I tweeted the following babble yesterday (which you already knew because you are fresh on all things me, I'm CERTAIN), because no matter how stark or sad, it has felt true.
Seriously. The notion of going out and running 26+ miles sounds like a better use of my running time/prowess/competitiveness/whateverness. Gross. Gross! Such mental midgetry. After work yesterday, I started to write on fearfulness, of goals becoming unnerving and questioning how to combat that which gets us off course...and it was unsatisfying, repetitive. Felt like a dead end. So I pushed the computer aside, laced up my shoes and went out for a soupy few miles under the early evening sun.
Took it intentionally easy as I've taken some time off this month to cross train, rest up my tight hip and mentally realign heading into whatever lies ahead. At least until the final mile, passing through the final point where I get stopped by a light and intersection. For lack of a better and crass-free qualifier, I fucking destroyed it, dipping into the 6:20s for the final half mile+.
It felt good-- no. If it makes me a wanker to say it, so be it, but it felt right to be moving that quickly. I closed my final relay leg earlier this month at sub seven minute pace, mainly because I really wanted to be done and had limited concept of pace or time at that point in the journey, but afterwards while looking over my watch data, I wasn't that surprised. Ability doesn't fade, but when fear interjects....it's rough to right the ship back where it belongs.
Closed out the final run of my 20s the way I was too cowardly to run for the portion of the decade that I actually ran. And instead of feeling dour and down about time lost and wasted, I felt amped that I have that gear, and that to me, running fast is fun. Enlightening. Self-contained adrenaline was exciting to possess once again, if only for a short while. I want more.
Taking a conservative approach in my training shouldn't have made me afraid or undeserving to run fast. Tampered my ability to race intelligently. Seep into other pieces of my being. That changes, because the year is halfway over and too many goals are going to fall short if I don't do something now.
Don't have all the pieces in place but I know two of 'em:
-Run more 5k (and shorter! looking at you, opportunities on the track and road mile) races.
-Never feel tentative to go after what matters.
No more repeating mistakes, I'm in a new age bracket after all. What comes next: building a base starts this week for the next some odd weeks. Then we see what we can do this fall. Probably the best birthday gift I can provide.
Strongly considering running Grandmas in '15; b/c a marathon sounds less daunting than seeing how fast I can be at 5k.
— Zoe Kind (@zoeakind) June 23, 2014
Seriously. The notion of going out and running 26+ miles sounds like a better use of my running time/prowess/competitiveness/whateverness. Gross. Gross! Such mental midgetry. After work yesterday, I started to write on fearfulness, of goals becoming unnerving and questioning how to combat that which gets us off course...and it was unsatisfying, repetitive. Felt like a dead end. So I pushed the computer aside, laced up my shoes and went out for a soupy few miles under the early evening sun.
Took it intentionally easy as I've taken some time off this month to cross train, rest up my tight hip and mentally realign heading into whatever lies ahead. At least until the final mile, passing through the final point where I get stopped by a light and intersection. For lack of a better and crass-free qualifier, I fucking destroyed it, dipping into the 6:20s for the final half mile+.
It felt good-- no. If it makes me a wanker to say it, so be it, but it felt right to be moving that quickly. I closed my final relay leg earlier this month at sub seven minute pace, mainly because I really wanted to be done and had limited concept of pace or time at that point in the journey, but afterwards while looking over my watch data, I wasn't that surprised. Ability doesn't fade, but when fear interjects....it's rough to right the ship back where it belongs.
Closed out the final run of my 20s the way I was too cowardly to run for the portion of the decade that I actually ran. And instead of feeling dour and down about time lost and wasted, I felt amped that I have that gear, and that to me, running fast is fun. Enlightening. Self-contained adrenaline was exciting to possess once again, if only for a short while. I want more.
Taking a conservative approach in my training shouldn't have made me afraid or undeserving to run fast. Tampered my ability to race intelligently. Seep into other pieces of my being. That changes, because the year is halfway over and too many goals are going to fall short if I don't do something now.
Don't have all the pieces in place but I know two of 'em:
-Run more 5k (and shorter! looking at you, opportunities on the track and road mile) races.
-Never feel tentative to go after what matters.
No more repeating mistakes, I'm in a new age bracket after all. What comes next: building a base starts this week for the next some odd weeks. Then we see what we can do this fall. Probably the best birthday gift I can provide.
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