Friday, March 2

He Didn’t Stand a Chance

Heading out the door, I turned to see my tea still on the counter; I hadn’t touched it since I had a sip to see if it was too hot, it was.

I felt like a boxer this morning, a prizefighter preparing for the main event. Stepping out onto my canvas, the street, and turning left down an already worn path only to find a punk deep into his tempo, leaning his punches with the discarded skittishness of a boxer on the way to making his fortune by knocking out a champion.

What was he thinking; surely he saw the fire burning in my eyes? Had he mistaken the efficiency of my movements for a sign of weariness, aging? Couldn’t he feel the white-hot furnace burning in my chest?

He stepped up and threw a right, but while doing so, dropping his left. I really didn’t need this disruption, but with determined motion, I swung back. He folded up and went down as if pre-set, like a light on a timer. He didn’t stand a chance.

I have nothing left to prove, not even to myself.
_________________________________________________

I no longer feel like that prizefighter, perhaps instead more reminiscent of Simon & Garfunkel’s Boxer:

In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade. And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him til he cried out in his anger and his shame I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains”.

The warm-up was jovial enough and I even felt good on the tempo, that’s where the enjoyment ended.

I felt smooth rounding the first 200 and despite the wind expected to see my usual fast start reflected in the split. I’m not sure if I was comforted or disheartened, when expecting a 36, I was rewarded with a 39 (high). That’s when I knew I had me a battle. I wish I could tell you that at some point I settled into a rhythm, I didn’t. It’s not that they were a struggle though, but, it’s just all I had. I felt flat.

2:36 (154, 167)
2:35 (158, 165)
2:37 (157, 165)
2:37 (155, 163)
2:35 (155, 166)
2:34 (155, 167)

My appreciation goes out Brad, Chris and Sylvan who braved the wind on a chilly Friday evening, when I’m sure they had more enjoyable things to do.

I need a Guinness…

Training:
A.M. an effortless 45:38, I opened in a 6:47 & closed in a 6:44
P.M. a war was waged and I’m not sure who won. 1:18:30, 10’ at 10-k effort, followed by 6x800, AHR 136, MAX 167

6 comments:

Mark said...

looks like a number of doubles for you.

I skipped my a.m., felt tired, but now ready-didn't want to muscle through it

is your log posted somewhere?

Michael said...

Hey Mark,

For what it’s worth, I “always” feel tired on my morning runs. And, you’ll be glad to know, although perhaps not as happy as I, that this is my last double for the week. Three in a row is ridiculous.

No, I don’t post my training log anywhere. I’m being coached and don’t know that it’d be fair to broadcast the schedule. That said, I realize that a keen/detailed person could always read this blog. C’est la vie…

How are you feeling about Boston, getting excited?

Anonymous said...

Do you know where the Finn Files went?

Chris said...

Again thanks for the track w/o.

I like that:

CK: "Brad what are you training for"?
BC: "Nothing".
ML: "Bullshit".
BC: "Okay a 30k Around the Bay and a 55k in Iceland".
CK: "Yeah that's nothing".

tremillar said...

lordie-you're a machine. i just read through your week.
ps: RIP finn files & two roads (now you're going to have to write poetry AND sing & dance)

somebody said...

酒店經紀人,菲梵酒店經紀,酒店經紀,禮服酒店上班,酒店小姐,便服酒店經紀,酒店打工,酒店寒假打工,酒店經紀,酒店經紀,專業酒店經紀,合法酒店經紀,酒店暑假打工,酒店兼職,便服酒店工作,酒店打工經紀,制服酒店經紀,專業酒店經紀,合法酒店經紀,酒店暑假打工,酒店兼職,便服酒店工作,酒店打工,酒店經紀,制服酒店經紀,酒店經紀