7:58 1:23, 1:21, 1:23, 1:22 Need a tow truck? Dial 324. The dubious forces of nature were no match for the rugged determination that staved off this morning's macabre clouds of doubt. The fact that weather is a deterrent to the weak spirited makes it all the more appropriate time to train. While the hang overs drifted away and the lard filled stomachs sat happy at the day's beginning I set about the time trials on half a banana and some almond butter. Hunger and starvation create a forcefield impervious to the laws of gravity and luscious cotton fields of comfort and laziness. It was my endeavor to tackle a sub-eight minute mile under resistance while maintaining text book form. No problem. The mile is really only a half mile race. The first 400 is easy, moving fast but still warming up and the final 400 comes from a seductive affinity to the light at the end of the tunnel. The race starts when reality sets in and finishes when you either cross the finish line or succumb to the incapacitating pulmonary toxicity that entices a weak mind to lay down and submit to the evil forces of self-preservation. Strike with the fore foot; pull with the hamstrings. Control your breathing but don't panic if compressing piston power is necessary. Keep your finger of the nitrous button until necessary. The first 400 was done in 1:58. The following two 400s lost about 1.5 seconds per. Probably due to o-ring wear and tear. After entering the necessary data and adjusting destination coordinates for predetermined arrival time the motor commensurately imparted the necessary torque required for success. With nothing but the abrasive sound of the rubber meeting the road and my winged, bipedal, endothermic, egg-laying, vertebrate animal friends (birds) orchestrating nature's equivalent of the Rocky theme song, I crossed the finish line to drink from the coveted chalice of enslaving endorphins. Beware, for I can run.
7:58
ReplyDelete1:23, 1:21, 1:23, 1:22
Need a tow truck? Dial 324.
The dubious forces of nature were no match for the rugged determination that staved off this morning's macabre clouds of doubt. The fact that weather is a deterrent to the weak spirited makes it all the more appropriate time to train. While the hang overs drifted away and the lard filled stomachs sat happy at the day's beginning I set about the time trials on half a banana and some almond butter. Hunger and starvation create a forcefield impervious to the laws of gravity and luscious cotton fields of comfort and laziness.
It was my endeavor to tackle a sub-eight minute mile under resistance while maintaining text book form. No problem. The mile is really only a half mile race. The first 400 is easy, moving fast but still warming up and the final 400 comes from a seductive affinity to the light at the end of the tunnel. The race starts when reality sets in and finishes when you either cross the finish line or succumb to the incapacitating pulmonary toxicity that entices a weak mind to lay down and submit to the evil forces of self-preservation. Strike with the fore foot; pull with the hamstrings. Control your breathing but don't panic if compressing piston power is necessary. Keep your finger of the nitrous button until necessary. The first 400 was done in 1:58. The following two 400s lost about 1.5 seconds per. Probably due to o-ring wear and tear. After entering the necessary data and adjusting destination coordinates for predetermined arrival time the motor commensurately imparted the necessary torque required for success.
With nothing but the abrasive sound of the rubber meeting the road and my winged, bipedal, endothermic, egg-laying, vertebrate animal friends (birds) orchestrating nature's equivalent of the Rocky theme song, I crossed the finish line to drink from the coveted chalice of enslaving endorphins.
Beware, for I can run.