Sunday rocked. I ran/walked 7 miles, kayaked for an hour and felt great.
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, I was the laziest dog ever.
Missing Wednesday's run was killer because it was supposed to be my speed training. But instead, I simply sat like a slug on the couch, feeling guilty but depressed and unable to move.
Today, I managed to drag my lazy self to boxing class. Only to discover it wasn't going to be boxing class today. It was going to be...a speed workout on the treadmill.
Now, you know how MY speed training runs have been going. "Speed" being "better than a turtle's walk." So it was pretty hilarious when Max The Trainer said we'd jog for a minute, sprint for 30 seconds, "with the jog at 4.5 and the sprint at 9 or 10." In my head, I jumped off the treadmill, grabbed my bag and laughed my way to the elevator.
In reality, though, I humored him. I hit the "9.0" on the treadmill and watched with wide eyes as my feet flew every which way and my fingers stumbled across the keypad to un-humor him. I changed the speed to 6, and after the 30 seconds was up, told Max The Trainer that I considered a 10-minute-mile speed to be true speed. He then humored ME, allowing the change.
I was proud, though. I continued the speed workout for a mile, then had to take a short break to stretch my calves, then did another half mile, alternating between 4.5 and 6. The girl next to me, who rocks all our workouts b/c she has the core of an iron statue, couldn't keep up with ME. It felt good.
We finished the class with circuit training, where I managed to make a fool of myself on such exercises as the inverted crunch (couldn't get my body off the bench so I had to kinda roll off).
But I'm glad I can say I did speed work this week. I also signed up for the Wicked 10K on Oct. 30 at the Beach, so my new goal has been formalized. Maybe next time I'll try a 7.0 on that treadmill.
(POSTSCRIPT: I just looked up what 9.0 on a treadmill translates to. A 6:40-minute-mile. Ha-ha-ha doesn't even begin to cover my reaction.)