Cat Hill 1, Me 1
by Robert James Reese » Thursday, October 22nd, 2009 » 4 Comments
It's crazy how you never know when a good run is going to show up. About halfway through Tuesday, I succumbed to some nasty little virus and ever since, I've felt like absolute dogshit. I stayed home from the office yesterday and today, saw the doctor, drank two half-gallon jugs of Odwalla Superfood, slept 12+ hours a night, but still I have been dragging all day. My head hurt, my throat hurt, my whole body hurt. Finally, around 7:00 this evening, I laced up my running shoes figuring that if nothing else, going for a run couldn't possibly make me feel any worse than I already did.
It started off rough. In fact, I almost turned around and headed back home a half mile in. My knees were killing me and I just didn't have any oomph. Every step was taking such an effort. But then I thought of everything I'm trying to accomplish and decided to just fight through it.
I entered the park, climbed up Harlem Hill solidly, but not fast, then relaxed coming back down. I was at a 7:30/mile pace, just trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I heard footsteps approaching and then a runner passed me. I was okay with it at first and let him get about thirty yards on me. I hung back about that distance for a half mile or so, but then, we got to a hill and he slowed down a bit and I couldn't resist the temptation to speed up and pass him. And after doing so, I kept up the pace to avoid looking like a jackass.
My Garmin beeped and I looked down to see a 6:52. Whoa. I should reel it in a bit. I'm sick. But I didn't really try that hard to slow down and, instead, let the pace dictate itself. Next mile was 6:42. The hills at the bottom of the park slowed me to 6:54 for the fifth mile. That left me at the bottom of Cat Hill and I wanted revenge. I started charging up the hill full force, flying by other runners left and right. I eased up the pace a bunch after reaching the top, but still recorded a 6:28 mile – faster than my failed interval from Tuesday. Another 6:46 mile after that, then a cooldown jog back home.
I feel twenty times better now than I did before the run, so maybe that was the answer all along. Run.
It started off rough. In fact, I almost turned around and headed back home a half mile in. My knees were killing me and I just didn't have any oomph. Every step was taking such an effort. But then I thought of everything I'm trying to accomplish and decided to just fight through it.
I entered the park, climbed up Harlem Hill solidly, but not fast, then relaxed coming back down. I was at a 7:30/mile pace, just trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I heard footsteps approaching and then a runner passed me. I was okay with it at first and let him get about thirty yards on me. I hung back about that distance for a half mile or so, but then, we got to a hill and he slowed down a bit and I couldn't resist the temptation to speed up and pass him. And after doing so, I kept up the pace to avoid looking like a jackass.
My Garmin beeped and I looked down to see a 6:52. Whoa. I should reel it in a bit. I'm sick. But I didn't really try that hard to slow down and, instead, let the pace dictate itself. Next mile was 6:42. The hills at the bottom of the park slowed me to 6:54 for the fifth mile. That left me at the bottom of Cat Hill and I wanted revenge. I started charging up the hill full force, flying by other runners left and right. I eased up the pace a bunch after reaching the top, but still recorded a 6:28 mile – faster than my failed interval from Tuesday. Another 6:46 mile after that, then a cooldown jog back home.
I feel twenty times better now than I did before the run, so maybe that was the answer all along. Run.
4 Comments
You must befriend her.
Lie down with her so that she may be your Ally.
That you, like Moses at the Sea, shall pass safely
as those to your left and those to your right,
who would make her their Handmaiden,
are Devoured.
For to them she will truly be an Avenging Angel
and they,
like Sisyphus,
shall not rest upon her Crest.
IV. DEATH BY WATER
Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss.
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.
Oh, my comment looks so crappy compared to my predecessors, but, like I said: F#%$CK Cat Hill!!!!
Leave a Comment