Intervals After Dark
This morning it was just one of those days. Draggy, no energy, with tons to do. A phase of the moon. I get involved in some work right out of bed, lose track of time, then need to leave RIGHT AWAY to make a meeting. Most of my coffee’s still in the pot, I’ve forgotten to drink while I work at my computer. Then I realize my gym bag’s not packed and there’s just nothing I can do about it. Shoot.
In the background, at work, excuses for not doing my workout keep running through my head. Its raining, don’t want to get sick. Think of all of the work I could get done instead. That laundry pile’s pretty high. I could go in the morning. Some years back I had a roommate who was an opera singer; she told me that opera divas are not required to sing when they have their period. Its right there in their contract. If opera singers get the day off, shouldn’t athletes??
I get home and lookup the workout my coach has assigned. 4 x 2k repeats. The idea of this is to push more than you could for a continuous 8k, with short recovery breaks in between the repeats. I look at the clock. I’m supposed to be at a science museum in two hours to hang out with a couple hundred girl scouts. No time to drive to the track and back. It’ll have to be the bike path near my house. This adds a complication, because the bike path is only marked with half miles, and 2k is about a mile and a quarter. I decide to go with 1.5 mile repeats, and recalculate the time goals into 1.5 mile times, noting the 1 mile times as well so I can see how I’m doing along the way. I write it all onto an index card and stick it into my waist pack, but mostly I stare at the card and try to memorize it, so I can at least do the first one without checking. 17:30. Its really raining out, and part of my brain is still trying to convince me to skip the workout. Go in the morning. Take a nap instead. The thing is, I just do not want to have to tell my coach I blew off the workout. In a way, its more complicated than just getting the damn thing done. Its about 50 degrees out, so I put on long tights and a long sleeve shirt — my finishers shirt from the 2002 Portland Marathon.
I follow a route I do often, but its very different in the rain. I’m walking along a park with a playground, but there aren’t any kids today. No soccer teams, only a couple of joggers. I skimp on my flexibility drills a bit, because stopping and standing in the rain is less comfortable than walking in it. Just before the bike path, I step into a deep puddle, soaking one of my feet. “Oh, great,” I think. “Is this going to be one of those hellish workouts with blisters?” I head out onto the path, and its already pretty dark. This time I’ve remembered to clip a blinky light onto my waist pack, so at least bikes won’t run me over from behind. There aren’t very many bikes, though. One mile into my first repeat, I check my watch to see how I’m doing and… I can’t see my watch! I tell myself to wing it. At the end I get a couple of minutes rest, so I pull my pack around and check the time by the blinky light, but I’m already in the next interval, and I don’t know how to go back and see my time for the repeat without screwing it up. Urgh. I go on and luck out — there’s a portion further on with some nearby streetlights helping out. This is enough for me to check my interval points, and I do the next two out on that section.
From the start of the second repeat, I’m totally into it. The theme from Rocky comes up on my shuffle, and I laugh out loud. I’m wet, but not cold, I mostly have the path to myself, and its just me, in the dark, feeling smooth and strong. I am passed by only a few slightly startled bikers, and eventually, a couple of joggers. My times are okay, but its time to push — my goal pace for the final repeat is 16:54, 41 seconds faster than I’ve just done. I set out towards home, and pour it on. Its windy, in my face now, and after a short lull, the rain picks up again. Its like the wind and rain are taunting me, one more obstacle to me meeting the goal. Even alone in the dark, I have an opponent. “F*ck you,” I think. “There is no way I’m falling short of the goal after all this.” I push harder, and before I know it, I’m at the last mile post. 16:47. I win.
There’s a half mile more to the street, another half from there to home, and its still dark and raining, but I don’t really care anymore. I set out at a cooldown pace. At home I do a few stretches, peel off my soaked clothes, eat a piece of chicken, and throw on some jeans. I’m almost an hour late for the girl scout event, but that works out okay. Finally home for the night, I realize I’m starving, and heat up a bowl of soup. Then I check off the day’s workout from the list.