I am a sucker for stories like the one below. It is told by a gentleman named William C. Mules, who is the headmaster of the American School in London, in the school’s Feb./Mar./Apr. 2007 newsletter. Mr. Mules sets the stage by first relating the story of a diplomat from India at a dinner hosted by Queen Victoria in Buckingham Palace. The Indian diplomat mistakes the water in the finger bowl as something to be drunk, and does so. All the other guests look on, horrified—except the queen, who immediately picks up her finger bowl and drinks from it. Everyone else follows suit. It is a story often told as an example of grace.
It is from this story that Mr. Mules launches into the story below, which I’ve never heard before. I think this is so cool.
“In 2000, when the Baltimore Ravens moved from Memorial Stadium, where their predecessors, the Baltimore Colts, had played all their home games the team’s management decided to recognize the ‘old heroes’ in an effort to transfer loyalty from one franchise to another. The names on the facing of the mezzanine would honor Hall-of-Fame Colts, the likes of Unitas, Berry, Donovan, Moore, Marchetti, and Mackey.
“John Mackey, #88, had played at Syracuse. A tight end, he was nearly unstoppable once he managed to catch the ball—an SUV with defenders hitching a ride to the end zone. By the year 2000 it was evident to Mackey’s friends and family that he was a victim of dementia. Pleasant and compliant, he persisted in repeating the line ‘Unitas was my quarterback.’
“The choreography for the recognition ceremonies had each Hall-of-Famer accept a ceremonial football, acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, then return to the line of honorees. Halftimes are held to a tight schedule.
“Events overtook John Mackey. Handed a football, he was #88 and he did what he knew best. He ran to the end zone. The crowd erupted. It was a vision of days gone by, but then #88 was left standing awkwardly and alone in the end zone.
“Next was Lenny Moore, #24, Penn State, deep threat, running back. Scripted to accept the pigskin, wave, and return to his place in line, Moore took the proffered ball as a handoff and ran a classic, dodging route to join his old teammate. They walked back together to join their colleagues. It was a graceful moment from a man of grace. Queen Victoria would have cheered.”
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Finished
I finished writing my article. It is the most boring article in the universe. I am ready to go do something else now, since I just blew the whole day on this thing. I have completely lost the will to engage in anything that is intellectual on any level. I'm considering driving my letter opener through my temple--yes, writing this thing was that freakin' traumatic. (Okay, well, maybe not suicidal freakin' traumatic but still. ) I need five p.m. to get here, pronto, so I can go for a run and regain my will to live...
I Miss My Window
I am procrastinating. I am supposed to be writing an article on the merits of engaging a cross-functional team in the internal review and evaluation of a company’s international assignment program. Specifically, I am focusing on the inclusion of IT, corporate finance, employment/tax law specialists, and internal audit. If you made it through that last sentence without falling asleep, congratulations. You can now understand why I’m procrastinating.
The thing that sucks about working in Dallas two days a week (versus working out of my house in Austin the other three), is that I have this office with no window. Presumably, it is a Big Deal to have an office—it means I’ve attained a special rank within my firm, which allows me to have my own private, walk-in closet sized room to sit in, complete with the all important door. The door is an Even Bigger Deal, because I can open and close it at will, allowing me to have important phone calls on speaker phone (!), as well as confidential meetings without getting a conference room or swiping someone else’s office. With my door closed, I can help set the direction of my practice, adjust the temperature of my office (door closed = warmer), and play YouTube clips. This is all very important stuff. However, it was only last fall that I was sitting out in the cube farm with everyone else. I liked the cube farm. You could talk over the wall with someone (the girl who used to sit next to me is the spitting image of Panther, only a female version, which completely freaks me out). You could throw stuff over the walls at each other. You could have a really heated phone discussion with a colleague in another office who was behaving like an ass and the people around you would cheer for you because they didn’t like that person either (not that this ever happened). But the best part was my window. My window faced west, which was kind of a pain in the butt on sunny days from about 2 to 4 p.m.—I’d have to draw the blinds, and even then the sun was blinding. But I cannot tell you how many beautiful sunsets I watched as I worked for The Man into the evening hours. Last summer I even saw a fireworks show—very cool (it’s the little things).
Really, the only way out of my window-less office situation is to work harder and make partner. Then you get a corner office with plenty of windows. And that takes me back to my stunningly dull article, which I guess I should go finish—ugh!!
