Hey Hey Kids!

I apologize upfront for my lack of participation in the posts this week. FINALS! have taken over my life at the moment. Though, I have kept up on the Higdon running schedule.

Yesterday was a 6 miler, smack-dab in the middle of week 8, and it was colder than Hoth outside. I layered up, almost to an ignorantly overcautious amount, and trotted out the door into 23°F (-5°C) temperature like a true champion steed ready to take down the distance with gusto. At first I was pleased as Hawaiian Punch with my choice in clothing, since the small exposed fleshy oval of my hooded face was bitter about the wicked wind chill tearing up eyes and blushing my cheeks. But that was soon to change...

My trotting soon turned to plodding as the muscles in my legs were just immediately exhausted. I'm not exactly sure why that happened. The previous day's 3 miler wasn't anything like interstellar overdrive (on the treadmill the 3 mile breakdown from Tuesday was as follows: 1) 9:46 2) 7:59 3) 7:38, with a .5 mile walk at the end), so I couldn't have worn myself out from that. And since I waited to run in the afternoon, secretly hoping the sun would help warm up the day, as it's known to do from time to time, I had somewhat of a substantial brunch kicking around in the fuel tank from hours before. Go Banana!

So my pace felt stilted, and I wondered if it was the constriction of the amount of layers I had draped over my person to avoid the torturous tundra outside. Because I've always taken to heart what the Wu-Tang Clan once said, "protect ya neck kid", the only part of me without excessive wardrobe were my feet, and my toes were forming into effin ice cubes inside the tray of my Nike Voremos. But for the astute long distance runners out there, you may take one look at that 6 mile distance, and realize, I was dressed for success, the wrong way.

The arctic conditions soon became a sweat factory exporting the products fastened together by the tiny fingers of a migrant population of my smothered glands into the multi-layered nations of my clothing. The gloves were the first to go, then the cap, heat was just pouring out my sleeves like an active volcano waiting to erupt. I thought about ditching a layer or two in a bush along the way, then circling back for it on Schwinny Cooper after the run, but I didn't want to face the possible repercussions of being caught in a bush taking my clothes off; no matter how I explain it, I just don't think they'd buy it, though "For real, I have a running blog" crossed my mind as a plausible defense. So I sweated out the remainder of the run, vowing next time, I'd come less prepared.

The run was slow because, to say I was fatigued seems like an understatement, I felt really bogged down for the entire 6 mile course; my leg muscles just wouldn't put out the effort that my mind wanted from them. My best guess for average mile time is about just under a 10 min. pace, because an hour had passed on the microwave clock from the time I left the apartment to the time I got back. The most extreme hills came towards the end, when I was really coasting on fumes, so that did nothing to bolster my confidence about finishing the distance, though I did in the end without stopping.

The cold air made it hard to breath, as if I was drowning in a block of ice, and indeed, later at night I felt the itch in the back of my throat, whose discomfort has now turned into a full blown sore throat the morning after. I've been combating this with green tea, lots of it, hoping for a quick comfortable recovery. Only time will tell. Though, today's 3 mile run will certainly be accomplished on a treadmill in the relative warmth of my Aunt's basement.