I can tell this week is going to be rough. The feeling started somewhere around the eighth mile of my 12-miler on Sunday, which came on the heels of an intense six-miler at race pace on Saturday night. It was hot. It was humid. I was dying. And then the week began.
This is going to be a crazed week of meeting work deadlines and rearranging my life. I scheduled a three-mile recovery run on Monday, but was too busy to get to it until 11:30 last night. And I wasn't in the mood for it then.
So this morning [I hate the way this sentence ends] I got up early to run before work. For the second time in as many weeks. It was awful. And I vow not to get up that early again unless there is a race. Man, I hate the morning.
And to make it worse, there was something in the air that hit my nose funny, either dust or pollen. I could barely breathe, and I was firing off snot rockets that would shock and awe many of you. I was a mobile nostril barrage of left-right, left-right. It wasn't fun, but my legs needed the active recovery.
Next up is my track work, and I'm not sure I'll be able to get to the track I've been using this time. I may need to find an alternative.
But back to that 12-miler. Worst run yet. I was keeping up a 10-minute mile pace for the first half, while my goal pace was at most 9:52 per mile, but I was OK with it because of the weather. However, on the way back I started to fall apart.
I started taking walk breaks every mile and even stopped on a bench to rest a minute. I felt gassed and defeated. I blamed the heat. I blamed the lack of hydration [I need to start carrying water]. But then again, it could have been because it was the third consecutive week of increased mileage.
This is a stepback week. Thank goodness, because it's also a very hectic week.