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I have this thing I do at races that usually makes me 1) get sick to my stomach and 2) go down in flames after half-way. I go out too fast. It is not for lack of technology or self-knowledge that I do this, though. I can be staring at my Garmin and reading "7:56" and knowing full well that I cannot maintain a 7:56 pace for a marathon. Do I slow down? Does this number make me take a step back and reassess the distance? Nooo. Not until every cell in my body is screaming for me to sit on a curb. So - I had a prescribed workout to get done - it was running. My favorite! Yay! But- what was this? Paces? I normally don't run for certain paces, and I suck at self-pacing (note issue above), so this was kind of different. I was to start out at a ten minute pace, then 9:30, then 9:00 and then hold an 8:30 pace for an hour. Ten minute miles? I casually wondered after Jeff's mind. Absurd, thought I! But, being the dutiful (read: scared sh*tless to deviate from my plan) athlete I am, I hopped on the old treadmill (because I know myself at least well enough to know I can't start out at a ten minute pace if I think someone in a passing car might see me) and hit "6.0". Off I went, plodding along, feeling like I was cheating. I fought the urge to push the up arrow and just concentrated on the news, then the cartoons, then the movie, then the magazine (2 hours is a long time to be in one room). As I shifted my pace as the minutes passed, I noticed I was feeling ... good. I wasn't starting to feel like walking or sitting down, I was feeling better than when I began my run. I was holding the 8:30 and feeling pretty darn good. When I was near finished I realized that this is pacing, this is how you are supposed to run a race - this is how you are supposed to feel half-way through a race. Good. You are supposed to feel good. So, after 17 weeks of training, two half-ironmans, several half-marathons, four full marathons and a bajillion 5 and 10Ks, and not one negative split, I finally know how to run. Wax on. .. wax off...
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