Tizita Bogale after taking first in the IAAF World Junior Championships for running a 4:08.06 1500m.
Me, my personal best for 1500m was decidedly slower than that this week. Here's what I did:
Friday: lovely lovely rest.
Saturday: 4m at the Queens half.
Sunday: 10 long, hard, frustrating miles, punctuated only briefly by running into a friend (also running) in Central Park.
Monday: REST. And 40 minutes on the elliptical, but mostly rest. Of course, the first nice weather we've had in ages, and my legs are mushy!
Tuesday: 5m with 10x100m strides. Much better this go-round than the last time. Kind of fun, actually. Except for swerving out of the way of dead rats on the path, but...
Wednesday: 5m on a treadmill in the middle of the day. Stupid treadmill.
Thursday: 6.5m on a treadmill in the evening. Jersey Shore was on, but that doesn't mitigate against how much I hate the treadmill.
30.5m. Not bad, but the miles weren't as strong as I would have liked.
I will avenge that Queens half, I've decided. I'm signed up for the Bronx half in a few weeks. It promises to be just as hot with just as little shade.
But that's not all! In a fit of craziness, I registered for two other races:
-"Battle of Brooklyn" 10m (I tend to race well in Prospect Park - fingers crossed that holds)
-Sgt. Keith A. Ferguson 5k across the Brooklyn Bridge (I like a shorter race!)
I'm contemplating doing something EVEN STUPIDER this weekend and registering for the Flying Monkey. I'll let you know what I decide come Monday (unless I get shut-out, that is - nobody go and take my spot, okay? unless you're my friend (do it, GBN!) in which case it will be cool to meet up there so please go and register).
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"