Back to the Track, Jack

(Note: I have no idea who Jack is, but I was feeling the whole rhyming post title and it sounded good in my head.)

On Tuesday night Candis and I took advantage of our extra hour of daylight and ventured out to the track for some intervals. You know what I love about the track? - Leaving. That’s right, I love it when the workout is over and I get to go home. Does running intervals at the track make me a better runner? Absolutely. Does it push me to my limits and leave me with a feeling of accomplishment? No question. Do I enjoy running intervals? No. No I do not. There is no better way to make yourself feel like a wheezing, lumbering fatty than to challenge yourself with some intervals.

I was a little slower than I would have liked and Candis was a little faster than I would have liked. I ran 5 x 800s (7:32 pace) and she had the nerve to stick with me for the first three 800s. Wha?!? Yup, she stayed about a step behind me for the first three intervals, probably so that she could admire my legs and butt. What am I a piece of meat? I managed to drop her on the last two intervals but I found little comfort in beating her because she cut them down to 400s so that I wouldn’t have the thrill of standing around at the finish line and waiting for her while repeatedly checking my watch.

There’s no motivation in the world like your wife starting to catch up to you. She’s getting faster and a cursory check of the last time I wrote about hating intervals reveals that I am not (see my pacing at the bottom of that post). I think she’s even starting to get ideas in her head about competing with me in races, which is just preposterous. How am I supposed to keep her in her proper place if she starts beating me in races? By the way, that’s just a rhetorical question because it’s NEVER GONNA’ HAPPEN. You hear me?

Party’s Over

You’ll be pleased to know that the pity party here at Half-Fast has come to a close. After two days of wallowing in my failure and moping around the house I finally went and ran again last night. We dragged our children (drug? - or is that a different parenting technique) to the local middle school track and forced them to sit on the hot metal bleachers and yell encouraging things as Candis and I did some 800s because we like to make it hurt so good.

In the past I’ve written some disparaging things about intervals but last night it was just what the doctor ordered, assuming the doctor is a sadistic prick who wants to hurt you. If runners were emo, intervals would be how we cut ourselves.

Surprisingly, it felt good to be out there struggling for breath. It felt good to push my legs to the point of exhaustion. It felt good to hurt myself and I couldn’t help but wonder if this is the same feeling or high that emo people get when they carve stuff into their arms. It was like I was connecting to them on their level, but without the skinny jeans.

Reaching your limits in training is what helps you to push them back, and that’s just what I needed last night. That and a good psychological evaluation but one out of two ain’t bad, right?

You and Intervals

I’ve decided that intervals are the bane of my training. I hate them. They’re like an abusive relationship. You do the first interval and it feels great, you feel fast and you know that you’re making yourself a better runner. You love intervals, you doodle ‘intervals’ as your last name on a scratch pad and dot the i with a heart. You’d do anything to get in Intervals’ pants. But then pretty soon Intervals gets angry with you and yells at you for something insignificant. This should be a warning flag but Intervals is always so apologetic and sweet during that recovery lap. You can’t help yourself, you find yourself begging for more. By the time you get around to your final few laps you’re gasping for breath as Intervals chokes all the air out of you and punches you repeatedly in the legs. It’s over! You’re not going to take this anymore, you’re a self-respecting runner and you don’t need this. When you were dating Long Slow Distance he never treated you this way.

You finish your final lap and you don’t want to be a better runner anymore, you just want to call the cops and have a restraining order issued against Intervals, but you can’t. You can’t because you’ll be right back there at the track again next week thinking ‘weeee look how fast I am’ during that first interval. You’re like an idiot bounding around the track and you don’t even see the oxygen debt coming, but every week it comes and is quickly followed by the physical abuse. Every week you swear off Intervals. You curse Intervals under your breath and sometimes if you’re feeling bold you curse Intervals out loud, hoping to hurt Intervals’ feelings. “I hate you Intervals, and Long Slow Distance is way more endowed than you’ll ever be!” (You should probably spend some time working on your insults.)

