After last weeks poor performance, I decided to abandon the six-mile course that I love.
After two successful runs on the 10k path, my third try failed to meet the criteria for a good run.
I had to stop and walk four times in the last three miles.
Even though I backed off on the amount of leg work in my weight workouts, it was not enough to allow my body to rebuild between long runs.
So I am giving up on the 10k distance.
So, this past Saturday, I was present and accounted for for the old, tried and true 3.6 mile hill course.
The weather was cool and pleasant.
As was the case the week before, I did not get a nap on Friday, which put more pressure on me to get a bit more good sleep Friday night.
Which did not happen.
So I woke up at 4 AM.
I forced myself to go back to sleep, and dozed for the next hour or so, until my alarm ever so gently mumbled its quiet announcement.
I was ready to get to the task at hand.
This, in spite of the feeling a bit tired.
I started out gently, hoping all joints and connective tissue were ready for the ball.
Right ankle requested special treatment as it resisted change in angle of Tibia and Fibia with each step.
And left knee attachments were not ready to play with the team for the first hundred yards or so.
It even tried to play dead, with an important nerve trying to shut down the whole party by going numb.
Fortunately, this mis-fire only happened once and was gone.
Had it persisted to its maximum potential, this posting would a good bit more morose.
Everything got sorted out in the first couple of minutes of the trot, and there were no more physical problems the rest of the ho-down.
Except for respiration.
As I climbed the first incline, Level 3 breathing wanted to supplant my more comfortable Level 2 breathing rate.
And midway into mile one, Level 3 breathing took over.
Experience has taught me that if this happens, I am not as strong as I need to be.
It was an unwelcome guest, and he overstayed his welcome.
Even when I got up on the relatively flat plain of Toll Gate Road, the accelerated breathing stayed with me.
The good news is I was not struggling, but I was not comfortable.
Midway through the final mile, I was working hard enough that I entertained the thought of stopping to walk for a minute or two.
All Runner got from Running Central was a silent glare for even allowing the thought to coalesce.
So we ran on.
By the end of the course, Runner was looking forward to stopping.
And as he rounded the last corner, a Ledecky finish seemed unlikely.
But, as has happened so many times before, even when there seemed to be no more Wheaties left in the bucket, a sprint was attempted.
It was feeble and, no doubt, pathetic to watch, but it was attempted.
And so another run is in the log.
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