| Date | Time | Miles | MPH | Min/Mile |
| 6/9/11 | 00:25:48 | 2.35 | 5.47 | 10:59 |
I have a long run scheduled for the weekend, so I didn't want to wear myself down today. I also wanted to try to test my speed. I don't want to get involved in a lot of speed work, yet. My body and I still have plenty to learn about endurance, and it will be a long time before my time in a race is more important than finishing. Still, I have an ego, and would like to have a little more oomph... at least enough to keep up with the strollers and dog walkers. So today, I went as fast as I could, for as long as I could.
First of all, those are some shocking numbers for me. I don't think I've ever run that fast for that long in my life. I stuck with my Run/Walk intervals, running 2 minutes and walking 30 seconds. After that first mile, 2 minutes seemed like a very long time, but I kept pressing. I could really tell the difference between this and my usual runs.
There is still a difference between the distance I measure on MapMyRun.com and what my Nike+ gizmo indicates. I use the longer of the two distances here, because it's so much more impressive. I did mention my ego, didn't I? No matter how far it was, at the end of these miles, I was spent. I don't think running 8 miles on Sunday left me feeling this tired. I am definitely not a sprinter!
On the other hand, it felt good to seek my own limits for a little bit. My legs learned something about running at a faster cadence than they are used to. I won't try to duplicate this pace on my long run, but it will be interesting to see if this work allows me to cover a little more ground.
I've begun noticing some changes in my body. As my fat percentage continues going down, things are appearing. Hip bones. Ribs. Nurses can find the veins in my arms a little easier. I can feel separate muscles in my thighs. My face looks longer. There is one thing that bugs me, though. I have these pouches of flesh on me. 130 pounds ago, my skin got used to covering up a lot more stuff than is in there now. I can tell from the scale that I'm lighter. I can tell from my pants that I'm slimmer. But my belly is like this floppy, empty sack. Not blubbery, just baggy. The other day, I took a naked stroll into the living room and asked Mrs P if she thought my gut and thighs would eventually shrink down to normal.
"Oh, no," she answered with not enough sympathy and a little too much amusement. "You should probably get a tummy tuck."
Well, no one could fairly describe this vast expanse as a "tummy," and "tucking" it just seems inadequate. I'm thinking we may have to bundle up a couple of yards of the stuff off and donate it to science. I could probably provide grafts for several burn victims with the hide sagging from my torso. Of course, there would have to be some medical reason to do such a thing. The insurance folks won't be interested in paying for surgery just so I can have washboard abs and a tight butt. Not that any of that will matter since I'll need a zipper where my belly-button used to be.
Anybody know if looking like a half-inflated beach ball in swimming trunks is a life threatening situation?
Peace,
Pennsy
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