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So, I meant to run early.  Best laid plans and all that foiled by weariness and a headache.  After I dropped Ruby off for school, I made it up to the gym.  Got my favorite machine (if there is such a thing) and the fan blowing on my torso.  I felt sort of silly, as the day outside turned sunny and warml.  But, hopefully we’ll have more, and an actual summer.  One can dream.

I started out at my “slow” pace.  I planned to do a mile or two there.  In the interest of posterity, that’s 5.5 mph.  I’m not fast, but I’m consistent.  Which sounds bad, taken out of context.  I counted 40 paces, which multiplies out to 160 paces in one minute.  That’s counting both feet.

I did have to keep stopping between miles after mile 2 in order to stretch out said hip.  Yet another reason why I like running outside better:  each footstep  hits differently, due to terrain.  Anyway. Each time I took a break from the treadmill to stretch, I came back with a faster tempo.

When I ramped up to 6 mph, I counted 176 paces per minute.  Strangely, this was my training pace before I got injured.  It felt good here, less strain on my cranky hip.  Running slower hurts me more.  Ironic, that. I topped out the day at 6.4 mph, which still only netted me 176ish steps per minute.

What did I gather from this information?  It’s time to run faster, go harder and have fun.  Simultaneously.  I’m finding this is true in other areas of my life as well during this season. No more holding back. I get it.

Yes, it’s official.  Meb and Ryan have nothing to fear from me.  Hurtling that last 1/4 mile, streaking for the finish line, I could do close to 7 mph.  Somebody loose the tigers first, though. Or at least a yeti.

 

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