I went out for a nas-tay nighttime run yesterday — you know, the kind where you feel the contents of your nose crystalizing and the sweat has frozen onto your eyelashes and you come home with those tell-tale rosy red cheeks that look festive but really just indicate another hour or so out there and you would have had a swell case of the frostbites?
It was actually closer to four miles (not that it matters), but when I started out, for some reason el Garmin (and I say that tongue-in-cheek, in the same way one might refer to a certain south American dictator as el Presidente) told me I was running something like a 5:00 pace. PSH. In my dreams. So I stopped, reset the damn thing, started running again and it found my actual pace. Annoying.
I have come to depend on that blasted gadget far more than I ever thought possible. I can tolerate forgoing the ipod when I run at night, but if el Garmin goes janky on me for even a second, I have a panic attack.
Oh well. At least it’s not cocaine.
My intent for this run was negative splits but I overestimated how fast I could go and I ended up doing something like a reverse-tempo.
Something else annoying: it was around 6 p.m. and traffic was ridicutarded. I was running in my neighborhood and only had to cross one major road, but I had stand there for a good minute or so and wait for a seemingly endless line of cars to pass before I could cross. All the while growing colder as my heart rate fell.
I always stop my timer when these things happen because I like my data better when it isn’t skewed by, shall we say, external obstacles. It just looks prettier, right? But I think it’s only fair to keep the timer on when you have to stop or slow down due to your own ability…although I’m guilty of doing it then too. So if you want to tack an extra minute-fourteen onto my time up there, go right ahead.
Anyway.
All day I was dreaming of having a nice cold beer after my run but after I got back, iced my legs and took a bath and sat down in front of a nice hot bowl of chicken noodle soup, the beer just didn’t seem all that important anymore. Since this does not happen very often, I decided not to force it.
Feels like I’m getting back on track. I have returned to my regularly scheduled running routine, and I even went and signed up for the Jingle Bell 5k Saturday. (I’ll let you know if I end up regretting it.) I’ve done this race once or twice, but this year they are handing out annoying bells for everyone to wear on their shoes. Maybe that extra .5 ounces everyone ELSE will be carrying is just the advantage I need to win me an age group award?
Picture me with thumbs up: “EHHHH???!”
Today: I am going to work out indoors, specifically in my living room. And it’s going to be glorious. And then we’ll see about that beer.
Cheaper Than Therapy 