Twas the night before Thursday when all down the road
Not a runner was running, not in this zip code
No, their shoes were tucked safely in their closets with care
In hopes that St. Spring would soon be there.
But off ran Psyche, her sights set straight ahead
Visions of Beardsley and Salazar dancing in her head...
Mad poetry skilz aside. My Tempo run was awesome last night! Which is something of a breakthrough, since I've come to dread the weekly Tempo run. It's like I can't get it right, and each session ends with a) disappointment, b) frustration, and c) a dip in confidence. Three things I most definitely do not like. So I set my sights on fixing this situation, and hit a home run last night.
Mixed sports metaphors aside. My first "fix" was to try to run this run on the deathmill. I figured part of the problem was that I spent a lot of time on the road focusing on running an even pace, which is really hard to do. It was causing me a lot of anxiety to constantly check Garmin (pbtn). However, this completely failed. I feel like the treadmill and my nervous system don't get along. Being forced into an unnatural, unchanging pace makes me want to commit unthinkable acts of defenestration on the 'mill.
But back to the home run. As with many great ideas, it was borne out of the need for efficiency. I need more miles this week + I always feel like I can't warm up enough for the tempo run =10-mile hilly loop and put the "tempo" in from miles 5-9.
Here's the stats:
8:19 Do a little dance
8:20 Make a little love
8:23 Get down tonight.
8:20 Get down tonight..
I felt so good! No matter that I couldn't get disco songs out of my head. No matter that mile 5 started on a downhill and ended on a huge climb. 8:19 says Garmin (pbtn).
No matter that my heart rate hits 400 when Cujo dog-thing comes dashing out of the bushes at me. (Bad Cujo! Go back home!) I ran completely by feel, and my splits were exactly on. 8:20 says Garmin (pbtn).
I was like a robot I was so locked on pace. A robot enjoying the drifts of snow while enduring the sweet pain of the dull ache as legs work hard. A robot who can't believe there's a Golden Retriever on this street who apparently wants to eat me. OMG. I am totally going to have to lie and say the Cujo dog-thing bit me, not this adorable Golden Retriever. People are so going to think I started it. Golden's don't bite! What is wrong with you, dog?!?!? It's like I was blogging about it as it was happening.
To cap off a perfect night, I watched 4 straight hours of Olympic bliss, and was totally uplifted by Lindsey Vonn and Shaun White.
I feel like I can do anything. Bring it, Mr. Winter.