I don't want to believe it either. Though an interview I read earlier today with Floyd Landis' mother had me thinking: "This guy needs a new mother!" She's since talked to Floyd and now says he didn't do it. But geeze, how about a mother who doesn't need to talk to her son first before declaring her allegiance?
Last night instead of a track workout, I did hills. Times four. A half mile hill. Up it. Four times. Which means down it four times. Little did I know at the time that you add that up and get ... four miles. Now, throw in the run to get to the evil hill and the run back, another three miles, and my 4-mile track workout somehow turned into seven miles. Rock on! My pace on the hill (which to be fair, is a wee bit shy of .5 miles) was about 5:18, a little faster than my 10K pace. (God, I love it when I talk like this.) So this will make me stronger. Right? RIGHT??? Cuz right now? I pretty much feel like limp spaghetti and, sigh, as usual, am convinced I will never run again. I barely made it to the car tonight. (See Bikram story, below.)
I sloged (sludged + jogged) back to work. The whole thing took 1 1/2 hours. It was 9:30 by the time I got back to work, where I was so tired I couldn't even take a shower. For some reason, people were still there, and still wanted to talk to me! In my condition.
Then I came home and did some writing 'til 11:30.
So I skipped this morning's 4-mile run because seven? Last night? Tonight was Bikram. I have officially switched studios from the lovely 5th-floor-walk-up-but-filled- with-intense-mirror watching-people studio in Dupont Circle (downtown D.C.) to a smelly not-so-great one nearer my office and not on the 5th floor. Tonight, the instructor warned that it would be "hotter inside because it was hotter outside." I pondered this question (among others) for the entire 90 minutes. Can't they regulate the heat? So, yeah, it's hot out. Put the thermostat on 120 and if it goes to 121, then um, turn it down.
At the end, my head hurt and and I was so not at peace. Drenched to the bone as usual, with a heart rate that would not cease its maddening beat. (Kinda like the "Telltale Heart.") The older gentleman next to me had been groaning and fussing throughout the entire class, which was bugging the HELL out of me. I'M TRYING TO GET TO MY PEACEFUL PLACE here, jackass. Shut up already.
So here's the other question I pondered: Why is it only men who groan during exercise class? I swear to God, I have never heard a woman groan incessantly through a 90-minute Bikram, or spinning, or anything class. And don't tell me we're not working as hard.
I have a theory, but you go first.
Saturday is a 16-mile run with DCFIT. This is the first time I have ever tried to run 16 miles. Get on your knees and pray.
I keep forgetting to announce that I have two races coming up before the Big One:
The Montgomery County Parks Half, on Sept. 24, with Finally Running Susie and her s.o. David, who have graciously accepted my invitation to stay with me in my little castle—paaartay!; and
this crazy 20K that Bex talked me into. (Why does a 20k sound worse than a half? I dunno but it does.) Actually at the moment they both sound ghastly. But I know they'll be fun. Right? RIGHT??
Please, like a bad boyfriend, just lie to me.