Friday, June 30, 2006
Duel on a Darkened Track
I always knew we had a track nearby. It's not like when I lived in Shorewood, with a great track three blocks away. This is better because it's about three miles away - perfect distance for a warm-up and cooldown.
I don't quite know what it was that kept me away for so long. I'd run up to it once, but never on it. Knew it was there. Wasn't sure if it was open to the public or locked up. Most likely open - it's a safe neighborhood, and I'm sure it doesn't get a lot of use. It's weird, but I think I needed to get to a certain point of training in which I needed a track before I could bring myself there. It doesn't make sense because I've spent enough time at tracks that any track should feel like a home away from home, but that's how it was.
So being the last day of my week, and in need of a light workout to finish things off, I turned South, and ran into St. Francis. I turned right at the high school. The Mariners. It was just at twilight, and the place was empty. It was just me and the sprinklers.
And the track was perfect. This is a lucky thing, a distance runner to live in close proximity to a flawless track. There wasn't even wear on lane one. My only complaint was the start seems pushed up so far -- like to the top of the key. But it's all equal after a lap, anyway.
I ran a few strides and went into my mile. It's early in my training -- what I think of as a pre-season -- so the workout was more like a splash in the face than a real wash. The first lap was a little slow, and I was slowly learning that pushing a jogging stroller five days a week is not just good resistance training. It was training me to run slowly. The second lap was better, and I approached goal pace. I ran out of the first turn of the third lap when oxygen debt hit me. It didn't knock me down or slow my pace. But it did wake me up. Oxygen debt in the third lap of a 6:00-pace mile.
That's fucking pathetic.
I was just angry with myself. If there were people watching, it would have been embarrassing. I breathed through it, and came in on time. The fourth lap went OK, as I resisted the urge to push to beat the pace, just trying to find some shred of consistency.
I added a bit more mileage and some strides, and it all went decent enough, but the great message of the workout was how utterly behind I still am. My body is shamefully out of touch with the concept of pace. It doesn't really matter how much weight I've lost or how many miles I run every week or how I feel at the end of my runs. This workout described to me the chasm of difference between fitness and strength, casual and serious.
The thing that bothers me the most, is I can sit here right now and understand how much work I have to do and what I need to do to get it done, but I know that I really don't fully appreciate how far behind I am and how much it is going to hurt. I've been running for 15 of my 29 years and I really have no conception for what it takes to run fast.
I don't quite know what it was that kept me away for so long. I'd run up to it once, but never on it. Knew it was there. Wasn't sure if it was open to the public or locked up. Most likely open - it's a safe neighborhood, and I'm sure it doesn't get a lot of use. It's weird, but I think I needed to get to a certain point of training in which I needed a track before I could bring myself there. It doesn't make sense because I've spent enough time at tracks that any track should feel like a home away from home, but that's how it was.
So being the last day of my week, and in need of a light workout to finish things off, I turned South, and ran into St. Francis. I turned right at the high school. The Mariners. It was just at twilight, and the place was empty. It was just me and the sprinklers.
And the track was perfect. This is a lucky thing, a distance runner to live in close proximity to a flawless track. There wasn't even wear on lane one. My only complaint was the start seems pushed up so far -- like to the top of the key. But it's all equal after a lap, anyway.
I ran a few strides and went into my mile. It's early in my training -- what I think of as a pre-season -- so the workout was more like a splash in the face than a real wash. The first lap was a little slow, and I was slowly learning that pushing a jogging stroller five days a week is not just good resistance training. It was training me to run slowly. The second lap was better, and I approached goal pace. I ran out of the first turn of the third lap when oxygen debt hit me. It didn't knock me down or slow my pace. But it did wake me up. Oxygen debt in the third lap of a 6:00-pace mile.
That's fucking pathetic.
I was just angry with myself. If there were people watching, it would have been embarrassing. I breathed through it, and came in on time. The fourth lap went OK, as I resisted the urge to push to beat the pace, just trying to find some shred of consistency.
I added a bit more mileage and some strides, and it all went decent enough, but the great message of the workout was how utterly behind I still am. My body is shamefully out of touch with the concept of pace. It doesn't really matter how much weight I've lost or how many miles I run every week or how I feel at the end of my runs. This workout described to me the chasm of difference between fitness and strength, casual and serious.
The thing that bothers me the most, is I can sit here right now and understand how much work I have to do and what I need to do to get it done, but I know that I really don't fully appreciate how far behind I am and how much it is going to hurt. I've been running for 15 of my 29 years and I really have no conception for what it takes to run fast.
