I'm debating. Should I subject you to my description of the grossest thing that has ever "gone down" on a track? Or should I let you simply imagine? SR and I have debrided bed sores that go down to the bone and burred holes in crania - but this, well... we hadn't seen (or experienced) this.
SR and I both had this morning off. He had run hard yesterday, so I convinced him to pace me for a 10k on the track. The real track this time. The one with the bleachers surrounding it. Thou shalt not build bleachers around a short track. That and I've measured it with the Garmin and Google Earth.
We warmed up by running hills near our apartment. When we arrived at the track, it was empty and I was feeling good. Verly little toe pain. Very little hip pain.
I had written on my blog that my previous PR was 41:09, which was a split from a 15k. This was a time I had remembered from my own Garmin, so who knows how accurate it was. But before that, I had never run a 10k in under 42 minutes.
The vague goal of today was simply to improve on that theoretical PR and make it a real one.
After 3 km, I told SR I wanted to cut it short at 5 because I felt so crappy.
Just before 5km, I said we could do 8km.
Just before 8km, I decided to keep going for the whole 10k.
SR kept me up to date on the splits so I never had to look at my watch. Still on PR pace. Still on PR pace... I think everyone was right who told me I wasted energy looking at my Garmin. Only when you don't run with one, do you realize how liberating it is.
With 4 laps to go, something happened.
"If it starts to smell, It's because I ..."
SR turned his head, wondering why I was talking.
He kept trying to get me to speed up. I kept thinking "it weighs the same in my intestines as it does... ".
I did manage to run the last two km in under 4 min each for a final time of 40:48, but by that time, the PR was not the first thing on my mind.
I was happy. But(t).
The next 20 minutes involved the use of a hose and spraying myself with high pressure, while SR looked on, wondering if he would ever recover. Neither of us will ever recover, fully.
"Sometimes you should try and look at yourself from the outside, Tracy. Can you imagine seeing another 33 year old woman doing that?"
"Would you have stopped?" I asked.