Saturday: 1 mile warm up, 5 miles @ pace -- 48:20
Sunday: 10 miles @ 8:51 -- 1:28:30.8 (plus 25 minutes of "homework)
Friday was a rest day. It was also Passover. We invited our best friends over and had a half assed Seder. We played with plague finger puppets, ate horse radish, and watched Game of Thrones. That show just gets better and better.
Saturday: One of my neighbors was mowing his lawn at 8am, so I was up early. FUN! I puttered around as long as I could justify. The longer I waited the more I wanted to do yet another tempo run on the treadmill. But, I won't be running my half on a treadmill, so I need to be used to pushing myself at my desired pace.
One of the things holding me back was the feeling of something settling in to my lungs. Two weeks ago I was sick for almost a full week. It felt like I was getting sick again.
But, I wasn't bedridden, so out I went.
1 9:19.0 (warm up)
Total Time: 48:19.9
My "goal pace" is 7:51 - 8:00. While my average pace (minus the warm up) was still below my pace time, mile 4 depresses me. Sure, I have plenty of excuses. The wind was in the face. But, the wind was in my face for mile 5 as well. And yes, I was tired, and it was hard to breathe, but that didn't get better for miles 5 and 6. I just tried harder.
Mile 4 was the point where I repeatedly considered stopping my Garmin, sitting down, and crying. It was hard to breathe. I was not going as felt as I felt I was going. My lungs hurt. Everything was so difficult. I told myself a lot of lies during that mile. And a lot of possible truths. I seriously considered quitting early.
But, training for a race isn't just physical. And, I wasn't injured. I wasn't on my death bed. Things were just *hard.* So I started playing the "you have x miles to go. ANYONE can run x miles." and "The faster you go the sooner you'll be done." My breathing was mildly scary as I soldiered through.
But, I did it. It was awful. It felt like one of the worst runs I've had. But, I did it. I did it all. I didn't die. I didn't cry. I didn't quit. I didn't crap out (too much). I feel like I should be proud of that, but it also feels stupid to be proud of not pussing out. I don't know.
Sunday. Was rough. I was sore. I was tired. I was still feeling sick. I canceled morning plans so I could attempt to sleep in. I made it to 8:15am. Lame. It was still 9 hours of sleep, but I could have done with me.
Marla and Andrew hosted an Easter brunch, so I dragged myself out, ate some bacon and fruit, made a comment about prison rape and beaver pie, and dragged myself home. A few hours on the couch and I was starting to feel like I could probably do my run. 10 miles seemed like a way to go, though, so I hatched a plan with my husband, and headed out the door.
Three miles later, I met up with my husband at the dog park.
While he played at the park, I knocked out four miles, then met him back at the park.
Then I ran the three minutes home.
Ten miles, done and done. The last few miles burned my lungs a bit, but overall they were so, so, SO much easier than Saturday. Not just because it was slower. I felt so much better the whole time. Sick lungs versus slightly less sick lungs, I guess.
Weekly workout time total:
Not too shabby.
Was it smart to do a hard run and a long run while sick? I don't know. I felt worse after the hard run and better after the long run. Obviously I wasn't on death's door or I wouldn't have done either. I'm stubborn, but I'm not stupid. I just didn't feel well. I wasn't coughing my lungs up. I wasn't having intestinal issues. I just didn't feel well, but I ran anyway. I guess I would have quit if it was too much. I don't know how much worse that would have had to be. I was still able to keep the pace I wanted, so I guess it couldn't have been too bad. I've been sicker.
I've heard you should cut out the running if the sickness is in your lungs. Clearly I didn't do that. It didn't ruin my life.
Anyone have any authoritative knowledge on this?