The thing that sucks about working in Dallas two days a week (versus working out of my house in Austin the other three), is that I have this office with no window. Presumably, it is a Big Deal to have an office—it means I’ve attained a special rank within my firm, which allows me to have my own private, walk-in closet sized room to sit in, complete with the all important door. The door is an Even Bigger Deal, because I can open and close it at will, allowing me to have important phone calls on speaker phone (!), as well as confidential meetings without getting a conference room or swiping someone else’s office. With my door closed, I can help set the direction of my practice, adjust the temperature of my office (door closed = warmer), and play YouTube clips. This is all very important stuff. However, it was only last fall that I was sitting out in the cube farm with everyone else. I liked the cube farm. You could talk over the wall with someone (the girl who used to sit next to me is the spitting image of Panther, only a female version, which completely freaks me out). You could throw stuff over the walls at each other. You could have a really heated phone discussion with a colleague in another office who was behaving like an ass and the people around you would cheer for you because they didn’t like that person either (not that this ever happened). But the best part was my window. My window faced west, which was kind of a pain in the butt on sunny days from about 2 to 4 p.m.—I’d have to draw the blinds, and even then the sun was blinding. But I cannot tell you how many beautiful sunsets I watched as I worked for The Man into the evening hours. Last summer I even saw a fireworks show—very cool (it’s the little things).
Really, the only way out of my window-less office situation is to work harder and make partner. Then you get a corner office with plenty of windows. And that takes me back to my stunningly dull article, which I guess I should go finish—ugh!!
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Capitol 10k
Capitol 10k...yeah, so anyway.
I showed up at RunTex at 7:30 a.m. yesterday to warm up with the group. The first indication there would be a problem was when I took the first step--heavy quads, not sore so much as it felt like I had weights strapped around my ankles. It took about five seconds for me to question my decision to run this race, after having done Rosedale Saturday. My only consolation was that Panther was feeling a little pain, too (not like I'd have been able to keep up with him, but I find a certain sick comfort in shared misery). Anyway, as the warm-up went on, I felt cautiously hopeful that I could still pull out a decent progressive pace run. And then we did a couple of surges, which pretty much shot all hope I had straight to hell.
I found a spot in the starting corral, about a million miles from the line, I don't understand how I always manage to wind up in the back. I also don't understand why, when the horn blows, everyone in the back insists on starting to jog, even though there's nowhere to go. But whatever, eventually I crossed the starting line and began that little uphill climb toward the capitol. Incredibly, I did the first mile in 8 minutes. The only good thing about this was that I had anything close to 8 minute pace in me. But for my progressive pace run, it was a full 45 seconds too fast, and it was enough of an effort too early in the race to cause me to fall apart the rest of the way. (I have GOT to re-learn pace, I have lost all sense of what 7:30 feels like relative to 8:00 relative to 8:30, etc.)
You know it's a bad race when you start bargaining with yourself barely a mile into the thing, but that's precisely what I found myself doing. The bargain was this: if I could find my husband, Jeff, amongst all these people, I was allowed to run with him (Jeff runs a little slower than I do). And, as we neared Guadalupe on 15th, I spotted him. Woohoo!!! F*** this progressive pace thing, I thought, I'm throwing in the towel and running with this guy! But I think I made it about 10 steps with him before I realized that I just couldn't go that slow, crappy as I felt. So off I went.
When I think of hills on the Capitol 10k course that annoy me, only two come to mind: Winsted and the little series on Cesar Chavez near the end. The Enfield hill never comes to mind, simply because it's a given. It's a force. It's like a South American dictator or capitalism or the Hollywood lobby. Sometimes annoying, debatably evil, but there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. I headed up this hill in a resigned fashion, just like I do every year. But this year, for the first time, the thought popped into my mind, "Oh my God, I might not finish this race." Melodrama? Maybe, but there were spectators out there offering mimosas, and I came about this close to grabbing one, sitting down on the curb and getting my drink on.
Thankfully, I didn't give in to the temptation to become a sot passed out in some guy's yard, and I soldiered on. Besides, the tough hills end at Mopac. I started to feel better between miles three and four, and somewhere, somehow, I'd managed to find a sustainable pace, and was hitting it with some regularity (roughly 8:30--ugh). By the time I got to Austin HS, in fact, I felt like my legs might be able to handle a faster pace. I picked it up a tiny bit as I headed out onto Cesar Chavez. But my surge (if you can call it that) was short-lived owing to the fact that started to feel like I was going to hyperventilate—I’ve felt like that before, it’s an out-of-shape thing, once again. So I settled back into my humble yet sustainable pace and pretty much finished out the race that way. No heroics coming across the South 1st St. bridge, no mighty kick in the final stretch. I was really just happy to have made it.
