many, many drops of sweat
Aug. 1st, 2006 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saffronhareThis afternoon's walk training was a Big Deal to me. I've been off since my failed attempt at walking on Saturday, after which I came home and went to bed for about three weeks. I'm low on motivation right now, and it's fecking hot. Today called for five miles of walking.
I did it. I jogged about half of it. I'd like to say I ran, but really. A 12-minute mile doesn't count as running, no matter how I frame it in my head. The track was .34 miles around, with a restroom and a water fountain and a very entertaining group of young men having what might have been the first football practice of their lives. I also got to scold some roustabout pre-teens who had taken it upon themselves to start rearranging trash cans and picnic tables in a misplaced display of virility for the pouty-faced girls hangin' with them. Here's how a stunningly slow but enormously satisfying 70 minutes went:
one lap walking
three laps jogging
one lap walking
..hydration, restroom, stretching..
one lap walking
three laps jogging
one lap walking
..hydration, restroom, stretching..
one lap walking
one lap running
one lap walking
one lap running
one lap walking
..hydrate, limp to car, drive home..
Honestly, it didn't increase my rate of perceived effort much at all to add in the running, but it sure did create in me the impression that I was going to finish a teensy-weensy bit faster, which was tremendously meaningful. My hip flexor even seems to be healing. The most painful thing about it? Ironically, my tits. See, I'm at day 29 in my cycle (bet you really wanted to know that) and they're tremendously tender. Talk about motivation to keep my running stride smooth and soft. So it gave me a bit of a giggle, wearing my Susan G. Komen t-shirt, thinking owie about my boobs as I train for the 3-Day. My gods may be wretched, but they sure have a sense of humor.
I did it. I jogged about half of it. I'd like to say I ran, but really. A 12-minute mile doesn't count as running, no matter how I frame it in my head. The track was .34 miles around, with a restroom and a water fountain and a very entertaining group of young men having what might have been the first football practice of their lives. I also got to scold some roustabout pre-teens who had taken it upon themselves to start rearranging trash cans and picnic tables in a misplaced display of virility for the pouty-faced girls hangin' with them. Here's how a stunningly slow but enormously satisfying 70 minutes went:
one lap walking
three laps jogging
one lap walking
..hydration, restroom, stretching..
one lap walking
three laps jogging
one lap walking
..hydration, restroom, stretching..
one lap walking
one lap running
one lap walking
one lap running
one lap walking
..hydrate, limp to car, drive home..
Honestly, it didn't increase my rate of perceived effort much at all to add in the running, but it sure did create in me the impression that I was going to finish a teensy-weensy bit faster, which was tremendously meaningful. My hip flexor even seems to be healing. The most painful thing about it? Ironically, my tits. See, I'm at day 29 in my cycle (bet you really wanted to know that) and they're tremendously tender. Talk about motivation to keep my running stride smooth and soft. So it gave me a bit of a giggle, wearing my Susan G. Komen t-shirt, thinking owie about my boobs as I train for the 3-Day. My gods may be wretched, but they sure have a sense of humor.
