Track Workout Hell... or Heaven?

I prayed for Death to swiftly take me.

Legs burning. Heart exploding. Gasping for oxygen with each breath. Death, however, sat back laughing. Enjoying the suffering I was enduring.

Torture chamber? Heart attack? Horrific car accident? No. It was my track workout.

Having missed my G-Trainer workout due to some scheduling conflicts earlier this week, I moved my interval workout to this morning. It has been staring at me from the pages of my training log for days. I tried to come up with an excuse to skip it. Leg's too tired from my 20 miler earlier this week? No, actually they feel pretty good. Is my throat a little scratchy? (My husband has been sick for a week, so I'm just waiting...) Nope, throat's fine. Do I need an extra rest day? No, I woke up before the alarm went off so I must be well rested.

So I hauled my butt out of bed and out the door into the quiet morning stillness. After a very slow 2 1/2 mile warm-up I found myself on the track. No more stalling. Time to make it count. It was too dark to see my watch, so I had to rely on perceived exertion. Effort. Breathing. Gasping. Muscle fatigue. These were to be my guides. I clicked off 6 x 800 m repeats with 400 m recovery between. I followed it up with a mile and half cool-down back to my house. I sat outside stretching, and with the sun now lighting the sky, looked at my watch.

3:19. Really? 3:18. Hmm. 3:12. Holy shit! 3:19. I can hardly believe this. 3:18. I maintained my pace. 3:20. For 6 repeats. Without looking. I was within 2 seconds for each split with the exception of a spurious lap #3.

3:18. That's a 6:40 mile pace. That's a sub-21 minute 5k. That's a Yasso 800 pace for a 3:20 marathon. Can this be real? I blink. My watch blinks back at me. 3:18. I am shocked. I want to dance around the backyard.

I can do this. I will do this. Boston is in 6 weeks. I am strong. I am ready. I am prepared.