Jeff and I wound up race day at Maudie’s and then it was home for a nap. I’d love to write “The End” here, but I actually ended up having to drive to Dallas last night. The weather pretty much sucked and, oh my God, everyone was on IH-35. No, seriously, everyone! The only good thing about pouring rain, windshield wipers that probably should have been replaced, like, a year ago, and heavy traffic on a dark interstate, is that you don’t really have time to get bored and start playing the backwards word game or counting out-of-state license plates (hey, I’m a silver-lining kind of girl).
As for the Cap10k? They put this race on every year. Next year, I will kick its ass.
I showed up at RunTex at 7:30 a.m. yesterday to warm up with the group. The first indication there would be a problem was when I took the first step--heavy quads, not sore so much as it felt like I had weights strapped around my ankles. It took about five seconds for me to question my decision to run this race, after having done Rosedale Saturday. My only consolation was that Panther was feeling a little pain, too (not like I'd have been able to keep up with him, but I find a certain sick comfort in shared misery). Anyway, as the warm-up went on, I felt cautiously hopeful that I could still pull out a decent progressive pace run. And then we did a couple of surges, which pretty much shot all hope I had straight to hell.
I found a spot in the starting corral, about a million miles from the line, I don't understand how I always manage to wind up in the back. I also don't understand why, when the horn blows, everyone in the back insists on starting to jog, even though there's nowhere to go. But whatever, eventually I crossed the starting line and began that little uphill climb toward the capitol. Incredibly, I did the first mile in 8 minutes. The only good thing about this was that I had anything close to 8 minute pace in me. But for my progressive pace run, it was a full 45 seconds too fast, and it was enough of an effort too early in the race to cause me to fall apart the rest of the way. (I have GOT to re-learn pace, I have lost all sense of what 7:30 feels like relative to 8:00 relative to 8:30, etc.)
You know it's a bad race when you start bargaining with yourself barely a mile into the thing, but that's precisely what I found myself doing. The bargain was this: if I could find my husband, Jeff, amongst all these people, I was allowed to run with him (Jeff runs a little slower than I do). And, as we neared Guadalupe on 15th, I spotted him. Woohoo!!! F*** this progressive pace thing, I thought, I'm throwing in the towel and running with this guy! But I think I made it about 10 steps with him before I realized that I just couldn't go that slow, crappy as I felt. So off I went.
When I think of hills on the Capitol 10k course that annoy me, only two come to mind: Winsted and the little series on Cesar Chavez near the end. The Enfield hill never comes to mind, simply because it's a given. It's a force. It's like a South American dictator or capitalism or the Hollywood lobby. Sometimes annoying, debatably evil, but there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. I headed up this hill in a resigned fashion, just like I do every year. But this year, for the first time, the thought popped into my mind, "Oh my God, I might not finish this race." Melodrama? Maybe, but there were spectators out there offering mimosas, and I came about this close to grabbing one, sitting down on the curb and getting my drink on.
Thankfully, I didn't give in to the temptation to become a sot passed out in some guy's yard, and I soldiered on. Besides, the tough hills end at Mopac. I started to feel better between miles three and four, and somewhere, somehow, I'd managed to find a sustainable pace, and was hitting it with some regularity (roughly 8:30--ugh). By the time I got to Austin HS, in fact, I felt like my legs might be able to handle a faster pace. I picked it up a tiny bit as I headed out onto Cesar Chavez. But my surge (if you can call it that) was short-lived owing to the fact that started to feel like I was going to hyperventilate—I’ve felt like that before, it’s an out-of-shape thing, once again. So I settled back into my humble yet sustainable pace and pretty much finished out the race that way. No heroics coming across the South 1st St. bridge, no mighty kick in the final stretch. I was really just happy to have made it.
Jeff and I wound up race day at Maudie’s and then it was home for a nap. I’d love to write “The End” here, but I actually ended up having to drive to Dallas last night. The weather pretty much sucked and, oh my God, everyone was on IH-35. No, seriously, everyone! The only good thing about pouring rain, windshield wipers that probably should have been replaced, like, a year ago, and heavy traffic on a dark interstate, is that you don’t really have time to get bored and start playing the backwards word game or counting out-of-state license plates (hey, I’m a silver-lining kind of girl).
