My “Back to Fitness” escapade took a brutal turn one day after beginning this blog. In all my brilliance, I managed to leave my only pair of viable running shoes at a buddy’s house in
A) Drive to
B) Have my buddy mail the shoes to
C) Buy a new pair of $80 running shoes
D) Ask my former track coach for a new pair of shoes via our sponsor, ASICS. I mean, I did work an entire year for free as a volunteer assistant coach. Any kind, decent person would compensate a volunteer for attending practice five days each week for seven months, including a number of Saturday practices (conveniently held at
As funny as I think it would be to march into Coach’s office and politely ask for shoes (or demand them), I’ve decided that I would rather not be physically attacked by a woman in her late 50s. Although paying another $80 to buy the one pair of running shoes I trust (the ASICS Cumulus, amazing shoe…please address the endorsement check to Frank Stranzl /
Practically new, well-cushioned, proportional, hole-less running shoes sadly not at my disposal, I set out for the track on Tuesday with my aged pair of older Cumulus VIIs. Part of that statement is true and part of it is false; you take a guess.
Think about it.
Those of you who predicted that I did, in fact, go out and buy a new pair of running shoes, please be reasonable. The truth: I didn’t exactly make it to the track. I was going to. But then I got back from campus, laid in bed, got working on an assignment for my new job and, well, Mike Tyson might as well have landed an uppercut square on my chin. I was out, done, curled up on the couch watching TV.
Wednesday was better. I grabbed the old running shoes and left for the track. Mind you, these are the same shoes I wore through months of Cal Poly track and field training. I bought two pair of the same shoe in August of 2007 and alternated them out until the end of the season in May 2008. Even though they didn’t see the track for lengthy stretches of time due to a steady stream of injuries, these shoes are well past their prime. Neither pair has any traction left, the gel-cushions are non-existent and pieces of rubber have begun to dislodge from their proper location. Otherwise, these dandies are peachy-keen.
The workout went as crummy as expected. I ran eight-300s (track lingo for eight 300-meter runs). It was continuous with alternating paces. The goal was to run four-300s at a 6-minute mile pace and the other four at whatever pace I needed to recover. Back in the day, I could hammer out 10-300s at 45-seconds apiece with the same amount of break. To give the non-track reader an idea of how far off I am right now: A 6-minute mile pace translates to 1 minute, 6 seconds to finish 300-meters. Honestly, it really is difficult to show up to the track and throw down a workout of the quality I put out when, one year ago, that same pace was nothing but a warm-up. At the end of the workout, I felt like somebody just zapped the energy out of my legs. I wanted to do more, I wanted to go faster, but my legs wouldn’t turn.
In lieu of an easy recovery-day workout on Thursday, I stayed at home and played water-pong with the roommates. (The game is otherwise known as beer-pong/Beirut, only we had water in the cups and didn’t drink the contents…we’re addicted to the game and, rather than consuming copious amounts of alcohol every night of the week, we substitute the key ingredient in beer pong with H20. Check out the rules at Wikipedia.)
One day later, I am happy to report that I still haven’t returned to the track. God-forsaken place that track business. I did manage to play two games of tennis, but I highly doubt the slightly-athletic movements I made in a small, confined space resulted in a quality workout. Back to the track tomorrow…
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