In typical fashion, I've waited until the last possible moment to worry about my next race. I've certainly put in the miles, but my speed work leaves something to be desired. Something like speed.
My combined tempos and intervals amounted to just 15 miles in June, the last workouts being three weeks ago. So perhaps you can imagine how my intervals went last night. Something like Yeesh!
For the second time all year I went to the track and did some 800-meter repeats. I was aiming for a range of 3:32-3:41.9 for each 800.
Repeat 1: My body felt like it was doing everything but going forward. My gait was Willy Wonka-ish. My lungs felt encumbered by bowling balls. And I hate bowling. But somehow I managed a 3:25.
Repeat 2: It's amazing how 7 seconds too fast can affect the rest of the workout. My legs started to stride in something resembling an actual stride. My lungs however still felt bowling-balled. I finished in a huffing 3:59.
Repeat 3: I kept waiting for my lungs to snap to it. Kind of like remember, Oh yeah, we've done this before. Not on this evening. I strained for a 3:50.
Repeat 4: Canceled. I'd blame my running mate for feeling injured and wanting to call it a day, but I'm not sure I had another one in me.
But look at that. Not a single 800 in my goal range. Pathetic! How demoralizing. A sub-50 10K is feeling pipe dreamy. I celebrated my failure with some St. Pauli Girl lager.
I wonder how my tempo run tomorrow will go? I may need more St. Pauli Girl.
Rant of the Day
OK, so I have no problem sharing the lanes with a youth track team. I can even excuse these youngsters for their poor track etiquette, but the coaches? Fucking get out of my way!