Between My Ears

It was a quiet sort of a morning, for a Friday. The commute traffic headed for I-680 had yet to clog up First Street, so I didn't need to punch the pedestrian signal before crossing over from Angela. Angela is a bit less than a mile from where I live, so when I arrived there I wasn't warmed up yet. In fact, I felt like I might never warm up.

This is it, kiddo, said the voice between my ears. You swam hard (for you) yesterday for 31.5 minutes, so today you are toast. I continued to jog for four minutes / run for one, four / one, four / one, etcetera, etcetera. The air was perfect--I asked the birds about that and they concurred. I crossed Main and four / one'd over to the racetrack. I was early enough to see some of the beauties warming up (yes, I was envious of their warmth and also of their grace). One particular horse, a gray so dark he was almost black, filled me with joy. Nice to feel something so uncomplicated arising between my ears and tumbling on down into my heart.

Then came the crux of this Friday thing--I arrived at the middle school track. Really? Speed? NOW? Oh be quiet you between-the-ears pest. Last weekend I wrote "four 400's, w/200 recovery" on my calendar. At the time, that seemed reasonable and even a bit wimpy. Today: FOUR? Excuse me, but are you out of your mind?

Regular visitors to this space, all three of you, will know that I am not Hussein Bolt. I am not even his little toe, actually. Nevertheless, I woman-ed up and did the workout. On my last 400 I screwed up my face (if not my courage) and eked out a sub-10-minute pace (9:47!) for 100 in the home stretch. Eat your heart out, Mr. Bolt.



On the jog / crawl home I stopped at the park (see above--the park is a shady, drought-resistant kind of a place) to do some crunches on the picnic table. Hey, it gave me an excuse to lie on my back and stare at the lovely blue sky. The azure sky. The cornflower sky. The velvet sky. So peaceful.

The athlete wannabe in between my pearly shells (sounds better than ears, no?) egged me on as I headed home. I scaled the hill going north from Kitteridge on Adams. When I got to the top, FitBit said my heart rate was 177. Even so, here I am, alive to tell this tale--and incredibly happy about that!






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