Many of my friends know that in a past life (aka High School in this entry) I was a rather serious runner. For four years I ran loops around the track at my high school nearly every day of the school year. I was relatively accomplished: a 2 year captain of the 200 person team, 2nd place in my league in the 400 meter sprint senior year, blah blah blah. I was relatively fast, and I think it was my work ethic that propelled me past others, not necessarily my god-given talent. But that’s for another entry altogether.
Yesterday I ran the mile at race pace for the first time in years. It was painful. My plan for running races is generally as follows:
- Line up, wait for start
- Run at a really fast pace, nearly as fast as possible
- Slowly die out, realizing that I have nothing else to give at the end.
This method ensures that I always give full effort, and has worked for me in many cases. Yesterday, however, it hurt really bad. After doing a quick warm-down lap where I thought I could collapse at any moment, I went to the sideline and laid down. My head was spinning and I could do nothing but lay with my eyes closed.
I did this exact same thing after nearly every race in high school. It hurts really bad, but something about it feels so good. Leaving everything you’ve got on the track is a painful reward. I realized that I missed this feeling. It has been 6 years or so since I’ve felt it. I welcome it back, though, and am excited about the pain that my 6 minute mile will eventually bring.