Havin' Words

Not a day goes by that I don't in some way panic over the Rock N Roll Half in March. With two months to go, it's important for me to get in a longer distance run on the weekends, and while I've been feeling kind of junky (stuffy head, sore throat, cough etc.), I was nervous about letting this weekend slip by just because I'm not feeling that well. It's sort of like work. Before having kids, if I felt like this, I would take the day off to recover. Now that I have two kids, and I have to take time off to care for them when they are sick, my resiliency to discomfort has fortunately toughened. I snicker a bit as I write this thinking of my childless co-workers. It's always a sick sort of fun to see them get pregnant, have babies, and toughen up themselves.

But anyway, my compromise was to stick with the safety of the temperature controlled gym rather than brave the cold outdoors and make an attempt at a longer run. Based on the training schedule, I was supposed to run eight miles this weekend. My hope was to finish six.

The first three miles were icky. I was moving slowly, I was achy, borderline miserable, and negotiating with myself how to re-structure my plan for the day without completely feeling like a loser. Overall it's a good thing when your own excuses even sound too pathetic to yourself, but it's sort of crappy to go through the internal monologue.

Whiny Me: Okay, so I'm sick. I can be happy that I'm here at all.
Publicly Accountable Me: Yeah, but people out there know you're doing this.
Whiny Me: But everyone gets sick at some point.
Publicly Accountable Me: You're not that sick. Suck it up.
Whiny Me: Okay. I won't quit now. I'll complete a 5K distance, which is somewhat legit, and then it won't be so bad to go home. My heart rate is too high anyway.
Publicly Accountable Me: The girls from work are running for real this weekend. Not a slow, somewhat legit 5K. And your heart rate is always too high. Stop looking at it.
Whiny Me: Why in God's name did I sign up for this thing?
Publicly Accountable Me: You talk too much. Listen to the music.

So I listened. Initially I bargained that I'd just run for one more song, and then I wanted to run to a rounded number of miles, and then it was an even amount of time. Thankfully, things evened out, and I found myself coming up on my eight miles.

And then, wouldn't you know it, but that SOB machine had the audacity to try and kick me off. Apparently, you can only run for 90 minutes on the treadmill, which makes sense to me if there are people waiting, but with the majority of the machines empty is really just a nuisance. Anyhoo... you all know that I'm a slow runner. So, when at 90 minutes the machine told me it was time to cool down, I started to lose it. The convo was more like this:

Joshua (aka: speak-n-spell sounding machine with mockingly evil intent): Your time is up. Game over.
Me: What?! Are you freaking kidding me?
Joshua: You get 90 minutes. You are too slow. I am slowing down for your two minute cool down.
Me: Oh no you did not just start to slow down. (Pressing "UP" button frantically)
Joshua: You are sad.
Me: Listen you stupid SOB, I need eight miles. Not 7.87, not 7.95. Eight. (Pressing "UP button even more)
Joshua: Tick, tick, tick. Want to play again? Maybe you will do better.
Me: No, I REFUSE. (Realising that while I've just run for 90 minutes at a 5.3 (11:20 ish pace, I am now running these final two minutes at an 8.4, which is about a 7:10)

And there it is. I pass 8 miles at 91:17.

Humph.