Being Chased

Track workouts are the epitome of yin and yang in a runner's world.  I love them and I hate them.  They yield so much benefit and hurt tremendously more than any other workout of the week.  I haven't done a track workout since early June.  With a couple of weeks off for taper, two back to back races, and then a nice off season for recovery, it's been a long time off the track. 

With marathon season imminently upon me, I started back to the track 3 weeks ago.  As expected I am slower than I was last spring.  But I'm still farther ahead of where I began several years ago.  It used to be my goal to hold 3:40 for my 800 repeats.  Last spring I was holding 3:05.  The last few weeks, I've been hanging out at 3:15.  Until... the chase.

So after my 3 mile warm up, I knock out my first 800 meter repeat in 3:18.  As I'm finishing up, the junior ROTC comes out to the field for a little calisthenics.  They do a few pull ups.  They run a few laps.  They do some push ups.  Run a few more laps.  When they run, all 12 or 15 of them are in a block formation taking up the first 4 lanes of the track.  So as I sped by them I hit lane 6 and then cut back in on the curves. 

Fast forward to my second repeat.  The group of teens has just gone by as I'm in my starting block.  I hit my watch and take off.  I cruise by them in lane 6 and within a few steps I hear this ragged breathing behind me.  There's ruckus in the group (they are teens, when is there not?).  I think that one of the boys has jumped in behind me trying to keep up and show off for his friends.  Being the competitive person that I am, there's no way I'm letting him around me. 

300 meters in my shadow backs off a hair.  I am sucking wind like no other trying to stay ahead of him.  I can't shake him.  I continue to hear the footsteps just behind me accompanied by the runner's gasp for air.  I continue to fly, picking up my feet as fast as I can.

600 meters in, my shadow passes me.  It is my husband.  I nearly scream out loud.  I was killing myself trying to stay ahead of someone who naturally runs 800s about 45 seconds faster than me.  I back off the pace just a hair and my limbs go all numb and tingly with the blood suddenly not rushing so quickly.  I hit the 800 meter mark and stop my watch.  3:04.  I scream out loud.  I curse.  My lungs hurt.  My airways burn.  My limbs are like jello.  Your breathing was all ragged!  I didn't think it was you!  I yell at my husband.  He laughs.  Blames it on that being his first interval of the day.  Teases me and continues to run laps around me. 

I start my recovery interval and I spend my 400 meters thinking how awesome I am and how great it feels (great as in painfully amazing) to still be able to lay down a 3:04.  Oh yeah!  Two fingers in the air and then smack on my hip to put out the flames Tsssss cause I am on FIRE!  And if the group of teens hadn't been there and it was just me and my running partners, I probably would have attempted to throw down a cartwheel on the infield.  Probably good that I didn't cause that would increase my likelihood for injury. 

My next 800 is my slowest (go figure) as my limbs still don't know quite how to function.  But I finish up the workout, 5 x 800 all within a 3 second range not including the chase.  So it was a successful day and I know I've still got it in me.  I just need someone chasing me to pull it out!