Gösta Holmér Would Be Proud

I was out the door even earlier than yesterday. I ran two miles to the gym, blasted my shoulders and triceps, and then I shuffled home. Running there was fun. Two miles is cake. I got my blood going. I was excited about lifting weights for the first time since I hurt my back. I think a two mile run qualifies as a sufficient warm up. The guy that checks ID’s asked how far I ran, and I told him, then he reminded me that I had to run back. I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about lifting weights without serious injury, and I’d worry about the trip back when it was time. I finished with my weights, turned my watch back on, and got ready to run home. It wasn’t happening. I was barely a quarter mile into the trip back when I had to start walking. It wasn’t a total loss. I basically turned the session home into a modified fartlek. I’d run all out for a block and then walk a block. What was strange was that I was good for about thirty seconds of anything faster than a brisk walk. I could run at an 11 minute mile pace for thirty seconds or I could run at a 4 minute mile pace for thirty seconds, which is why I decided to “go for it”. I was haulin’ ass through Riverside. I don’t know if I looked like an idiot or not, but it wound up being fun, and at the end of my run I wound up averaging about a ten minute mile pace. It took me twenty minutes and ten seconds to get back. My heart rate topped out at 187, but since I couldn’t keep it down I figured I might as well get it up. It was interesting. Legs are tomorrow and I haven’t decided what I’m going to do. I may do more speed play with some interval training or I may lift weights and do the elliptical to give my feet and shins a break. We’ll see.