As for the Cap10k? They put this race on every year. Next year, I will kick its ass.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Not a Moment Too Soon
Today I walked the fine line between courage and stupidity. And I fell off on the stupidity side.
If you've talked to me, if you've read this blog, you know I'm coming back from a prolonged hiatus with respect to anything to do with endurance events. Right. So today I did the Rosedale Ride. This is a great bike ride for a great cause, and there are multiple distances to choose from. I chose the longest distance (as you do). 65 miles. Only four of us in our Camp Punishment group elected to ride this far: Panther, Erin, Lulu and I. This should have been a big fat, blinking red, neon sign to me that I had NO BUSINESS going this far, especially with THESE PEOPLE. Lulu is awesome on the bike and makes it look effortless. Erin, I'm convinced, could gut out almost anything. And Panther...well, he's Panther. He's just great, period, end of story. So, naively and solely on the merits of a marginally successfully 46-miler last weekend, I figured, what the hell? How hard can it be?
Hard. Really, really, really hard.
The newest obscene phrase in my arsenal is "gently rolling hills." If you ever do a ride anywhere in Texas and the course is described as having "gently rolling hills" feel free to do the ride, but train for it in a wind tunnel. All I did today was ride into the wind. Up gently rolling f***ing hills (we never went down hill, I swear to God). Suffice it to say, my fitness level, coupled with this course and topped off by riding with Panther, Erin and Lulu...is it any wonder I got dropped? I'd catch them at rest stops, and then they'd promptly drop me again. I'm glad they did, because I did NOT want to hold them up. But man, I suck.
Sidebar - What's the deal with these jackasses who ride your wheel on, oh, I don't know, the windiest part of the entire ride, and never, ever once come around and do an ounce of work after you've carried them for, like, eight miles? WTF??? Some guy did this to me today, and it kind of pissed me off. Yet I didn't say a word. I'm so non-confrontational, I really need to work on that.
Anyway, we got to the final turn before the finish, and Panther, Lulu and Erin held up to wait for me, so we could all finish together. That was awesome, I really appreciated it. But that freakin' finish line did not come a moment too soon!
So, what was my final judgment on the ride? Surprisingly, I found it encouraging. I suck right now, but I think I have real potential to not suck. That gives me hope.
If you've talked to me, if you've read this blog, you know I'm coming back from a prolonged hiatus with respect to anything to do with endurance events. Right. So today I did the Rosedale Ride. This is a great bike ride for a great cause, and there are multiple distances to choose from. I chose the longest distance (as you do). 65 miles. Only four of us in our Camp Punishment group elected to ride this far: Panther, Erin, Lulu and I. This should have been a big fat, blinking red, neon sign to me that I had NO BUSINESS going this far, especially with THESE PEOPLE. Lulu is awesome on the bike and makes it look effortless. Erin, I'm convinced, could gut out almost anything. And Panther...well, he's Panther. He's just great, period, end of story. So, naively and solely on the merits of a marginally successfully 46-miler last weekend, I figured, what the hell? How hard can it be?
Hard. Really, really, really hard.
The newest obscene phrase in my arsenal is "gently rolling hills." If you ever do a ride anywhere in Texas and the course is described as having "gently rolling hills" feel free to do the ride, but train for it in a wind tunnel. All I did today was ride into the wind. Up gently rolling f***ing hills (we never went down hill, I swear to God). Suffice it to say, my fitness level, coupled with this course and topped off by riding with Panther, Erin and Lulu...is it any wonder I got dropped? I'd catch them at rest stops, and then they'd promptly drop me again. I'm glad they did, because I did NOT want to hold them up. But man, I suck.
Sidebar - What's the deal with these jackasses who ride your wheel on, oh, I don't know, the windiest part of the entire ride, and never, ever once come around and do an ounce of work after you've carried them for, like, eight miles? WTF??? Some guy did this to me today, and it kind of pissed me off. Yet I didn't say a word. I'm so non-confrontational, I really need to work on that.
Anyway, we got to the final turn before the finish, and Panther, Lulu and Erin held up to wait for me, so we could all finish together. That was awesome, I really appreciated it. But that freakin' finish line did not come a moment too soon!
