Yesterday I did workout one of week seven, and it was my best workout to date. By far.
I was back on the road in front of the house. I always seem to do better there. Maybe it’s the trace of adrenaline in my system from knowing that there are dogs every-fucking-where and I might have to shoot, panic run, or both at any time with little notice. Maybe my body just likes reasonably flat asphalt to a treadmill or a hilly, uneven back yard. I don’t guess the why really matters.
The workout was a twenty-five minute jog sandwiched between five minutes each of warm-up/cool-down time. And, since I like numbers, I’m going to analyze it.
According to MapMyWalk, I covered 2.16 miles in 35:08, with an average pace of 16:16 and a maximum pace of 10:35. So, even with 2/7 (or 29%, if you prefer percentages to fractions) being walking, I managed to average 3.7 miles per hour for the entire duration, with a momentary burst of 5.7 miles per hour.
I held a pretty consistent pace, despite the jagged graph. I turned around when it told me that I was halfway, and I finished my cool down within ten steps of where I started my warm-up.
My breathing cycle was the biggest change that I noticed while running. As I said, I like numbers. I tend to count the steps per breath. Once established, my cycle had been two steps to inhale, the next two steps to exhale. This time, I was three to inhale, three to exhale. It was probably my imagination, but it felt like I was saving energy by breathing more slowly, which gave me extra energy to maintain a faster pace. It wasn’t until the last two and a half minutes, after I was back on the busier road and in a hurry to get home so I could stop dodging traffic that I was doing the two/two breathing cycle. Yes, I know it’s nuts, but it’s how I regulate my cadence and breathing. And that’s important.
Best guess, I jogged 1.9 miles at 4.5 miles per hour on a real course. That’s over 60% of five kilometers and a pace that would translate to an approximate total time of forty-one minutes. Yeah, that’s one and a half times as long as my sister’s worst time ever, but I’m eighty pounds overweight. And before making this attempt, I hadn’t ran a mile total in the last twenty years.
My brother laughed his ass off when he heard that I’d entered a 5K. My mother was worried that I was going to kill myself if I made the attempt.
Initially, my goal was to be able to finish and not come in dead last. As I improved, I decided that I wanted to finish in less than forty-five minutes. Then I wanted to break into the thirties. That’s probably the maximum goal that I have any real chance to achieve.
But I have a “reach for the stars” goal now. Finish in under thirty minutes. I know it’s impossible. But I’ll be damned if I’m not going to try like hell. The fastest male aged 45-49 last year finished in 29:26. Thirty flat would’ve been good enough for second place in my age group and 35th overall out of 136. Forty flat would’ve been 87th overall. I need to finish in the top half. Fuck that. I will finish in the top half.
I still have fifty-two more days to prepare. I got this.