Like Odysseus

I should have tied myself to the mast - metaphorically, anyway. That way, I wouldn't have been able to follow Gorgeous's siren song.

But no. She beguiled me into doing ANOTHER speed workout this week. Because me almost puking on Coach's shoes wasn't enough.

Sometimes, I am an idiot. "It will be fun!!!", she said.

Never trust a cute, smiling redhead.

There was sleep sand in my eyes this morning when I finally stopped hitting the snooze at 5:34am. My legs felt like blocks. I looked in the mirror. I looked better than I felt.

And a squinty-eyed monster had been looking back at me.

But I promised I'd meet her. And, worse than making fun of me, Gorgeous would give me a 'disappointed but understanding' look the next time I saw her. That look, which my advisor perfected, guilted me into finishing my disseration. So out the door I went, just like George Thorougood.

Did a granny jog up to GAP. Met up with Gorgeous. Knew the plan for the day going in, so I had lots of time to really start dreading it. Decided on the way up to break it up into chunks. First part done: granny jog to GAP. I had actually gotten to the workout.

Next, three miles at marathon pace. Gorgeous is the stats person, so check her blog for the actual times. I'll give you the feel-o-meter reading.

Marathon pace run to just before Zoo Hill: a bit burn-y. Some spitting involved. Felt like the last 3 miles of a 10-miler when you woke up hung-over from the night before. The legs are tired but you actually feel less and less like you want to puke. Breathing hard but still able to chat about any escapades or gossip, in between pants.

Then, 4 800s between the water fountain near the 5k finish and the fountain on the Ocean Avenue side. Full glut burn. Breathing like an anonomous caller. Felt worse than mile 14 of a marathon because the thoughts keep repeating: "I'm supposed to go about this fast for an entire race?!" and "I have, at one time, run this fast for an entire race?!".

Finally, a three-mile tempo run up Flatbush, around to Prospect Park West, back down PP West, and into the park. Like miles 22-24 of a marathon when you've already hit the wall and are really struggling. No talking: too much spitting required. Nausea rolling in and out like the tide on the North Shore. Legs magically weighing twice as much as before. The sort of run where you are trying to get yourself to the next street, then the next, then the next. Watched Gorgeous do her machine-like stride, arms pistoning, geting into the groove. Felt more like puking. She very nicely slowed down a bit for me on the way back. A moment of euphoria when I realized that a. we completed the workout and b. we completed the workout!


I took the train home.