Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Run or Sleep?

"I'm leaving for work, good bye," my wife said as she leaned over to kiss me good-bye.

I floated just below consciousness and rolled over. It must be 7 am, I thought.

Last night, at 10:30 I was tired. I was supposed to be running at no later than 6 am, but, I love staying up late. I just wanted to stay up late and read a book. The book's cover writes:

On February 19, 1979, I was in a plane crash with my father, his girlfriend Sandra, and the pilot of our chartered Cessna. Sandra was 30. My dad was 43. I was 11. Just after sunrise, we slammed into a rugged 8,600 foot mountain engulfed in a blizzard. By the end of our nine-hour ordeal, I was the only survivor.

The book is called, "Crazy For The Storm," by Norman Ollestad. I'm not sure if I'll like it or not, but the cover has me captivated.

"It's summer vacation and since I'm not teaching summer school, why shouldn't I stay up late and sleep in?" I asked myself. I went to bed anyway, but it was still 2 hours later than it should've been.

Around 7:30 this morning nature's call did what my wife's farewell couldn't. I got me out of bed, but only temporarily. I laid in bed. It was cool inside and today was going to be another hot southern Arizona June day. My left hip hurt, my right Achilles was stiff, my knees were sore, I had blisters on my feet, and my upper body was not very happy with me from the 610 pushups I had done the afternoon before.

Ah, sweet sleep, here I come again. If I wake another hour later, these aches will be long gone, except the upper body, that'll take another 24 hours. Besides, last summer was so short and I never unwound. I suffered because of it. I didn't ever get that place where the stresses and worries of the job melt away and become appropriately diminished and put into perspective. I couldn't do THAT again.

"You're not doing that again. What day is it?" I asked myself.

I didn't know right away. That's a good sign that I'm relaxed.

"Comfort and ease do not provide fulfillment." I thought before thinking of Lance Armstrong and Dean Karnazes and Alberto Salazar and Dick Beardsley and ... Spartans.

I got up. It was going to be HOT outside. Today would be the first run since spraining my left foot and my first run since that 8 hour murderous mountain expedition two days ago. That's why my hips, knees and Achilles were sore. I still had blisters!

I laced up my shoes, brushed my teeth. It would be an out-and-back to the grocery store, 4 miles total. Short and easy, see how the foot feels.

I ran the first mile in 7:59. I was surprised. I wasn't trying to go that fast, I wanted to be a minute slower. The second mile has a decent hill, a hundred foot climb in just under 1/4 of a mile, but that mile was 7:33. I still felt great.

Half way through the the third mile nausea set it, that hot flash in the stomach and heat everywhere else. Why didn't I go to bed last night at 8:30 and get up at 5 am and do this run? I had a good thing going! I ran the third mile in 8:53. The damage was done. I wanted to run the last two miles faster than the first two. No dice today. The last mile was brutal and took 10:12!

I weighted myself before and after the run and in that 34 minute span, I lost 3.1 pounds! Whoa!

I ate breakfast, took a shower and then a nice nap! Tonight, I'm going to bed on time and getting up early. At least, that's the plan.

No comments:

Post a Comment