There's some words that we use around here. I can't remember who was the first to use them, but they are nonsensical to some and perfectly clear to others.
"If you want to go fast...you have to go fast".
I've been in the doldrums for a few months now. Working through various colds and the flu, struggling with a baffling calf injury, dealing with sick family and now the cold. -42 cold that grips me by the throat and doesn't let go. Even when summer finally slips in unannounced, the cold always lingers...everytime I see see gloves or balaclava or asthma medication...I remember the season that will always return.
This was the season I was going to become a marathon runner. The year that I would increase my mileage and finally consider myself a runner - as a opposed to an Ironman who's managed to get through the run.
Lots of excuses went into this abdication. But most of all, what went into it was the forgetting. The forgetting of how good, how euphoric this exercise stuff is.
Last night I remembered.
Running indoors, I did my usual 30 minutes at an unremarkable pace.
Then I stretched. 40 minutes getting out every last bit of pent up tightness in that damned calf.
I decided to remember what it felt like to go fast. Getting back on the track I did a lap, then took a deep, tentative breath and did 100 metres faster than I have run since last summer. Rounding the turn I ramped it up.
I ran faster than I've run in years. I could feel myself loosing peripheral vision...I wondered about what was deciding where my feet were landing. I saw these odd shadows where my arms should be moving to a long forgotten rhythm. There was music in my ears, but I'm not sure if it was from my ipod's playlist or not.
I ran fast, really fast for 100 metres. And nothing could wipe the smile from my face.
I'm starting to climb up from where I was.
I've found my runphoria!