Finding New Motivators

You just can't count on the youth of today. Sure, for a few weeks they might come through for you, but then one day they'll just flake out. No show. No warning. And that's it, you're left floundering.

Dark clouds were circling last night as Martini and I went to the track, but I had faith that the weather would hold. I eagerly anticipated the return of the youth track team to help motivate me.

I looked forward to watching the older kids run by me with their long, quick strides. (Two of them are really quite talented.) I couldn't wait to trample the little ones, who like to congregate in whichever lane I choose to run in, no matter what. I savored the thought clotheslining that one coach, who is even worse about being in my way but should know better. I craved the anger-induced push to finish each 800-meter interval.

But alas, the track was abandoned.

Where would my motivation come from? Occasionally, I could relish in blowing past Martini, but that wasn't enough. Thankfully, I had dinner plans and visions of cold draft beer, pickle martinis, fancy food, Laphroaig and cheese cake danced in my head while I knocked out my 800s.

[Drunkard's note: If you haven't learned the merits of Scotch and dessert, I beseech you to try it. Like right now.]

8x800 meters (3:38 - 3:48 pace goal)

1. 3:46
2. 3:45
3. 3:41
4. 3:48
5. 3:45
6. 3:43
7. 3:45
8. 3:45

My legs still felt sluggish from Sunday's 20-miler, but I managed to stay within my pace range for an average of 7:31 per mile. Booyah! Vanilla's 10K PR is in trouble. (Though, he actually seems serious about this half marathon PR.)

In celebration of sufficiently trouncing the best that Vanilla has to offer, I will raise many taste glasses on Saturday in triumph at the annual Blues & Brews. It'll be my very own little biathlon. Glory, here I come.