YSL: International Day of Misery

Or, Week 10, Day 7.
Here is my crappy run. One of my hands is frozen into a claw from the wind.


You'd think that, after ten weeks at this, I'd do faster that 5.8 miles in an hour and two minutes. The thing is, I really have no defense for it, either, except to relay that I did a little "Life Field Test" on myself this past week.

I've long held the belief that life is not measured out in strict schedules and absolutes. I believe that you can do and be whatever you want to do and be, and if that means that you're going to end up enjoying the company of your friends every night, socializing for work, and trying to be an athlete all at the same time, well, then, so be it. I think I noted in my other blog that I was out on Tuesday night for CARA. I went out Wednesday night on a non-boozing fashion at an event for the Canadian Consulate and to connect two friends. Thursday night was a rousing evening at the standard Green Room sessions; Friday I was out for St. Patrick's Day.

And you know what? My little body is not pleased. Still, I managed to squeeze in all of my workouts, and it was a good week for figuring out my limitations and capabilities.

All in all, aside from failing the Life Field Test miserably, at least I know now what I can and can't do: I can have TWO beers per evening IF I drink a ton of water and eat like a pig the day of AND the day after. I CAN'T drink like a twenty-two year old anymore. Big surprise there.

Rode like a mofo on my trainer last night. Legs fried afterwards. Lunch with Coach Mike and Alexe, too, yestserday. The beauty of Coach Mike is that he allows you to project all the guilt you want to on yourself when you've done something bad. The other beauty of Coach Mike is that he's suggested I do a two-and-a-half-hour bike ride the night before my half-marathon "just to give my body a taste of what it's like to be tired."

Hmmmm.