I’m An Addict

As I was driving home from spin class last night, I had a desperate urge to pull over the car and go for a run.  When I say “desperate”, I mean I had images of myself putting the car in park in the middle of the road, less than a 1/2 mile from my house, and sprinting out the driver’s side door with the keys still in the ignition.  And, for a few seconds, I actually thought I might do it.  After bringing my body nearly to its breaking point for the past hour going up and down “hills” on the spin bike, having such a strong desire to continue the pain was surprising, to say the least, especially given my not-so-pleasant relationship with running.

I know all the data on exercise becoming habitual and am one of those people who relies on a regular dose of endorphins to keep myself sane, but this was less “I need to work out today” and more “If I don’t work out in the next 5 minutes, despite the fact that I just finished an intense cardio session 5 minutes ago, the world might come to an end.”  I can only equate the feeling to that which heroin junkies feel when their last hit just wasn’t enough. 

With that in mind, I think I may have just crossed the line from habitual exerciser to full-on endorphin addict.  To quote the great Dr. House though, “I said I was an addict. I didn’t say I had a problem.”  Fortunately, unlike Dr. House, my addiction is triathlon, not vicodin.

On that note, it’s time for today’s run . . .

Psych!

Finally, after months of praying to the running gods, I went out on Tuesday evening and everything clicked.  After completely psyching myself out at St. A’s and walking a very large portion of the 10K run, I decided it was time to return to basics and do some slow intervals around Hains Point.  2 minutes running at a 10 minute mile pace, 1 minute walking – just to get back in the swing of things and give myself a workout I could actually do. 

I felt great.  My form was as good as its ever been.  No heel striking.  No hunching my shoulders.  Nothing was out of place.  Part way through my second interval, I checked my Garmin and realized I was averaging close to an 8 minute mile – far faster than I’ve ever run – without any real difficulty.  Clearly, this was finally going to be the running workout I’ve been waiting for.

Of course, 10 minutes later, as I reached the far end of Hains Point, everything fell apart.  My shins very clearly reminded me who is boss and I spent the next half hour hobbling back to the car, doing my best to pretend I wasn’t in agonizing pain.  Even worse, the damage I did required quite a bit of grastoning this morning. 

Lesson Learned: Don’t knock 2 minutes off your pace all at once, no matter how good it feels.  My underdeveloped sense of self-preservation probably would have come in handy here.