The evils of speed work

Speed-work is most definitely my least favorite part of training for any race, but especially for a marathon, because the speed work is not only hard, but also long.   Today I attempted my most difficult speed work-out yet, and it was truly miserable.   (I'm not breaking some rule by starting my very first post with negativity, am I?)   

I was supposed to do a total of 7 miles with 4 of them being mile repeats at an 8 minute pace. This may sound like a piece of cake for some (most) runners, but I am a middle of the packer at best, so this is a significant work-out for me.   Anyway, the gym resembled a sauna due to all the extra bodies that were packed in there attempting to fulfill their New Year's Resolutions.   My first sign that this would not be a stellar work-out was when I started sweating during the first two minutes of my warm-up.    Unfortunately, it was all down-hill from there!   

The first two repeats were okay.   Most likely because I was watching some ridiculous reality show about the life-guards in San Diego.   It high-lights all sorts of interesting action, including drunken beach parties, encounters with sting-rays and jelly-fish, and rip-tides.   It is reality television at its best, and it kept me engaged during the first 25 minutes of so of the work-out.   Then the show went off, and I was forced to choose between Wolf Blitzer or the History Channel.   These options were not nearly as promising.   

I started on my third repeat (I'm now 3.5 miles into the work-out and slinging sweat on everyone within 5 feet.)  Around 3/4 of the way through the mile, the fatigue really set in and I tripped.   Luckily, I caught myself and recovered without smashing my face or breaking my leg.   I'm certain that at least a couple of people saw me and enjoyed a silent laugh at my expense, but nobody was bold enough to laugh aloud.    I was still humiliated enough to allow myself an early break though, so I stopped before finishing the mile for a little water and a short recovery walk.  

My last mile was the worst; I had to stop and walk two more times.   After my near crash, I lost what little focus and motivation that I had.   I didn't even do the mile cool-down because I was so disgusted with myself.   The entire drive home from the gym, my poor husband had to listen to me moan about how "maybe I shouldn't even do the stupid race," and "why couldn't I just finish the freakin' work-out?"  

By the time we were home though, I had convinced myself that running inside on the treadmill was definitely to blame.   Maybe the speedometer was off and I was really running faster, or maybe the temperature in the gym was the culprit, or maybe I just needed some fresh air and the feel of the wind in my face (yeah right, everyone knows that the wind in our face is a runner's nightmare).  But fresh air is always desirable.    

So, in conclusion, I have decided that my assignment for this week is to find a track. Then I won't have to subject myself to the evils of the treadmill for anymore speed work-outs.  Next week, you can probably expect a post titled "The evils of the track."   

Saturday is an 18 miler so expect a post.   If speed-work is my least favorite part of training, then long runs are probably my favorite, so I promise that the next post will be much more positive!