So, what was my final judgment on the ride? Surprisingly, I found it encouraging. I suck right now, but I think I have real potential to not suck. That gives me hope.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Okay, so let me answer the chicken question from my previous posting: it doesn’t matter what the hell you eat for lunch when you’re totally out of shape and in for the following workout:
1 x 2000m @ 10k pace (600m recovery)
2 x 1000m @ 5k pace (400m recovery)
4 x 400 @ mile pace (200m recovery)
Now that that’s resolved, allow me to change gears. This workout highlighted (think of the biggest, fattest, brightest yellow highlighter possible) how much work I have in front of me. It’s not that I have some huge, lofty goal of becoming a completely kick-ass multi-sport athlete. But I know I can be better than I have been in the past and way better than I am currently.
So, with that goal (if you can call it that) in mind, I kind of thought I had gotten off to an okay start. You know, first week out training with Camp Punishment, had a passable track workout last week, couple of decent bike rides. And then came last night’s workout. Back in the day (way, way, waaayyy back in the day), I could run 7:00 mile pace and still carry on a conversation. Last night I struggled to complete the 2000m interval at 7:16 pace. Struggled. Mightily. And, oh by the way, 7:16 pace is not my 10k pace. At some point in my life, I’m sure it was, but not last night. My actual pace is closer to 8:00+. So, not only did I struggle to maintain 7:16 pace, I wasn’t even supposed to be going 7:16 pace. What a disaster. And I paid for it on the next set. The wheels totally came off the bus on the 1000m repeats. I think I actually ran them slower than the 2000m, but I can’t say for certain, I was in too much pain, complete with a side stitch that made it nearly impossible to breathe (I drank water all day yesterday, so it wasn’t dehydration, just plain old being out of shape). I had no idea how I was going to get through the 400’s. But the 400’s turned out to be the bright spot in the workout. I actually nailed the first two in 1:45, the third in 1:44 and the last one in 1:43. Slow to a lot of folks, but encouraging to me.
So what was my take away, you might be asking yourself (or not). Go with me here down a mildly philosophical and unquestionably cheesy path. My take away was that I had a crappy workout, and that’s completely okay. I’ve taken the first few steps on a much longer journey, and it is, after all, all about the journey. (And the beers at Aussie’s afterwards don’t hurt.)
1 x 2000m @ 10k pace (600m recovery)
2 x 1000m @ 5k pace (400m recovery)
4 x 400 @ mile pace (200m recovery)
Now that that’s resolved, allow me to change gears. This workout highlighted (think of the biggest, fattest, brightest yellow highlighter possible) how much work I have in front of me. It’s not that I have some huge, lofty goal of becoming a completely kick-ass multi-sport athlete. But I know I can be better than I have been in the past and way better than I am currently.
So, with that goal (if you can call it that) in mind, I kind of thought I had gotten off to an okay start. You know, first week out training with Camp Punishment, had a passable track workout last week, couple of decent bike rides. And then came last night’s workout. Back in the day (way, way, waaayyy back in the day), I could run 7:00 mile pace and still carry on a conversation. Last night I struggled to complete the 2000m interval at 7:16 pace. Struggled. Mightily. And, oh by the way, 7:16 pace is not my 10k pace. At some point in my life, I’m sure it was, but not last night. My actual pace is closer to 8:00+. So, not only did I struggle to maintain 7:16 pace, I wasn’t even supposed to be going 7:16 pace. What a disaster. And I paid for it on the next set. The wheels totally came off the bus on the 1000m repeats. I think I actually ran them slower than the 2000m, but I can’t say for certain, I was in too much pain, complete with a side stitch that made it nearly impossible to breathe (I drank water all day yesterday, so it wasn’t dehydration, just plain old being out of shape). I had no idea how I was going to get through the 400’s. But the 400’s turned out to be the bright spot in the workout. I actually nailed the first two in 1:45, the third in 1:44 and the last one in 1:43. Slow to a lot of folks, but encouraging to me.
So what was my take away, you might be asking yourself (or not). Go with me here down a mildly philosophical and unquestionably cheesy path. My take away was that I had a crappy workout, and that’s completely okay. I’ve taken the first few steps on a much longer journey, and it is, after all, all about the journey. (And the beers at Aussie’s afterwards don’t hurt.)
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Chicken??
We have a track workout tonight. I'm having chicken for lunch. Am I supposed to have chicken for lunch before a track workout?? I'm also having really crap-tastic frozen vegetables, by the way.
