Wednesday Morning Special

To allow for greater time to “rest”, Rusty had Tim and I run our track workout on Wednesday this week instead of Tuesday.  Why the quotes on rest?  Monday he had me run ten miles and Tuesday I conquered 18 plus strides and wind.  My body was wondering where the “rest” part fit in while my mind had a sneaky suspicion that Rusty might want to see what happened to me tired.

Wait, I take that back.  The man knows.  Regardless, it is Wednesday morning and there he is leading Tim and I on the fastest warm up my legs have ever covered.  “Well I ran four miles the other day,” Rusty casually relayed, “and it made me sore.”

We continue along the bike path.  Rusty looks like he is skating, just sort of gliding over the concrete.  The work out is a new one for me: 4 x 2K.  The paces laid out are faster than I have run 4 x 1 mile repeats, but they do not register as extreme when I hear them.  My mind tricks me into thinking this will be an easy workout.  My body beats the shit out of my mind.

I lead the first lap, Rusty follows, and Tim is to start behind and catch us somewhere in the lonely land of the fourth lap.  Round 1, I am on pace.  Rusty leads and Tim passes as we cruise the finish line.  Poof.  Three to go.

Round 2, I lead the first lap at an effort that I would like the work load to feel.  Rusty chomps my heels and takes the lead as I am much too slow.  Pump-pump-push, back below pace and click: faster than the first.

Round 3, Goes exactly like round 2 only faster.  Tim passes in lap 4 and Rusty leads him off.  He waits for me at the finish checking my numbers.  Tim watches me pass the line.  “You don’t seem like you are breathing at all,” he remarks, “Is this easy for you?”

“Oh,” I confess, “I have my Rusty fake out dialed in.  I have been working on it for a couple of years.”  Rewind: I head into lap 5 praying for a finish line.  I hit the 200 mark dragging my eyes all the way around the corner.  I round the corner and exhale, inhale, breathe deep, relax the shoulders, shake the hands, and cruise the finish line all the way through looking straight ahead.  My body says, THIS IS EASY.  On the outside!

Did I fool him?  We jog a transition lap.  “You’re on heavy tired legs and it is work.  You have to concentrate to keep on pace, but it’s not impossible,” Rusty tells me.  Do you read Taro cards?  I need to work better on my Rusty fake out.

One of the things that I truly love about being coached by Rusty is that he calls it what it is and I have never seen him get excited for nothing.  If he tells you something good, he means it and he is not afraid to tell me when I suck.  OK, he sugar coats it, but I speak sugarshitz.

The last 2k, Rusty sat stretching on the track while Tim and I went about our business.  Tim started behind me and I flew into the first lap too fast for my pace: 82.  Rusty called the numbers with a little interest.  Lap 2: 82.  Rusty called the numbers with a little more interest.  Lap 3: 82.  Rusty got up and clapped (it was probably three or four short claps, but I swear he had pom-poms and did a jack-knife).  “Go Dre,” he called with an encouraging whisper, “See if you can go with Tim when he tries to pass you.”  Lap 4: Tim edged to my right.  I set my eyes on his blue shirt and got dragged a third of a lap, but could not hang on: 81.  Lap 5: Pumping and pushing: 81.

I slumped around the finish line looking for my water bottle.  “You know you ran that last 800 in 2:42,” Rusty says.

“Are you talking to me or Tim?” I ask.


Oh.  Wait.  You are proud of me!  You said 2:42, but really you said, “Great job today Drea! A plus with gold stars and little snoopy stickers and Rainbow Brite shit.”

My coach rocks!


~ by Drea on May 13, 2010.

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