Just like my previous seasons before me, my weekend training routine consists of the following:
Friday: Eat pasta.
Saturday: Run long distance; wear sweatpants/compression gear; drink wine.
And since I have moved to the Upper East Side, there has been absolutely no excuse for me to not hit the Park, unless I’ve succumbed to injury or illness. So just like routine, on Saturday, I head out for my LSD (not the drug–that’s ‘long slow distance’) which consisted of one clockwise loop followed by one counter-clockwise loop. Boring, yes, but I had important plans immediately following that involved whiskey. And sometimes boring is good for me–I know Central Park like the back of my hand and it gives me a reason to only think without figuring my route.
Sometimes this ‘thinking’ is not always good as I have been quite stressed of late, and it leads me to angry running, which leads me to running faster than my prescribed pace (sorry, Coach). This just so happened on Saturday as I was heading through the West Side rollers. I started thinking about things that particularly bothered me throughout the week, and what I wish I had done to solve the problems (I’ve never been good at speaking my mind on the spot).
I huffed, puffed, felt my legs picking up their pace, and started shouting in my head all the things that were so irritable. The drum and bass that I was listening to didn’t help, it only made my legs move faster (again, sorry Coach).
And all of a sudden, I felt a cool breeze hit my face and I pulled myself out of my aggression haze. It was only then that I realized that I had just tackled not only the West Side rollers, but Harlem Hill, and was coming around the bend at the top of Central Park. ‘Brilliant’, I thought. I was so focused inside my head that I didn’t feel the pains of Harlem Hill.
So, the moral is: bring your aggression to Ireland where the hills are much larger and longer.