Reaping the rewards

After last weekend's do-or-die approach, I opted to cut back during the week and let my body rest up.

You're welcome, body.

One day of running, on Thursday, with nothing the rest of the week but blissful couch time. I'd hoped this little bargain would lead to a satisfying trail run over the weekend.

I wasn't disappointed.

The first part of yesterday's run was sluggish, something that's been happening more and more lately. I had a hard time committing to it from the moment I rolled out of bed, and when I began running, my body just wasn't into it. It wasn't until I'd passed a mile that things really started humming along.

Once I found that groove, though, it was smooth sailing. I didn't really clue into it until I'd reached The Loop halfway through, but I was moving fast, and it felt easier than it had before. It was surely a combination of many things: the cool breeze, the new music on my iPod, the fact that my body and mind were fresh.

At this point, I dared to hope that the end result would be an overall pace of 14:45. On trails, I tend to pull around 15:00, so if I could shave a little time here and there, I'd be satisfied.

I pushed myself on the way back in, not excessively but with 14:45 in my head. I was hunting it down. I'd set out for a sub-6 mile run, so I hoped I'd be able to hang on without my body wanting to quit after five, as it previously wanted to.

And I was running fast enough that, at one point, I could no longer scan the ground quickly enough to respond. I know the trail well enough now to remember where the rocky, rooty parts are, trying to stay aware of my surroundings. Here, I failed, and my right toe caught hard on a root. I pitched forward, my arms outstretched and ready to take the fall when my left leg swung into action. I caught myself and kept running.

It was a little bewildering, as someone who's been deeply accident-prone since childhood, to have averted disaster at the last second. My body just doesn't do things like that. I catch my toe, my brain has long enough to think "Bad thing!", my body says, "Damn, you're bad at this," and I crash to the ground.

I'd gone several strides before I processed that, no, I wasn't on the ground in the dirt with bloody elbows. Oh my god, I'm still running. If I had to name a favorite moment in my run, this was it.

As I came down the final straightaway, I fished out my phone, wanting to be ready to stop my app and see the damage.

I paced 13:29 for 5.74 miles. Really.

Clearly, the lazy week worked out.

Tonight was less storied, but no less exciting. A tempo run on the treadmill, I started running at the same speed as my last tempo run. I struggled to zone myself out, staring blankly ahead, letting my body go on autopilot. I experimented with this on the trail over the weekend and I credit that with some of the improvements I saw, so I attempted to make it work at the gym.

Last tempo run, I gradually decreased my speed as I ran out of steam. Tonight, I gradually increased the speed and made myself damn well take it.

It worked. I finished my first mile in 10:07, a PR by a landslide. I had enough in the tank to put in a good effort, after a two minute walk, and turned out another PR by finishing that second mile in 21:43.

I floundered around for the last mile, having given up on chasing records until the final five minutes, when I looked at the time and berated myself for accepting a poor effort. Cranked up the speed and finished my third in 36:05. Another PR.

All of a sudden, everything is paying off. I have this astonishing sensation that I, somehow, actually know what I'm doing. I'm getting better, I'm not getting hurt. I'm putting in my speed work, my tempo runs, my long runs outdoors and my easy runs on the treadmill. And it's working.

Next on the agenda: my first 10K. Soon. Eep.