Sucking At Track At the Track

This off-season's nagging aches and pains combined with a piss-poor attitude has produced a long series of below-par workouts. So today I headed out for the local high school track with no expectations at all. I didn't feel like working out. I didn't feel like running track. I didn't feel like analyzing why, either. After reading my logs and fearing disaster, Karyn even called me to move the workout to tomorrow. But I'd already left for the track, so we failed to connect. And what happens at the track? The best workout of the fall. Go figure.

The 2-mile run from home to the track served as a warm-up. The main workout was supposed to start with 4 strides, but I, hmm, er, forgot. Sorry Karyn. Next was supposed to be a mile at my 5k pace, or around 7:00. I ran it in 6:50 by my watch, but it was probably closer to 6:30-6:40, as I had to run in the outside lanes to avoid the cross-country team running 200s. The first hint that something was amiss with my pity party.

Next on the agenda was 4X800, with the second half of each 800 faster then the first half. 800 times are bold, splits are in parentheses: 3:30 (1:50/1:40), 3:17 (1:41/1:36), 3:16 (1:40/1:36), 3:08 (1:36/1:32). So not only did I hit the mark within each 800, I got faster from one 800 to the next.

What the hell is going on here? I feel like sucking and, damn it, nobody's going to deprive me the pleasure of wallowing in my suckiness. Except me, apparently. 2 miles back home and now it's Miller time. Oh wait, I don't drink that maggot puke. It's Syrah time.

Tomorrow's drill-packed swim workout is sure to suck. Stay tuned.