Speed Racer

Wednesday night in Central Park could not have been better. Well, that's not true. If I was sitting on the grass listening to some music instead of running and sweating that would have been better, but I digress.

Ramon, for those of you not in the know (why aren't you reading my blog) is the coach of our team. He is one funny and overall good natured Spaniard. He likes to poke fun at me considering we can wax poetic in Spanish and because he knows I kinda hate running. He always begins our practices with a layout of the course and techniques. We were starting at E90th, up to 102, then a loop all the way to the bottom of the park around 59th, around to the west side, back up to 72nd and then back across town and finish at E90th. If you're really into it, here's the course:

I don't know if it's a psychological thing or because I felt ready, but I opted for the first time to run with the intermediate group. I don't know, I thought beginner wasn't doing it for me and there were cute girls aplenty in intermediate. We were doing intervals for the first time - basically running at different effort levels. We would run at a fastish pace for 6 light posts, then our normal pace/conversational pace for 2 light posts. I started the run off with Roxie and Beck and it was looking good, but I kept finding myself having to slow down. This is not because I am faster then them, but because I have a longer stride. So, as hard as it was to depart their company, I left them to their girl talk.

I really don't know what got into me, but I started hauling ass. Like the fastest I've ever run outside of a gym. I kept passing groups and the whole intervals thing went out the window, until about half way...when I died. Newbie runner and that late afternoon coffee I had finally caught up to me and I slooowed down, thankfully. Surprisingly, I still kept a normal pace. I did get two side stitches, but was able to quickly get rid of them thanks to a trick Roxie taught me and by praying to Bill Clinton. I did miss the company of my girls and didn't feel like striking up conversations with new peeps in the now dark Park. Most of my team probably wouldn't have recognized me - there's a lot of us - and would have just thought I was another cheesy running dude in CP trying to score some ladies. That's what the internet is for I say. Anyhoo, the run, oh yeah. I was missing my music badly at this point and was longing for "Sunday, Bloody Sunday," which really gets my ass going. That and "Banquet" by Bloc Party should be on anyone's run playlist. I kept thinking about stuff. How it wasn't cold, how I had a cold egg roll waiting for me in my bag for after the run, but most importantly, I saw my uncle's face and his smile. I saw him sharing a whiskey with me and watching his favorite soccer team lose again on yet another lazy Sunday. I saw him laugh at me when I was hospitalized (dehydration, I swear) after a non-stop week of partying and no sleep in Buenos Aires. We both joked about my nurse with whom at 18, I thought I would marry because I had decided that I was in love. Mercedes, from Hospital San Fernando, where have you gone? Holla. That took my mind off the fact that there was still 2 miles to go and then I chilled. I followed a group of girls who were still following the drills guidelines which was good because it got me to do them. Fast for about 2 minutes, normal for about 45 seconds. And then, it was over. I was drenched in sweat. I had busted my ass, finishing with the first group of intermediates. Ramon asked me about my knee (the problem one) and I told him it felt fine and it really did. We stretched a good 15 minutes, got back to home base and there it was, waiting for me. Damn it, where's the duck sauce?

Miles Ran: 5.2
MG of Msg consumed: who freakin' cares!