I balanced the checkbook.
I did yoga. FOUR TIMES.
I washed the dog.
I did some trail maintainance - took down some deadfalls, rebuilt a bridge with Co, trimmed back lots of brush, took out some stumps.
BUT I DID NOT RUN. (much) For two interminably long weeks. I'd forgotten that Weekends actually lasted that long! Sure, I needed the time off. At first it didn't seem odd to not run and I happily crossed items off my dusty to do list. The three short easy runs I did the first week were sluggish, but enough to feel like I was still a runner. By week two, my 4 ersatz runs left a dull residue behind that colored the rest of the day. Some runners will talk about getting some snap back in their legs while resting - I wasn't feeling that, and I was starting to get darkly suspicious that this resting gig was going to make me lose the fitness I was hoping to build. I didn't feel like a runner anymore, I felt like a pretender. If disgruntled had a color, I was wearing it.
Tuesday of my first week back running = 2.5 mile Handicap Race. That's what I wanted, something to test how well the resting treated me. I should get a PR. After 2 weeks off, I should be totally ready for a little 2.5 mile race. I even stated my intention to try to PR to the guys, and GL offered to help by pacing me. Perfect. The temp was a little warm, maybe, but otherwise conditions were good. I told GL that the first mile had to be 7:10 or under, and I wanted to finish under 19 minutes. We started, and the pace immediately just felt incredibly hard. After the first mile in 6:57, I was toast. Then came the hills. I didn't just have one fork in me, I was skewered from stem to stern - I was that done. I slouched across the line in 20:04. I was miserable, light headed, and dejected.
I came up with several explanations. I laughed about not being quite ready for that PR after all with the guys. I binned the excuses. It was what it was. The next few runs I completed with a slight air of resignation, and they were no better in terms of pace or feel. The next week's handicap run was even worse - and the next day I had set up to run up the mountain on Three Gun Springs trail with MB.
It sounds challenging and bad-ass, but I knew it was an out and back, MB would go ahead at his pace, and I could do whatever I could manage (or less) and it'd be fine. Plus, MB tells me that it's really only ~2.5 miles to the top. So no big deal.
About half way up - MB already out of sight ahead of me, I found a little "zone." Well, that's nice, I thought, in a patronizing tone. I can still run. Another half mile along I was still running, and my snark must have taken a wrong turn, because it was gone. Sunset was hastening down the mountain while I ran through forested sections. MB caught me, and I turned around. It was a great run, whether I deserved it or not.
Thursday speed work went ok, and the Friday 9 miler felt pretty good, though I overheated a bit in the beginning. I was really preoccupied with my Saturday plans. I needed a long run with the ski hill in it to get ready for Jemez, so I planned on going from my house up the ski hill to the 10K trail and Osha spring loop for 20 miles. I wasn't going to have any company, but I was going to do this run. No bailing. That morning, I dawdled around, and finally kicked myself out the door at 11:30 in shorts and a t-shirt. The overcast sky happily meant I wouldn't need to reapply sunscreen. I brought the trimmers with me so I could do a little bush trimming on my route. The run became somewhat laughable as I got snowed on, sleeted on, and rained on while I postholed through scattered snow patches on the 10K trail trying not to think about being cold. I cut the route short as I had taken much too long, and skipped the Osha Spring loop. While short, slow, cold and wet, the run left me optimistic for no particularly good reason.
Sunday I was set to run easy with DP along the bosque - nice and flat. I took in some protein in the form of gnats during the 9 miles. It felt good, though I was a "miguel" to DP's "mark." Later that evening, the goodness wrapped around me like swaddling. That was a great weekend of running. I did what I wanted to do, and it was good. So simple.
I have a race this weekend, so Monday's recovery run was kept strictly to a slow easy pace and route. And today, Tuesday's handicap race... I had toyed with the notion of running it hard, but decided against it to better save myself for the weekend.Which I told the guys - no PR attempt today.
"Every plan is good until the first shot is fired."
The guys were going easy too. Right out of the gate, I felt really, really good. I quickly decide to make this a fartlek run instead - run the first mile hard, then take a half mile easy, then do the last mile hard. So off I go, leaving the guys to their easy pace. I hear CS comment, "she is running fast today" followed by the sound of his approaching footsteps. Cool, company. We go through the first mile in 7:03, and the effort still feels easy and right. With CS there, looking at me, I push on - should be able to go 19:30, even if I fall apart.
The hills were hard - I lost some ground, and had to pick it back up. I got to the road, ~3/4 of a mile left in 13:18. "Dang" I said to CS, still next to me or just in front pulling me along. That was too slow. It takes me 6 minutes or more to run the last section, which meant a 19:18 today at best. CS wasn't having any of that, though. And since I didn't have the breath to explain it, he kept pulling. It wasn't feeling so great anymore, now it just felt hard.
"Use the wind at your back"
"doing great"
"just 400 left, come on"
"200, time to sprint!"
I passed the tree stump in 19:07. A PR tie, but to me, it's as good as a PR, it's the confirmation I needed that maybe I just needed a little time to find that running groove again.
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