You walk away from the track, shunning Intervals but then you can’t keep yourself from glancing over your shoulder and mouthing “call me” with your hand imitating a phone. ‘Oh yeah,’ intervals is arrogantly thinking ‘you’ll be back for more. You know you want me,’ and Intervals is right. I hate it when Intervals is right.

Hey, I bet you can’t guess what kind of workout I did last night.
5 x 800s (7:35 average pace)
Blech. I hate you Intervals!

Another Half-Fast Sighting

Thanks to the ever-alert (and apparently ever-camera-toting) reader joyRuN who e-mailed me the pictures you see below. Says she:

Your poor boat is looking neglected. I spotted it during a 5-mile route that I rarely take, so I hadn’t noticed it before. I looked around & couldn’t find I & II.

There’s something decidedly redneck about the manner in which that boat is being stored, perhaps it’s the rusted trailer or the weeds growing up the side or the fact that it looks like it’s just parked in someone’s unkempt backyard. Come to think of it there was something decidedly redneck about the last Half-Fast sighting too, the fact that it was on the infield at a NASCAR event. I’m starting to wonder if the term Half-Fast might have some redneck connotations y’all.

This means that we’ve now had Half-Fast sightings by land (the bus) and by sea (the boat), although I’m not sure I’d trust that boat to remain afloat for any significant length of time. What we need next is a sighting by air. I’d like to think that there’s a sleek private jet out there somewhere named Half-Fast with all of life’s luxuries built in, a pilot to take you wherever you want to go as long as it’s someplace warm and a sexy flight attendant to bring you drinks from the well stocked onboard bar. Unfortunately, if anyone finds the Half-Fast airplane it will probably look more like this, but huge bonus points will be awarded to anyone that finds it.

On a running note, since this is intended to be a running blog, we went back to the track again yesterday and I ran a set of intervals from hell. The FIRST plan called for the following intervals: 1200m, 1000m, 800m, 600m, 400m, 200m with rest intervals of 200m separating them. 200m rest intervals? I thought I was supposed to get a full lap for my rest interval? When I first saw this on the schedule I didn’t think it would be too bad because each consecutive interval was shorter than the last. What makes it a little tougher is that each interval is supposed to be run at a faster pace than the previous one, meaning that I was supposed to be getting faster and faster despite the fact that I was getting fatigued-er and fatigued-er. (If it’s not a word it should be.) If my wife and kids weren’t there watching me I might have just quit after the first two intervals, but I guess that’s just one more reason not to have a wife and kids.

Thanks again to joyRuN for the awesome Half-Fast boat pictures.

Family Night at the Track

Yesterday was one of those days when my training schedule clashed with Candis’ training schedule in that we were both scheduled to run. Since we can’t leave our young children alone I naturally assumed that Candis would run on the treadmill so that I could go run outside when I got home from work, but was disappointed to discover that this wasn’t the case at all. Apparently I’m supposed to be willing to make compromises or something but I don’t remember that being part of our agreement. If I hadn’t taped over our wedding ceremony I’d go back and see what we each vowed to do because I’m pretty sure that Candis’ vows had something in there about bowing to my every whim, but Candis doesn’t remember it that way. Selective memory, I guess.

Since we were both planning on doing some intervals we decided to go to the local track and take the kids with us where they could annoy and get in the way of other runners. We packed some snacks for the boys, gave them a stern lecture about staying out of other people’s way and headed to the track. For the most part the boys were content to sit and watch from the bleachers while Dad ran circles around Mom. They ran a few laps with us when we were running cool down laps and David (my 5 year old) even ran a complete lap with me at a 9:45 pace. The rest of their time was spent shouting “go Mom!” or “go Dad!” or “Mom, can I have this Krispie Treat?” They also practiced their long jump, which is good because they totally suck at it.

