Where excuses don’t amount to much

Jogging (slowly) home from the track this morning I felt a fraction of the man I once was, dead tired, but yet with a waning grin on my face. With the sun shining, clear, crisp blue skies and nothing but scarce faded leaves to keep me company, the workout today felt like the calm before the storm, day #1 on my road south.

The schedule called for 3x 2-miles and based on last week’s half marathon I decided on a pace time ranging from 11:58 to 12:08. Jogging the once familiar 4-km to the field didn’t do anything to quell my anxiety; I was a young child standing under the classroom doorway on his first day of school. Perhaps it’s the cold evaluating nature of the track; there’s nowhere to hide, and where excuses don’t amount to much. This was my first real test since April, and I was scared shitless.

The first mile was uneventful but with 1200m to go, I felt abandoned, running in no-man’s-land, lacking in both cardiovascular fitness and leg speed I was reliant solely on guts and determination. That said, with the first interval behind me the subsequent two fell into place, each lap a reminder though of the daunting goal I’ve set for myself and the vast amount of work ahead. The times speak for themselves (AHR, MAX).

12:03 (161, 168)
11:59 (160, 167)
12:04 (161, 165)

Despite being content with my accomplishment, my ego took a drubbing when I compared today’s session to the one I completed on March 7 (about 5 weeks out of London), my only consolation being I’m 13 weeks from Phoenix.

11:08 (160, 164)
11:13 (158, 163)
11:05 (161, 166)
11:01 (163, 167)

Training:
Friday: 45:23 with 5x strides (1’)
Saturday: 1:21:32 with 3x 2-miles (2’), AHR 145, MAX 168