Training

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The week of so-called “easy”

Diabetes, Running, Training

Easy schmeasy! According to our running program, this week is classified “easy” week, but I think the designer of the program uses that term a little too freely. On Tuesday, we had to run 40 minutes with 20 minutes at lactate threshold pace (for me: between 5:00 and 5:20 min/km) and the only way I can see that as being “easy” is that, unlike the previous week, we were allotted a 2-minute walk break to split the 20 minutes into two segments of 10. While I wasn’t anywhere near puking, and felt I could definitely keep the pace going, I was sucking back wind pretty good. And then there was tonight’s “easy” run, where we ran 30 minutes with 10 intervals of 30 seconds each at 3 km goal pace (for me: between 4:30 and 4:50 min/km) with a 30 second walk between each. The goal for tonight was not […]

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Glutes on fire

Running, Training

I’m not sure doing hill repeats 34 hours before speed intervals was the smartest idea I’ve ever had; in fact, my glutes, who I’m thinking are probably still very much annoyed with me, were screaming and cursing at me for hours after. But my mind felt as though it was freed from the negativity of the last few days, and that, my friends, was well worth the gluteus maximus scolding I endured. Oh. And my stats, they have me feeling like a bit of a rockstar! Here’s the breakdown of the intervals: :30; 1:00; 1:30; 2:00; 2:30; 2:30; 2:00; 1:30; 1:00; :30 at 3 km goal pace with a 1:30 walk break in between each. For me, my 3 km goal pace is approximately 4:50 min/km. You will see below just how intensely I annihilated that projected pace. Yes, I am totally gloating! YESTERDAY’S SPEED INTERVALS: 5:50 p.m. BG before:

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Hill repeats: in the moment

Running, Training

I want to puke. What was I thinking? Why am I doing this? I’m not even halfway through. Ohmygawd. I can feel it. I am so going to puke. Stop! says my legs. Stop! yells my my lungs. Are you freaking kidding me? How the hell am I going to get through another one and three quarters of these? I’m not. That’s it. I can’t do it. I should just give up. Call it quits. The loft is just over there… NO! Eff you hills. Eff you lungs. Eff you legs. Eff you brain. Keep going. Don’t you dare quit on me. Push. Dig. Harder. Faster. You can do this. You’re not a quitter. One more. Go. Go. Effing freaking GO. And done! YESTERDAY’S HILLS: 8:30 a.m. BG before: 9.6 Temp. basal: none Carbs: Breakfast 2 hours earlier Hill repeats: 3 x 75/60/45 seconds Time: 40 minutes Distance: 5.41 km

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The Pitchfork and the Punching Bag

Running, Training

Running in the darkness of night can seriously mess with your head. You can start to see things, start to think thoughts, start to wonder who might possibly be lurking around  corners, behind trees, under benches. I’ve been here before. Mostly when running solo in the early morning hours before dawn. But tonight, for hill repeats, that imaginative mind of mine went full boar ahead, even with my new group of running chicks all around me. It all started on the downhill, when out of the corner of my eye I saw an older fellow walking down a driveway towards us. I didn’t really think much of it at first, but that mind, oh, her wheels started turning, and fast. This hill, while decently lit, was still fairly dark, but not so much a black dark, more like a spooky midnight blue dark with traces of foggy lighting interspersed here

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A world of blank

Running, Training

I went for a run in the snow. You wouldn’t know. I went for a run in the buckets down pouring rain. You wouldn’t know. I did speed intervals in the pitch black darkness of the night. You wouldn’t know. I did hill repeats – charging past bright Christmas lights, over icy patches, huffing, puffing, icicles for sweat in my eyes, pushing the limits, not caving in to the devil on my shoulder, not giving up. You wouldn’t know. I ran. I ran with friends. I ran by myself. I ran in the day. I ran in the night. You wouldn’t know. Because, you see, I took pictures, a lot of pictures, I documented the pain, the determination, the joy, but, my friends, I am beyond irritated to report technology hates me. That devil on my shoulder got her revenge after all. The memory card, deleted. Don’t know how. Don’t know

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