The Hay is in the Barn...

Well the last couple of weeks have been great to me. I can honestly say the the last two weeks I have completed two of the best workouts of my short running career. The mileage has been slowly increasing, I should hit 95 this week in SINGLES!!!! That in its self is one of the reasons I have this new found aerobic capacity that is allowing me to do the work I have been doing the last couple of weeks. The other part of the equation is the people I have been training with. For the last couple of Thursdays, I have been making the pilgrimage to the other side of the county to train with East County, basically a group of dedicated runners who have a passion for the sport and despite working 40 hour work weeks, get after it each and every day. They are all currently training for the Chicago Marathon, for which a couple have hopes to run a sub 2:19 to qualify for the Olympic Trials. I have been hopping in with these guys for the last year or two, and the stuff they have been doing has really helped me take my fitness to the next level.

The first of these two workouts we did the last couple of weeks was a 10 mile tempo. Now, self-admittedly, I am not a long workout type of guy. I feel that aerobic capacity has always been a huge crutch in terms of allowing me to run decent times over any distance longer than 3k. On top of that, whenever I do attempt longer stuff such as this, I usually flounder around at 545 pace, trying desperately to survive the on set of lactic acid and god-knows-whatother-bullshit that affects you when you run at a steady state for around an hour. This workout was going to be tough. There were two groups going out at different paces. One was at 5:50 pace and the other was at 5:34 pace. A couple of the faster guys were really beat up so they decided that the 5:50 pace was good enough for them. That left three of us, including myself, to mix it up at the front group. The intimidation factor of 10 miles of tempo is quiet overwhelming. You know that for the first 5-6 miles you should be ok. After all, I had done a 10k with relative ease at 5:20 pace only a month before. But its miles 7-8-9 that really scare you. Any time you do longer stuff like this, the chance of your body saying "Not today" increases with every step you take. But luckily that day all systems were go. I felt amazing. The splits and our legs rolled along the pavement hitting each mile marker faster than our goal pace.

5.32,

 5.33,

 5.29, 

5.34,

 5.26, 

5.25,

 5.28

5.27

5.26,

 5.22

I honestly felt like I could have rolled like that for another couple of miles. It was just one of those days. Unfortunately, you can't feel that good every workout. Sometimes, you have to man up, even when your body is telling you that it ain't doing it. That was how yesterday's workout felt. 

I met up with E.C. again for another grueling 10 miles of hitting yourself in the head with a 2x4. The workout crowd was scarce today, some of the guys were out at the Nike campus pacing some future or current Olympian through 800's. Jesse, a solid marathoner, who like me, didn't do anything worth noting in high school, but has really become a beast on the roads was the only other person willing to brave the fast paced version of the workout with me. Now, going into this workout I had read the email from the coordinator of this whole spectacle completely wrong. I thought the workout said "4 miles at 520 pace, 4 min rest, 3 miles at 516 pace, 3 min rest, 2 miles at 516 pace, 2 min rest, 1 mile at 516." That is a pretty grueling workout in and of its self, but I was more than mentally ready to cope with the pacing. After all, I had done 10 miles straight at 528 pace only a week before, so with the rest in between, it should be doable. Only after I was told that the entire thing was to be done at 513 pace or faster was I completely beside myself. I had about a hundred different words running through my mind after I had heard that news and "Sweet" wasn't one of them. So that should set the tone for the workout right then and there. 

We started the first 4 mile repeat. The plan was to alternate every mile as to share the work load. Jesse started out in the lead and then I took the next mile. Every thing was going good. We were a couple seconds under goal pace, cruising along at 77-78 second quarters. Jesse took over the third mile. And then i started to hurt. Bad. He soon put a couple meters on me and I was unable to take the lead when it was my turn. Finally, after 1200 meters of struggle, I got back in the lead and lead us through 4 seconds faster than our goal time. We had just run 20:48 for the 4 mile portion. Only 6 more miles to go. 

It was something about that 4 minute rest that got me ready to roll again. I lead the first mile of the 3 mile interval. We cruise through the first quarter mile "74". Fuck. I allow the natural tendency of the body to fatigue to gradually step down the pace. We hit the 3 mile at 1539. Right on pace. But not all is well. My intestinal system is fighting the excess of strain and over all nastiness that the last 7 miles has inflicted on my body. I have no choice to be a bear in the woods, or in this case on the side of the road during our 3 min break/recovery jog. Before I can seem to shake the lactate out of my legs the 2 mile portion begins. As we start the mastermind of this entire operation shouts with glee, "It's the grind-it-out 2 mile! HEHEHEHEHEHE" cackling as he trots along on a 3 min recover jaunt of his own. I take the lead the first mile again. I hurt. Bad. I push and pull, but we still hit the mile at 514, a second slower than we should have. Jesse takes the lead and shows every intention of running below 10:26. I flounder behind. 5 meters. 10 meters. 25 meters. The gap increases exponentially. The voice in my legs says, "Your done, just jog it in." And I almost listen. Then the little voice in my head, black eyes, fat lip and all, pushes the legs aside and says "Don't be a pussy." And I start trucking. Just moving. I have a quarter mile to go and I'm using every ounce of mental energy to just put one leg in front of the other a little bit faster than I had the previous step. I close the gap. And then the body steps in. Dry heaves exclaim the effort I'm putting forth. I cross the line. 10:26. And then throw up my lunch. Multiple times. I get my hands off my knees and wipe my mouth. "I hit the time." Jesse, who finished a couple seconds ahead can only shake his head. 

The 2 min rest period and the last mile was a blur. I insisted on leading so I could hold myself accountable. Finishing strong in a surprisingly easy 5:10, I clicked my watch knowing that I found out a couple of things about my self that day. I found out that I am ready. For what, I don't honestly know. I found out that the little voice in my head is stronger than the booming voice of my legs. And I found out that I think this running thing, this sick self-mutilation is necessary. This is the best shape I have ever been in my entire life. The hay is in the barn. The hard work of summer base training is almost done. Now I wait. The way things are going for me right now, I might need a bigger barn.