They say running is a mental sport and we're all crazy.  I may just agree.  Day two of blogging and I can't lie-- it was a rough one.  We had our first track workout today, and to be honest, I have done no speed work since the cross country season... which ended back in November. I walked into the locker room today expecting a nice hour long romp around a park, maybe a pickup here and there, but mostly just the relaxing feel of my legs pushing me forward.  To my chagrin, the rumor started up that the dreaded track workout had arrived.  Before I go on, let me just say that we on the track team love snow.  Not because of its beauty, the feeling of catching a flake on your tongue, or even the potential for a snow day.  No, the reason we love snow is that it prevents us from having to run on the track.

Imagine a fast-paced run. Imagine one of your tougher workouts.  Now imagine running that workout in a confined space on a short loop, revolving around and around.  Not only is this boring, but as I mentioned in my last post, it can cause uneven soreness.  Then imagine about 200 other athletes sitting on the infield, casually watching as you suck in breath like a thoroughbred.  That, my friends, is why we celebrate the smattering of snow patches that prevent us from running track workouts.

With the Floridian winter we've experienced here in MN there was no snow to be found today.  Thus, in the midst of a whipping wind, the small group of distance runners I train with set out on our warm-up.  I actually felt pretty good on the warm-up despite my less than restful weekend.  Upon return to the dreaded track, however, my legs were starting to feel precarious.   I wasn't sure if they were shaky, tired, or just not ready for speed, but i began to mentally prepare for a tough workout.

We began with a 1200.  Tempo pace, so I was thinking about a 7 minute mile.  Right off the blocks, however, my group was doing about a 6:30-40, urged on by our coach's comment that "You all don't have the same tempo pace!  Push it!"  In our world, that's code for, "I'm disappointed and know you're faster than this so get moving!" I finished strong albeit my legs already felt fried.  I blame it on the plyos, but in the words of Kelly Clarkson, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger..."  An 800 and two 400s later, I didn't know what was wrong with me.  As I battered down the hatches to push through the wind in the last stretch, I'll admit to giving up for a moment.  The excuses flashed through my head: I'm not built for speed, it's early in the season, blah blah blah.  But then I realized that my legs will always be tired.  Or I'll have gotten a shot that morning.  Or my shoelace won't be tied right or my math test will have gone poorly or my peanut butter to jelly ratio will have been imperfect in my sandwich.  Whatever it is, I am going to have to buckle down and deal with it, or better yet forget about it.

As I geared up for my last 1200 I decided to finish strong, no other option.  It hurt, especially on the quavering legs, but the contentment of hanging in there overrode the fatigue.  I'm not going to say that this small feat inspired an overall change in my life output, but it did give me a bit of insight as to why I do the sport.  It's not about owning every workout; there will be the inevitable days where the joy of running just isn't there.  It's not even about overcoming obstacles, because there are enough of those in life without running.  For me, it's about a satisfaction and peace that comes with conditioning my mind and body and becoming the strongest version of myself.