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