On to other matters, namely, sleep. This always happens to me, I don't sleep when I first start training in earnest for stuff (marathons and whatnot). I don't know why. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in about a week, so my drive home from Dallas last night was kind of an adventure. I do simple little math problems to keep myself awake (try adding all the individual numbers on the green mile marker signs until you get to one digit; for example, mile marker 383 (just north of Italy, TX--so sad I know that) is 3+8+3 = 14, 1+4 = 5). Sometimes I bet myself on how many license plates I'll see from a particular non-Texas state (Indiana and Missouri are remarkably safe bets). My other favorite game is spelling words backwards in my head as fast as I can. As you can tell, I spend a lot of time in the car. Alone. I mean, a LOT. Sadly, none of my little distractions was working last night, and by the time I got to Georgetown (mile marker 261, which equals 9), I was ready to call it quits and just get a room. Fortunately, I made it home, but the weight workout I had planned on doing went by the wayside in favor of warm, soft, happy bed [sigh].
So, I'm going to do weights this p.m. Just as soon as I finish my chicken. :)
On to other matters, namely, sleep. This always happens to me, I don't sleep when I first start training in earnest for stuff (marathons and whatnot). I don't know why. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in about a week, so my drive home from Dallas last night was kind of an adventure. I do simple little math problems to keep myself awake (try adding all the individual numbers on the green mile marker signs until you get to one digit; for example, mile marker 383 (just north of Italy, TX--so sad I know that) is 3+8+3 = 14, 1+4 = 5). Sometimes I bet myself on how many license plates I'll see from a particular non-Texas state (Indiana and Missouri are remarkably safe bets). My other favorite game is spelling words backwards in my head as fast as I can. As you can tell, I spend a lot of time in the car. Alone. I mean, a LOT. Sadly, none of my little distractions was working last night, and by the time I got to Georgetown (mile marker 261, which equals 9), I was ready to call it quits and just get a room. Fortunately, I made it home, but the weight workout I had planned on doing went by the wayside in favor of warm, soft, happy bed [sigh].
So, I'm going to do weights this p.m. Just as soon as I finish my chicken. :)
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
As a sometimes-triathlete and brand spanking new member of Camp Punishment (http://camppunishment.blogspot.com/), I have been fortunate enough to meet a group of people who are marginally crazy (in a good way) and obsessive about biking, running and where to meet for post-workout happy hour. Suffice it to say, I am feeling encouraged.
I have laid off endurance sports for some time now--I kind of, sort of, but not really trained for the White Rock Marathon in Dallas last fall, which I ultimately did not run (of note, my dad, a 65 year old first time marathoner, finished the race in under 5 hours--go Dad!). And it's been about four years since my last multisport event. I like to blame it on work, but I think it's just laziness.
Anyhoo, I came across this lovely group of people through Rogue Running (http://www.roguerunning.com/) and started training with them last week. The first workout was on the track--first group track workout for me since college (yikes!). Here's what we did:
600m @ 5k pace
400 m recovery
400 m @ 5k pace
200m recovery
300m @ 5k pace
100m recovery
200m all out
200m recovery
Repeat (!)
I felt tight the entire time I was out there, but Panther said I had nice form and that was encouraging--I most definitely did not feel like I had good form! I joined the group for happy hour afterwards. Erin was kind enough to fill me in on who's who, she's great.
Thursday we went out to the veloway (I didn't even know Austin had a veloway, I am alarmingly out of touch). The veloway is this nifty 3.1 mile loop with some nice tight turns, a couple shallow, rolling hills and beautiful scenery. The workout was a one lap warm-up, which I did with Erin and Laura, and then however many laps you could do in 45 minutes. I started off with Laura on the first lap, but then Erin came out of nowhere and dropped us. Never saw her again. I wound up completing not quite 5 laps. I felt so good about that, considering I haven't been on my bike anywhere near enough.
Friday was a mess at work, I was lucky to make it to this pilates class I registered for, and shelled out a nice chunk of change to take, so I was NOT going to miss that. But I didn't get a run in like I'd planned. In truth, it's probably best I took a rest day, because I did a 10 mile run on Saturday (longest run since December) and a 46 mile bike ride on Sunday. That's the longest ride I've done since the Ride for the Roses in October 2005. I was only going to do 24 miles, but we got to the 24 mile cut off and I still felt good, so I kept going. It was a nice sized group on the 46-miler, about 12 (?) of us. I don't know everyone's names yet, but it was Meg, Glenda, Mark, Panther, Erin, Dave (?) and several other great folks. I was so worried I was going to get dropped, because the terrain was kind of rolling and it was VERY windy and I just don't have my legs back yet. But I kept up, which was pretty exciting for me. A very small group went to Maudie's afterward. Tex-Mex just tastes better after a long workout.
