Just as I got the motivation to buy a jump rope for those days when the weather shuts me down and the inspiration to
My six-miler last night put me near the edge of the Puke Threshold, even though my slow pace would not indicate such an effort. The Sand Run path was moderately plowed, in that the snow was not a foot deep, but the footing was loose and sloppy. My outbound trek was a slow, brutal slog with an imaginary dirge as the soundtrack.
I looked at my watch at the hilltop turnaround and was determined to mark a strong negative split. My feet pitter-pattered back down over my slushy footprints as my mind played a light and playful fiddle tune.
I passed Martini on his way outbound, and he said he was doing 10-minute miles. Pfft! Not me. I was sure I was killing it.
I was mistaken.
I indeed logged a strong negative split (about four minutes faster), but my return trip was right along with Martini, a 10-minute mile pace. The way I felt after that sixth mile and the time on my watch did not seem to jive. But that's the way it goes with theirs so much snow under your toes.
Wherein we welcome back an old blogging pal with some gentle razzing--no, not that Razzing.
Barefoot Josh suggests a form of cross training more appropriate than jump rope as I lead up to my race season opener: "Hopscotch is good too. Especially with hops. And scotch."
Answer: Damn. That $3 I spent on the jump rope could have helped secure more hops.
P.O.M. wants me to ... wait a minute, P.O.M.? Apparently, she's back from her six-month stint in the clink (that's my theory, anyway), and she wants to stir up my budding rivalry with Steve Stenzel: "Why don't you put on a speedo and post it--next to his pic, then we can all rate it ... just for fun??"
Answer: Sorry, I don't own a Speedo. I'd have to do it nude, and this is a family blog (except for the foul language, boozing, lewdness, banjo references and general lack of families).
Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!