Sunday, September 24, 2006
W/E 9/24
I spared Dragons readers of the previous week, which was relentlessly uneventful and really just doesn't matter. This week was a decent piece of work, though.
MONDAY: Dave and I set out in the early morning for a 25 minute job taking "my way," which means running west on 10th from the 821, then snaking over onto 5th Ave going north. This was the longest I've ever gone on this route, and it took us into some funky neighborhood just north of Speedway which was one of the few midtown tracts with which I'd been unfamiliar. I was crashing and burning on the way back, but Dave's presence helped me along and instituted this wrinkle into my mid-20's approach to training: the possibility does exist that having a training partner can sometimes actually be sort of beneficial.
TUESDAY: Something about Monday night ruled out a morning session. I don't remember exactly, but we can assume it had to do with desperately groping for some sort of maturity and purpose. I went to work, then sucessfully convinced my cells that pushing through a workout wouldn't rob me of too many pleasures of sedentary life. I ran over to the field by the middle school and ran barefoot for 12 minutes. While running, I thought about glossy magazines.
WEDNESDAY: Are you kidding? I didn't run three days in a row.
THURSDAY: Thursday morning I hit the 'Moc. I used that first half mile or so as a warmup, then stretched a little at the first switchback, then did repeats from that one crack in the road up to the No Smoking sign. These took 45 to 48 seconds, and I did four. Then I just ran back to the car.
FRIDAY: I think Thursday night was much like Monday night, so I ran in the early evening. I managed 20 minutes out and back toward Drachman Stadium.
SATURDAY: Instead of running, I just tried to convince a young man that bad things happen in threes, and that getting a cigarette put out on his chest, losing his cell phone and getting punched in the face should have him in the clear for a while. Had I been more of a tough love type, I would have just told him to grow the fuck up. Coming from me, obviously, that's a pretty grim diagnosis.
SUNDAY: Dave and I ran in the morning again, but his training partner capacities had been limited by some sort of sedan. Much like Haile Gebrsellassie in today's Berlin marathon, I finished the last quarter of the run on my own. It was another 25er.
Weekly mileage was about 14.5
Oh, MAN!!! I just listened to Tad Kubler's guitar riff on "Sweet Payne," and that shit is THE JUICE!!! That'll power me through the coming week, for which I have high hopes.
MONDAY: Dave and I set out in the early morning for a 25 minute job taking "my way," which means running west on 10th from the 821, then snaking over onto 5th Ave going north. This was the longest I've ever gone on this route, and it took us into some funky neighborhood just north of Speedway which was one of the few midtown tracts with which I'd been unfamiliar. I was crashing and burning on the way back, but Dave's presence helped me along and instituted this wrinkle into my mid-20's approach to training: the possibility does exist that having a training partner can sometimes actually be sort of beneficial.
TUESDAY: Something about Monday night ruled out a morning session. I don't remember exactly, but we can assume it had to do with desperately groping for some sort of maturity and purpose. I went to work, then sucessfully convinced my cells that pushing through a workout wouldn't rob me of too many pleasures of sedentary life. I ran over to the field by the middle school and ran barefoot for 12 minutes. While running, I thought about glossy magazines.
WEDNESDAY: Are you kidding? I didn't run three days in a row.
THURSDAY: Thursday morning I hit the 'Moc. I used that first half mile or so as a warmup, then stretched a little at the first switchback, then did repeats from that one crack in the road up to the No Smoking sign. These took 45 to 48 seconds, and I did four. Then I just ran back to the car.
FRIDAY: I think Thursday night was much like Monday night, so I ran in the early evening. I managed 20 minutes out and back toward Drachman Stadium.
SATURDAY: Instead of running, I just tried to convince a young man that bad things happen in threes, and that getting a cigarette put out on his chest, losing his cell phone and getting punched in the face should have him in the clear for a while. Had I been more of a tough love type, I would have just told him to grow the fuck up. Coming from me, obviously, that's a pretty grim diagnosis.
SUNDAY: Dave and I ran in the morning again, but his training partner capacities had been limited by some sort of sedan. Much like Haile Gebrsellassie in today's Berlin marathon, I finished the last quarter of the run on my own. It was another 25er.
Weekly mileage was about 14.5
Oh, MAN!!! I just listened to Tad Kubler's guitar riff on "Sweet Payne," and that shit is THE JUICE!!! That'll power me through the coming week, for which I have high hopes.