On Monday I drove up to Dallas, like I always do. I confess, I was thinking about moving the 3 mile run to Tuesday morning, but by the time I got to 6 p.m., I was itching to go run. So I did. Wow, my legs were so not happy with that decision! Fortunately, Dallas is pretty much flat, and Highland Park is a lovely area to run through, all the flowers were out and trees are blooming, so it smelled really good (except for the Bradford pear trees, good lord those smell awful).
I slept in this morning, and I'm driving back to Austin tonight. I'm aiming to do weights when I get home, and then it's back out to the track tomorrow night. I admit, I've been horribly slacking on swim workouts (horribly!!), but that will change this week, I've promised myself.
So...so far, so good. I'm just happy to be out there working hard again, I didn't realize how much I'd missed it. I'm also happy to have found a good group of people to train with--didn't realize how much I'd missed that, either!
I have laid off endurance sports for some time now--I kind of, sort of, but not really trained for the White Rock Marathon in Dallas last fall, which I ultimately did not run (of note, my dad, a 65 year old first time marathoner, finished the race in under 5 hours--go Dad!). And it's been about four years since my last multisport event. I like to blame it on work, but I think it's just laziness.
Anyhoo, I came across this lovely group of people through Rogue Running (http://www.roguerunning.com/) and started training with them last week. The first workout was on the track--first group track workout for me since college (yikes!). Here's what we did:
600m @ 5k pace
400 m recovery
400 m @ 5k pace
200m recovery
300m @ 5k pace
100m recovery
200m all out
200m recovery
Repeat (!)
I felt tight the entire time I was out there, but Panther said I had nice form and that was encouraging--I most definitely did not feel like I had good form! I joined the group for happy hour afterwards. Erin was kind enough to fill me in on who's who, she's great.
Thursday we went out to the veloway (I didn't even know Austin had a veloway, I am alarmingly out of touch). The veloway is this nifty 3.1 mile loop with some nice tight turns, a couple shallow, rolling hills and beautiful scenery. The workout was a one lap warm-up, which I did with Erin and Laura, and then however many laps you could do in 45 minutes. I started off with Laura on the first lap, but then Erin came out of nowhere and dropped us. Never saw her again. I wound up completing not quite 5 laps. I felt so good about that, considering I haven't been on my bike anywhere near enough.
Friday was a mess at work, I was lucky to make it to this pilates class I registered for, and shelled out a nice chunk of change to take, so I was NOT going to miss that. But I didn't get a run in like I'd planned. In truth, it's probably best I took a rest day, because I did a 10 mile run on Saturday (longest run since December) and a 46 mile bike ride on Sunday. That's the longest ride I've done since the Ride for the Roses in October 2005. I was only going to do 24 miles, but we got to the 24 mile cut off and I still felt good, so I kept going. It was a nice sized group on the 46-miler, about 12 (?) of us. I don't know everyone's names yet, but it was Meg, Glenda, Mark, Panther, Erin, Dave (?) and several other great folks. I was so worried I was going to get dropped, because the terrain was kind of rolling and it was VERY windy and I just don't have my legs back yet. But I kept up, which was pretty exciting for me. A very small group went to Maudie's afterward. Tex-Mex just tastes better after a long workout.
On Monday I drove up to Dallas, like I always do. I confess, I was thinking about moving the 3 mile run to Tuesday morning, but by the time I got to 6 p.m., I was itching to go run. So I did. Wow, my legs were so not happy with that decision! Fortunately, Dallas is pretty much flat, and Highland Park is a lovely area to run through, all the flowers were out and trees are blooming, so it smelled really good (except for the Bradford pear trees, good lord those smell awful).
I slept in this morning, and I'm driving back to Austin tonight. I'm aiming to do weights when I get home, and then it's back out to the track tomorrow night. I admit, I've been horribly slacking on swim workouts (horribly!!), but that will change this week, I've promised myself.
So...so far, so good. I'm just happy to be out there working hard again, I didn't realize how much I'd missed it. I'm also happy to have found a good group of people to train with--didn't realize how much I'd missed that, either!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
