Today's scheduled run (well, Wednesday's scheduled run, but who's tallying, here?) was supposed to be more dreaded speedwork, specifically 6 miles with 3 mile-long intervals of 9:48, with 1/2 mile "jogs" in between. Well, that didn't happen. My first mistake, and probably the fatal flaw, was that I had Tom drop me off away from home. That, in itself, no big deal, but I forgot my damn inhaler and only realized it once we were off and it was too late. O Well, thought I, this'll be a decent experiment to see if my (strictly exercise-induced) asthma has gotten any better.
One word answer: FuckNo.
Now 9:48 is superduper fast for me, in fact I don't think I've ever really run that fast for more than a minute or two, certainly NOT a mile, but it's what my plan calls for and sure, I'll give it a shot. First mile? 9:32, baby, 9:32. Yay! says me, I'm a RAWKstar! It was a really hard mile, but I did it! Stopping to take a sip of congratulatory water, I soon dissolve on the side of the road and become a wheezy, coughy, phlegm-producing mess. That fast. I pick myself up and continue on for the 1/2 mile jog, but even that's not easy, even at a comfortable 12:30 pace. Even at a walk. So the 1/2 mile passes, and I try for the next interval, psyched 'cause it's downhill, I can do this! About 3/10 of a mile passes, and No, I cannot. I drop down to a more reasonable pace, and pretty much I can't do that either. It's not that I couldn't breathe, per se, but more like the air I DID breathe wasn't feeding my muscles. Just -- no gas. I plodded on in fits and starts for another mile or so, to a total of 3.3, and called it quits. I could see no point in "soldiering on" when I could not maintain a run of any pace for more than a tenth of a mile or so. It felt like I didn't really even have a choice.
On an altogether different note, I solved another problem, namely freezing my ass off in the beginning mile of a run (temps in the 30s, me in shorts and tank, comfortable once I get started) -- armwarmers. I borrowed a pair of Tom's, and they totally kept my arms, uh, warm. A mile in, I whipped 'em off and tied them to my waist belt. Eureka!
I came home, semi-changed, and headed off to yoga. Ah, yoga . . . I am really falling in love with you, all over again. I can almost feel my body healing with every move. That's sumthin' else.
So, I accomplished previously uttered goals. I cleaned up a bit, shopped, cooked something tasty, managed a run, and yoga . . . the run may have been a FAIL but the day turns up as a WIN.
Now, off for some Olympics.