I am a runner. Not a die-hard fanatic, mind you. I tend to avoid ice storms, forest fires, earthquake fissures, and other acts of God that aren't covered by my life-insurance policy. Running has its perks. It's good for your bones, cardiovascular system, and mental sanity. My modus operandi? Reap the benefits of regular exercise without incurring the penalty of sudden death. Simple.
Historically, running has been a hit or miss proposition for me. Thanks to some friendly competition, though, I've spent the last month training for a 10k race in April. Typically, I'll do a long run on Tuesday, a tempo run on Thursday, and sprints on Saturday. As of the fateful morning, my training was going well, no injuries.
Trouble is, my schedule was plotting to kill me.
See, I needed to meet a friend for an all-day painting job at church. Departure time? 8:30am. On a Tuesday. My schedule had specified a 10 mile run for me on that day. The plot began to thicken.
Best I could figure, I had to wake up at 5:30am, go running at 6:00am, return by 8:00am, scarf down breakfast, shower, and leave for church by 8:30am. Perfect.
Except for the fact that sunrise didn't hit until 7:00am, this was completely routine. Normally, I run during the day. But hey, I figured I hadn't been scared of the dark since junior high. I was tough, I could take it.
The day started without a hitch. I woke up to darkness, dressed in darkness, read my Bible in darkness, then ventured into the 28° F dark expanse outside.
There's something to be said for the so-called "runner's high". I was freezing my buns off, walking laps around the driveway waiting for my GPS to lock onto satellites, preparing for a frigid dash into the darkness. My mood? Euphoric. (Don't let anyone tell you that endorphins don't lead to suicidal tendencies. They do.)
Crunching down the frozen asphalt. I began my 10-mile run with a blazing 7:30 first-mile split. With the light from my flashlight bouncing off my puffing, quadruply-layered form, I must have resembled a slightly out of shape, overweight will-o'-the-wisp. Sometimes I'm glad I live in a rural community. There aren't a lot of people around to witness the embarrassing things I do at 5:30am in the morning.
Four miles later, my quadriceps were definitely hurting. Flying down a 1000' foot descent will do that. Good news, from there it was all uphill. I took a left onto a busy rush-hour conduit and starting dodging traffic. Fact: you haven't cross-trained until you've spent half your time leaping into and out of the drainage ditch. Bonus training tip: if you need turnover training, find a skunk in one of ditches. Trust me. It helps.
Long story short, in spite of a strained iliotibial band, rural roads with hairpin turns and rural-sized shoulders (read, no shoulders), and maniac drivers who weren't expect the level of running fanaticism expressed by yours truly, I survived. Current score: Schedule (0), Daniel (1).
