There's occasionally a great new story that reminds me why I named my blog what I did.
On Tuesday morning I went out for a short run that I decided would be a fast run since I hadn't done any fast running in a while. I took my normal route which includes a running path around a golf course. I decided four miles would be a good distance and that I would simply run two miles, then turn around.
There are generally a lot of other people after 7am, but usually I don't get bothered. My first mile was 8:58, which wasn't on purpose, but I felt good about it. My second mile was 8:27 and I felt good about that one, too. I decided I would go for 8:15 for my third mile and I turned around.
8:30 is probably my 10k pace right now. Anything faster than that is considered my 5k pace, which just means it's hard, but I'm not dying. When I pushed to 8:15 it was a little harder, but I was focused on breathing normally and taking in enough oxygen.
I HATE hearing people sound like they are going to die when they run. I don't do the whole breathe-counting thing (because if I try to regulate my breathing by counting I inevitably feel like I am going to pass out) but I do try to just keep it steady and not hyperventilate.
My heart rate was up probably around 170 if I had to guess. AND THEN...
A freakin' little dog came running by. In hindsight, he was pretty cute, but at the time, there was nothing cute about it. He came running right up to me, his leash dragging behind him and his stupid-lady owner completely oblivious as she jogged by going the opposite direction.
The dog ran RIGHT under my feet, nearly tripping me. His owner looked over. I said to her "you're dog almost tripped me." I was much more annoyed by the fact that she was too lazy to hold her dog's leash than the fact that he had nearly tripped me. She called after him. He stayed by me. Right under my feet. I kept running. She called after him again. I yelled after the lady, "You better come get him because I'm not stopping." (I did stop once years ago because of someone's dog doing this to me. Come to think of it, that dog looked a lot like this one.) The dog growled at me and tried to bite my ankles. I called him a "little shit" and he was unfazed.
I kept running. My adrenaline was up because of the almost tripping combined with the having-to-be-a-bitch-to-this-lady, and it made keeping my pace absolutely EXHAUSTING. I thought the dog was going to follow me home, and I would have just let him. She would have to follow me, and I knew she would never keep up with my pace. Bwah ha ha ha (that's an evil laugh). But you know what, why should I have felt bad about that? ALL I WANTED was four miles. And she had to be so completely self-involved that she was willing to let her dog ruin someone else's four miles. THEIR time before work. THEIR work-out. THEIR marathon training. THEIR HARD WORK.
I know, at first it seems like a small thing. But when you think about the implications you realize that a morning run means a lot to people and they aren't asking for much.
The dog finally turned around. I hope he laid down and his stupid owner had to walk back all that way to get him, but I didn't look to see. After all this, I was beyond tired. I didn't think I would be able to finish my third mile, and I definitely didn't think I would be able to finish it in 8:15. Then my Garmin beeped. 8:09!
Take that! I thought I would have to stop and walk at that point just to let my heart rate normalize, but I decided to run to the bottom of the small hill and then I would walk up it and then start running again.
Regardless of that hiccup it was a successful run. Another workout in the books!
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