Mile Repeats

All does not seem well with the group on our warm-up run to Zilker. We are listless, dragging, in a fog. Hung over maybe? Or maybe the fact that it is the most uncomfortable 5:45am in Austin, Texas, since like 1925. After we arrive, we hover around the Accelerade, acting all passive aggressive about starting the pre-workout drills. Maybe Gilbert will just forget about them. Eventually, we own up to the chore and lope down the road sideways. I stop at about 10 yards, setting a provocatively low bar, but I’m soon overruled and openly mocked by the more committed in the group.

Gilbert approaches from his truck with . . . . is that . . . yes, I believe that is. . . it's a strut, he's got a strut going on . . . showing off his sleek and highly German Falke running wear. Work it, Coach. Gilbert acknowledges the insane humidity and, in pity, knocks off a repeat. He then tells us how to determine our goal pace through some kind of algebraic equation involving our 800m average, our tempo run split, our twelfth mile on our last long run, and how many times we’ve seen the Prefontaine movie, “Without Limit.” For me, that worked out to about 6:40.

As leaden as I felt, I still thought 6:40 would be easy, especially since I beat that pace through the 4 X 2000’s last week. Dan and I run pretty much together now, and we lead off the first group. What the dillio, Dan, why are we running so slow?

We round a corner.

Oh I see.

It’s all becoming clearer now. There are hills. There are hills on this course. I’m terrible on hills. The sense of doom looms large.

The biggest hill hits us first and we dig in to start the climb. Dan appears unphased, his pace constant. I’m sure everyone knows Dan Buie, so I won't go into detail about him, but I’ll just say that, uh, his core is better than mine. In fact, his core is better than that of most of the population. Of the world. COMBINED. (Don’t try to pass him, because his left oblique will jump out and wrestle you to the ground.) I immediately fall back a few yards and huff loudly and awkwardly. Successive smaller hills bring the same pattern, yet I always pull even shortly afterward. See, hills actually let me display what I am most proud of: my incredible strength running downhill. I am like lightning.

We put up our first repeat of 6:50. Forget about falling off the 6:40 wagon, we didn’t even get on it yet. We run a much more disciplined 2nd mile at 6:39. At this point I was planning on sticking to the 6:40 goal, but Dan rationalized a 6:30 for the 3rd to make up for our sorry 6:50. I did not approve of this idea. None of this “making it up” silliness, let's just move on with our lives. But, being all competitive, I went with it. We run our 3rd in the upper 6:20’s with Dan about three seconds ahead of me. Dan is incredibly punctual with the 2-minute rest period, but on the last one I buy some time, acting like there’s something in my shoe. Dan, you are too fast, give me half a break! We finally take off, and, knowing the drill, I use up everything I got. I stumble in on Dan’s heels at 6:19.

As terrible as that felt, that felt really good.

I look to Coach for approval.

His head is in his notebook. “That was too fast.”

!!!!!!

“What are you talking about, we were supposed to drop the bomb!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“No way, man, you’re crazy.”

“The last repeat is always the bomb, that’s the pattern that has been established. Last repeat means bomb!”

“You weren’t supposed to dig deep this time. You needed to hold off a bit because next month you’re going to have to run five of these-- and five seconds faster.”

I am learning that Gilbert is the master of the mind game. Maybe it’s bomb time, maybe it’s not. Don’t assume!