I’ve been training for the Race for the Roses but I haven’t been talking about it.
Three reasons I’ve been avoiding the conversation:
1. A lot of it has been on the treadmill. I’m a big baby when it comes to running in the dark (I can only run early in the morning) and as soon as it started getting light around 6 am, along came daylight savings. Stupid daylight savings. Anyway, all that really means is that I’m caught up on The Voice because it’s the one thing that motivates me to get on the treadmill. I love Blake.
2. I was afraid you were getting bored. I mean, how much do you really care about the miles I ran?
3. Finally, I haven’t been loving my training. My treadmill runs are boring (and that’s with Mr. Shelton) and my outside runs are cold. And whether or not I’m on the dreadmill or pounding out my time on the pavement, the miles have been hard. Hard.
My mom and dad bought me this book for Christmas. It’s not as much inspirational as it is funny and random, but the title affirms my latest thought process.
My schedule during the last month called for 2-3 mile runs. You’d think I’d prefer those over longer distances.
My most recent workouts have been 4-5 miles a piece. And they’ve been great! And when I’ve finished the prescribed miles I’ve thought, “Hey! I could keep going!”
My hypothesis is that once I break through that 3 mile “wall”, my body adjusts. My pace becomes automatic. My breathing becomes consistent. My heart isn’t racing. I just feel good.
This could all be completely anecdotal. It’s very possible that I’ve coincidentally had a few good runs and I’m crediting the higher mileage for my success. I don’t know.
Any thoughts? How could it be that a longer workout is easier than a shorter workout, if you’re at the same intensity either way?