Intervals

For those of you who are reading this for humor, you might want to go ahead and skip this post because it's pretty solidly about running (I have to send something to NBC Chicago, remember?). Feel free to use this time to reread what happened to me on Saturday morning. Topics for discussion include: what would you have done if you were the naked puking guy? What would you have done if you were me? What can plunging a sink full of vomit be a metaphor for? Come back tomorrow with your insights.

Now, onto the running. As I mentioned, this morning was to be my first track workout since the days of Coach Yedowitz, when Megan hid behind the field house instead of running and Leslie and I made enemies with that annoying hurdler from Yorktown. And it was!

The track is a little less than a mile and a half from my apartment, so I set out at an easy pace to warm up. I had a cramp by the time I got to 2nd Avenue. This wasn't looking good.

I arrived to find the track moderately crowded for an early morning, but hopeful that, if other runners were focused on their workouts, they were far less likely to notice me dry heaving in the straightaway. As I've explained, I don't really know how to do track workouts, especially not without Mitty shouting splits and threatening to add another set for every time Megan asked how many more sets we had. Nina suggested two of her workouts (and we all know Nina has both a passion for running and fond memories of workouts with her college coach) - 10 x 200m or 20 x 100m. I also took a peek at one of my marathon guides, which suggested 4 x 800m. That was, however, in the Advanced training plan, and given that this was my first track workout, I thought maybe I should work up to that level. Since 20 of anything sounds like a lot (except when it's miles into a race, at which point you still have 6.2... awesome), I went with 10 x 200m, with a 200m jog for recovery in between.

I had quite literally no idea how long this was meant to take. 2 minutes? We all know math isn't my strong suit. So I decided to run the first one at what I thought was a challenging but not uncomfortable pace and go from there. I ran my first 200 in 47 seconds, so I decided to set my goal at 45 seconds. I wish I had picked 2 minutes.

The first 5 were relatively easy and I finished comfortably in 43 seconds. But then I noticed that my evil running crush (a girl I see running most mornings who has many of the same race t-shirts I possess) was in fact doing 800s, and I felt inferior. 6-8 were 44 seconds. I needed water.

I managed to eek out the last 2 in 44 seconds only by throwing myself across the imaginary finish line (which is extra awkward when you're the only one "racing" and the "finish line" is in the middle of nowhere on the far side of a crowded track). Proud of my accomplishment and determined to work my way up to 800s, I set off for home. GODDAMNIT, I had another mile and a half to go.

Anyway, I made it, my legs are extra tired, and I want to go back to sleep. But, I am going to do it again (maybe not until next week though...) and if I don't break 4 hours in October, I'm going to spend the week after the race sitting on the bleachers by the track in the mornings drinking and tripping people as they go by.

P.S. That, by the by, is a picture of my sock this morning. I mean, I know I'm fast, but unless I'm so fast I should be budgeting Chicago prize money into my Christmas shopping, there's really no reason my right sock should have a burn mark in it...