the 10K times I run when I’m using a race as a tempo. Which, as it turned out, was exactly what I was doing. My legs knew it. My coaches knew it. (“Mike and I looked at you and said, ‘She’s not racing,'” said Rusty post-mortem.) Even my husband Jeff knew it: “What did you expect, after getting up at 0-dark-thirty every morning, and putting in those kinda miles?”
On the upside, I had a smooth, steady 10-mile cooldown for a total of 20 for the morning. I even threw in a 7:30 mile at mile 19, just because I felt like it. (I also knew the training group had run 8 tempo miles, and I felt a little guilty). I really like the compression shorts; they feel snug and supportive, and I swear my legs felt less fatigued than usual.
Three more weeks, then the taper. Then: jumping beans!