Good form, poor distance.
All in all it was a fun evening. The boys ran several laps and got a ton of exercise and Candis didn’t have to run on the treadmill. I really wish we’d thought of this earlier in the summer because it would have been a great way for us to spend time together as a family while Candis and I both got some training in, of course now it’s starting to get dark early and it will be harder and harder to squeeze it in. Perhaps next time we’ll bring a happy meal and our portable DVD player with us so the boys don’t get too much exercise and can fit in better with society. I wouldn’t want them to be outcasts.

When we got home for the evening the major downfall of this plan became immediately evident, which is to say, where the hell is my dinner? You see, usually when I run in the evening my dinner is ready and waiting when I get home, but this was not the case on Tuesday. Moreover, Candis had to put the kids to bed and iron my clothes for work the following day and didn’t even get started on making me dinner until after that. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as famished as I did last night, sitting there on the couch playing Mario Kart Wii.

Running is a Harsh Mistress

Last night’s run sucked, it was a VW Jetta run for sure. I skipped my long run this past weekend (meaning I didn’t do it, not that I was skipping for 12 miles) and then I sacrificed yesterday's morning run on the alter of the sleep gods. Sleeping in felt good, but I’m pretty sure the running gods punished my indiscretions with a crappy run last night.

I set up my Garmin for some 3 x 1600 intervals and headed out down my usual running trail. The warm up and initial interval went pretty well, but then it headed down the crapper faster than a supermodel’s purged lunch. My legs felt like lead weights, my breathing was off, I was extremely hot, and my ears were ringing, which has never happened before but can’t be good. I’ve tried to come up with every possible excuse reason for my horrendous performance and can’t think of any. I guess that there are just some days when you are going to have a bad run and on days like yesterday, even wearing your lucky rocketship underpants won’t help.

Daily DNC Report
Hey, if I have to put up with all the disruptions it brings, you have to hear me whine about it. Hopefully, I’ll be able to bring you all a little flavor of the DNC at the end of some of my posts this week.

I know I said yesterday that I would not be revealing my political affiliation or candidate of choice but I’m going to break my silence today and throw the full weight of Half-Fast behind one candidate who I saw campaigning yesterday on the mall. I am officially endorsing Captain Morgan.

A platform of booze and wenches is one that I can definitely get behind. Incidentally, this reminds me of a joke. A pirate walks into a bar with a ship’s helm protruding from his pants, the bartender looks at him and says “Hey, you’ve got a ship’s helm sticking out of your fly!” The pirate snarls at him and responds “Ayy matey, ‘tis drivin’ me nuts.” Completely unrelated, but a funny joke, no?

I also took a flyer from a woman with a sign that said “Stop Bird Porn,” because I think that bird porn is going to be one of the topics that decides the outcome of this election. Here is an excerpt from the flyer: “The elderly find that Bird Watching is not strenuous. And this erotic experience can be enjoyed privately through binoculars. Most disturbing are groups of Bird Watchers seeking vicarious sexual gratification in the woods. Shamelessly, they blatantly observe God’s defenseless creatures mating. LEAVE THE BIRDS ALONE!”

As you can see, crazy has busted onto the scene here in Denver in Kramer-esque fashion, (unfortunately in some cases, complete with racist overtones). The bird porn lady is just one example of crazy and she’s got it all wrong. I mean, I agree that these dastardly peeping toms are the pondscum of society, but if birds didn’t want to be seen mating then they wouldn’t do it in my front yard for all the world to see. Stupid, exhibitionist birds! She says stop the voyeurs, I say stop the exhibitionists!

Interestingly, the flyer was translated into Russian on the back which leads me to think that maybe our Russian immigrant friends are the ones who need to hear her message.

