Track flak

Day 103 of 130
Ks covered: 758
Ks to go: 344
General mood: Pretty good
Running highlight: Stepping onto a track
Equipment status: Actually bought a running skirt… and I like it!
Body status: New chafe in not-to-be-mentioned area
Weight: 144.5

This past weekend, I did my first ever track workout. What???  I hear you serious runners yelling. Someone trying to improve her speed by almost 30 minutes hadn’t hit the track five-weeks out from race day?

Don’t panic — I have done some speed training since starting on this journey — mainly on the treadmill or on the streets (interesting side note – Fartlek training has little to do with gas powered forward propulsions, or so my running partner told me after our last session. Sorry about that stink-bomb Alison! I really thought I was following Hal Higdon’s training plan…). But, the truth is, the track has always scared the beejezus out of me. I think I’m afraid “real runners” will see me there and wet the tartan with laughter.

My trackaphobia harkens back to elementary school days when my lack of athletic prowess was forcibly displayed on a god-awful oval during end-of-year “fun track-meets”. No matter how you put it , even kids know that “Good try!” and “here’s a beautiful red participation badge” is code for  – “Wow, you sucked it!”

But this past Sunday I took the chance to confront my fears, inspired by a Doctor Phil-a-thon on TLC…I mean seriously, who wouldn’t need to leave the house after watching that tripe?

On the plus side, heavy rain and a local 10K race meant all “serious” runners would be racing and all smart-ones would be indoors.  So I naively headed to the closest high school track for what I thought would be some private pain on a deserted space.

One lap sprint, followed by one lap “easy”, then two laps sprint, followed by one lap “easy” and so forth until I got up to four laps. Then I went back down. Only, on the way back down, the rain let up and God dropped a beautiful, skinny blonde woman whose legs went up to my armpits, onto the track in front of me.

Crap.

But here’s the thing – I lapped her. Twice.

Running home, R.E.M’s “Superman” came onto my iPod:
“I am, I am Superman and I can do anything.”

Soooo cheesy, but I actually got teary — I did it. I’m doing it.

Course, the euphoria didn’t last long. Yesterday, At 20K, I tried to take it up to race pace for 10K of my long run. Have you ever considered euthanasia by running? When I finally finished, I found myself lying prone along our kitchen countertop making my husband’s Betty-Crocker-birthday cake. Not pretty.

That hot blonde probably went home to meet her husband at the door with a G&T and some slippers.

But she can’t track-run worth a damn.

Guess I’ll keep at it.

If you like my blog, drop me a line and I’ll add you to my mailing list to let you know when updates are on the site. Don’t worry, your e-mail address will be safe with me and my best Nigerian banker friends.