Beautiful, lovely Fridays. Fridays are rest days! No training! Not if you begged me, because it's just not allowed.
And today is extra special because NOD is having her wisdom teeth out, so I had to stay home from work, too. Darn. While NOD is sleeping it off this afternoon, I will sit on the porch, read, and doze, because I am in training people, and resting is my job.
Today's rest will ensure that I kill tomorrow night's 8K, or rather, 4.970969536-mile race, my very first. I have never run more than four miles before without walking, but geeze, what's a measly .970969536th of a mile? I'm gonna kick that .970969536th of a mile's ass.
So I'm looking forward to this race, mostly, let's admit it, so I can brag and blog about it the next day. I'm sure there will be zany hijinks to relate, and the usual thrills, spills, and chills, with our heroine bagging a medal, or two.
Cuz my stomach is already starting to hurt from thinking about it. Because I'm already getting my knickers in a twist about not having a strategy, and from staying up late reading McMillan Running, which has a lot, no really, a LOT, of info, about running—stuff like VO2, and sub-9 min. miles, lactate (not lactation—whole different thing), and breathing, and other important running stuff like this:
That orange line? I'm not sure, but I think it means the longer you run, the more likely you are to croak.
I think I'll just run it, and see what happens.