A Day at the Track

This past Monday I hit the local high school track for some intervals with a friend (for the purposes of this post we’ll call him Carl - not his real name). My training schedule called for some 4 x 400m speed sessions which may not seem like very much but that’s because I have the Georgetown Half coming up on Saturday and my training is a little less intense this week so that I can be well rested. My goal pace for the 400m intervals was a 7:25 minute/mile pace, and I really tried to hold myself to that pace but I just couldn’t do it. I don’t know if it was the fact that we were only doing 4 x 400s or if it was because Carl was there running with me, but I ran my 400s a lot faster than normal. I discovered when I got home that during those 400m intervals I averaged a 6:50 minute/mile pace. Thanks Carl! Oh, and sorry about calling you Carl in this post (I think he hates that, but that’s just the kind of friend I am).

Also of note at the track on Monday I got my first ever bloody nipple (pictured right). It’s not nearly as rewarding as I thought it would be. Normally I wear Under Armour compression shirts when I run to combat nipple chafing but I didn’t on Monday because it was just a short workout. The high school football field was being watered on Monday night while we were there and an errant sprinkler soaked Carl and I on almost every lap. I guess it was like the perfect storm of conditions to give me a bloody nipple. Hopefully it is fully healed by Saturday because it’s really detracting from sexytime with my wife.

If any of you have any other suggestions for preventing chafed nipples I welcome them in the comments as long as you don’t say Band-Aids. The last time I tried Band-Aids they fell off as soon as I started to sweat.

Responding to Your Comments
Nikki asked in the comments of yesterday’s post how I managed to be so consistent with my pace on my long runs. I actually use the digital training partner on my Garmin and set him to a pace just faster than what I want. I play a game where I let him get out ahead of me over the first few miles which helps me to start slower. During the middle miles I try to remain the same distance behind him and over the last 3-4 miles I try to catch him. Truth be told I didn’t pass him on any of my long runs last month, but I have been running negative splits, ending somewhere around an 8:50 minute/mile pace.

Viper’s comment on yesterday’s post has me in quite a state of confusion. At first I thought it was sarcasm, but it really didn’t have that kind of tone to it. Could it be that Viper was simply being encouraging? Of course not! Obviously he was trying to jinx me by saying that I was going to break his PR! Well it won’t work, because I don’t believe in jinxes either!

Words I Refuse To Use

There are certain words that you will not see on this blog. Ever. With the exception of this post, because how else would I tell you about them. Oh, and another exception would be the comments section because I know that some of my fine commenters use these words on occasion. No other exceptions… until further notice.

I hereby pronounce the following words banned at Half-Fast:

Half Mary: This is often used in running communities as an abbreviation of half marathon. A half marathon is 13.1 long miles. On October 14th this year the Denver Half Marathon will soundly kick my rump and I'd prefer not to have my rump kicker named after a girl thank you very much. I know that there are many runners who've run longer distances in shorter times, but this will be challenging for me and there will be no sissying it up by referring to it as a half mary. Not on this blog. It was bad enough that during my first attempt at skiing, I was humbled by a bunny slope named the Schoolmarm (more like the Widowmaker), I refuse to now also be humbled by something called the half mary. Perhaps I'll coin a new term; the Half Martin. I think that could catch on quite nicely, although I'm not entirely sure how much tougher Martin is than Mary, with apologies to any Martin's out there reading this... what are you going to do? Beat me up? I doubt it!

Fartlek: If there's anyone reading this who's not familiar with this term you can find an excellent definition of it here. I don't mind when other people use this word but to be blatantly honest with you I think I'm a little too immature to use it. I just don't trust myself to write it without resorting to childish, grade school jokes and none of us wants to see that here on Half-Fast. I'll stick to calling it speedwork or interval training and leave the fartleks to the more serious bloggers who can handle the responsibility of using the word appropriately.

Jog: This also includes any variation of the word, jogging, jogger etc. I'm a runner. I run. Even when I'm doing a recovery run I still consider it running. Everyone has their own opinion on this but that's mine. I know that I used the word in my running vs jogging debate, but there was really no way around it.

Onomatopoeia: Because why would I ever need to use this word on my blog?

That's it for now. Just those four words. I'm sure that I'll have more to add in the future.