“Nobody really cares if you’re miserable, so you might as well be happy.” ~Cynthia Nelms
Good point, Cynthia.
I was happy yesterday. But circumstances have made it tough to be joyous today, this Tuesday.
Since you probably don’t care that much about my level of happiness, I will just have to get over myself and tell you about yesterday’s high times at the track.
No. Really. High. Like I was coming around for my final warm-up lap and, WHAM, pot smoke right in the face. I don’t care whether or not people want to use that stuff, but it is so stinky; just really gross, especially when you are running. Next lap, though, it was gone, so it must’ve been someone just walking by somewhere. (Although, I gotta be honest, I sort of wondered if it had hung around…would I have felt the effects during my speedwork?)
Other things you should know about Tuesday’s track workout:
- I wrote my times on my arm so I wouldn’t forget what I was supposed to be doing.
- The north straightaway of the track was heading into the wind.
- The air was cold and it was very cloudy, very low light.
- For jogging and rest intervals, I stuck to Lane 5. For repeats, I used Lane 1.
- There was an older man with matted bed-head hair wearing baggy high-water jeans, a hoodie and mega headphones walking on the outter-most lane when I began my workout. As the workout progressed, he got closer and closer. I assume he must be one of those people who measures his workout by “rings,” as in every two laps, move in a lane. He was polite and didn’t use Lane 1 at the end of his walk – instead, I noticed, he stayed in Lane 2.
- I wore black UnderArmour leggings, a black Skirt Sports skirt, my yellow long-sleeved North Olympic Discovery Marathon race shirt and a black “Run” Bondiband.
Here’s how the rest of it went:
1.3 mile warm up
I took this nice and slow, and did a lot of strides, butt-kicks and high-knees to get my legs warmed up. I’m sure I looked like a total dork to the few high-schoolers who were still hanging out in the parking lot. Ran through pot smoke with head-swiveling trying to figure out where it was coming from and then laughing that someone would do that so close to school. (I’m a rule-follower, so…)
Goal: 1600 m (1 mile) in 7:42
I was surprised, at first, how difficult this pace was. I know I shouldn’t have been, but since it wasn’t the 7:16 pace I had to do last week, I guess I just thought it would be easier. It was nice to do this at the track, though, so I could count down the laps: just two to go…just one to go…half a lap to go…use your glutes, WOMAN!
400 m rest interval
I had to walk for a minute, and then I slowly jogged a lap.
Goal: 1200 m (.75 of a mile) in 5:39 (7:32 pace)
Actual: 5:38 (7:32 pace)
For some reason, this 1200 seemed easier than the 1600. Only one less lap at a faster pace! Not sure why I was able to hit this pace more easily than the 7:42.
400 m rest
I, again, had to walk for a minute, then continued the lap at a jog.
Goal: 800 m (.5 of a mile) in 3:42 (7:24 pace)
Actual: 3:43 (7:25 pace)
I thought I had it, then I hit the wind during the second half of the lap. I had a hard time getting my pace back down after that.
Walked and jogged.
Goal: 400 m (.25 of a mile) in 1:49 (7:16 pace)
Actual: .26 in 1:52 (7:17 pace)
It took me the entire lap to get my pace down.
10 minute cool down (actual 9:30)
I cut out 30 seconds early since I was on the side of the track nearer to my car and I needed to pick up T Junior, and get home to get ready for girls night with Chelsea (Will Run for Food), Zoe (Run, Zoe, Run), Mel (Tall Mom on the Run) and Jill (Running to Sanity).
Prior to the track workout, I’d spent a couple hours cleaning our belongings out of our travel trailer that we haven’t used in 3 years. Needed to get it ready to go to the dealer and to make more room for the new coach. This counts as cross training.
After that it was time to head to dinner with Chelsea, Mel, Zoe and Jill. We met for Greek last year, and we wanted to go again. Just dinner, no running or anything. Of course, that was a big topic, but the night wasn’t centered around it.
You know what’s dangerous: 5 bloggers with alcohol and cameras.
I can’t describe the dinner, just that when I left, I felt so blessed to have met these women – all of whom I’ve met through running/blogging since I started this whole journey in 2009. Here’s my favorite picture of the night (Just one more before we go home!):
I’ll post more pictures tomorrow or Thursday.
I AM THE OLDEST PERSON IN THIS GROUP. I’M OLD!
End side bar.
We laughed a lot. In fact, hopefully the restaurant will let us come back. Once, when Jill and I were cracking up over nothing (just basically laughing at each other laughing – yeah it was one of those nights), I cried a little.
Tuesday morning, though, I cried for a different reason.
First, I woke up at 3:45 a.m. I don’t know why I woke up, but I was extremely thirsty and didn’t feel so well. Seems half a bottle of wine paired with too much garlicky Greek food after 7:30 p.m. is not the best idea. I couldn’t fall back asleep, so at 4:30, I decided to just get up. My alarm clock was set for 5 anyway.
Fine. I accepted I would be tired.
But then, as I was driving to work in the dark, a bunny leaped into my lane! I stepped on the brakes and glanced in my rearview mirror. There was someone in a van or truck close behind me. I couldn’t risk either a) swerving off the road or b) getting rearended. I had to hit the rabbit. I had no choice. I felt the thwack as it went under my car and when I glanced in my rearview mirror again, I saw tufts of fur flying up in the air behind me lit up by red taillights and the other van’s headlights.
At first I was in shock. I just killed a bunny. A poor, innocent, fluffy-tailed bunny. I bit my lip. Then I burst into tears. I tried to get it together. I asked God to please take care of the little bunny. Then I burst into tears again. Then I composed myself again. Then I imagined the little bunny just going about its morning routine and how it probably didn’t expect to die that day and I burst into tears…again. I cried off and on all the way to work.
Nothing makes you feel more like a big, bad human than killing a defenseless piece of living nature with your over-due-for-an-oil-change minivan.
My coworkers (all men) were nice about it (they only laughed a little and called me “bunny-killer” a few times), and tried to help cheer me up. One of our graphic designers even suggested maybe the bunny was really sick and wanted to “just end it all.” I’m going to go with that.
Have you ever hit an animal with your car? Have you ever run through pot smoke? Geez. I’ve had a weird couple of days.