I was going to run another mile time trial this morning.
There are a collection of reasons, mostly derivatives of “I just didn’t want to”, but also a familiar calf tightness and an unfortunate schedule the next week that would not allow me to either snowball off a great track sesh or attempt to redeem a shitty one. (more on that later)
Instead Margot and I jogged an undocumented amount of laps for an uncertain amount of time and gabbed about important things like boys, food, and stupid shit people post on facebook.
We called it Track Party Therapy, and it has officially been added as a training plan accessory on an as-needed basis. Life Coaches gives the new TPT two big thumbs up, even if Run Coaches doesn’t approve. Sometimes we need reminded that the heart does more than just pump blood!
This is my time to exercise my right to deviate from the ‘schedule’, since one doesn’t really exist yet. In 3.5 weeks when the full-on CIM training starts we’ll be hitting that track (and tempos, and long runs, etc) with balls pressed all flat up against that wall, but for now it’s a few more days of “normal” life. The one where nights and meals and outfits aren’t planned around workouts.
Funny how quickly we forget how all-consuming this hobby can be…
For now, I’m savoring these last few days. Bri and I are FINALLY cashing in on our Christmas presents to each other, making a pilgrimage back to OH for Jamboree in the Hills. If you’re unfamilar, it’s like Stagecoach, but with TRUE hillbillies, not hipsters wearing flannel and drinking PBR while pretending to listen to mainstream country music.
And if you’re still having trouble picturing the next 5 days of my life, just imagine lots of trucks, tents, and drunks filling a huge open field with a shit ton of awesome country/rock music playing all day long. Kind of like this, x4 +all day :
From the Jason Aldean short bus visit
Day drinking and camping are really the opposite of what’s good for my run-life, but one of our country cohorts is a runner as well so I’m hoping/begging/pleading the run gods she can drag my ass out of our tent long enough for [at least] a few miles fueled by non-alcoholic beverages or Willie’s cologne.
But we’ll see.
No blogging, and (per usual) there aren’t any fancy pre-written posts ready for you guys. Depending on whether hicktown has cell service you might catch me on Twitter or Facebook. No promises.
All I’m asking is to make it back to the west coast with both legs attached.
And that when we get back Mom hasn’t fled the state with her hairy grand-dogs in her suitcase. Sometimes she takes this house/dog-sitting a little too seriously…
Catch ya on the flipside. And if I don’t, y’all can fight over my Gu stash and Brooks Launch stockpile.