Get Faster or Die Trying

This evening, I ran with the Big Dogs. Or the Big Sharks, as it were. One of the dudes from my team is attempting to institute a team run on Thursday evenings. I thought I'd lend him my support and show up for what he has dubbed "Donkey Trot". Sounds harmless enough. It was a Death March. Or a Death Run if you will. I thought I might be in over my head when the only people participating were me and two guys. Fast looking guys. I knew I was actually drowning, sinking to the bottom of a deep dark pit of despair when the "Trot" organizer casually mentioned they would run at an 8:00/8:30 pace.

Pause.

OK, the fastest mile I have ever run in recorded history was the last mile of the St. Pat's Day race last Saturday. 8:19. I was smokin'. I was pourin' it on. I was near death.

So 8:00/8:30 for a one hour training run... oh boy.

Also, I locked my keys in my car. Don't ask.

I tried to use the "I locked my keys in my car" excuse to gracefully bow out of the run. I tried to use the "I'll only slow you guys down" approach. It was not happening.

So I decided to buck up and see what the old girl could do. After all, I was pretty sure it wasn't going to physically kill me and if it wasn't going to physically kill me, what was there to be afraid of? Well...maybe... PAIN?!?!

So we ran. At first, it seemed kind of tough but I was hangin'. Even gettin a few words in here and there. The boys were chatty. With each other. The only time I really felt like they knew I existed was when they asked me how I was doing. Fine. Great. I was doing fine.

To be fair, I think they thought it would be cruel to attempt to engage me in conversation. After all, elderly deaf people six miles away could feel the vibration of my labored breathing, so talking probably seemed pretty painful.

But, I hung. I'm sure they slowed a couple of times for me, but I kept on plugging. Towards the end of the run, they took off until they were two little dots in the distance then came back and ran with me until the end. This wasn't hard for them, clearly. I wanted to kill them. In fact, its a good thing they were faster than me because otherwise . . .

Actually, I'm really grateful to those guys. They cut back their planned training run so that I could get in a killer tempo workout. With a nearly constant heart rate of 180. For an hour. What doesn't kill you makes you faster.

We ran between 6.5 and 6.75 miles (they weren't sure and I wasn't counting) in 58 minutes. That's between an 8:40 and 8:55 pace. I'll take it. Thanks, guys. I owe you one.