Hot damn. There were several moments during my run this morning where I thought my heart might explode. I had a totally misguided hunch that Powerline would be both packed down and free of skiers. Well, I was right about having it to myself, but it was NOT packed down, especially after the first mile. I knew I was likely in for a hard run, but after one of the laziest weeks of my life, I was ready to get back at it.
Well, "get back at it," almost meant calling in a helicopter to get me the hell out of there. Things started off great, and I was happy to be back at Powerline, but almost immediately the snow started getting deeper and my heart rate skyrocketed. Running down the steep hill half a mile in that I hate so passionately, the "oh shit" thoughts started to flood in, as did the "I don't have a will!" and "I don't have anything to leave people in a will!" thoughts. I kept going, though, and things only got worse. I started getting desperate. I knew if I could just make it to the turnaround point I'd be fine. The last half mile I was CRAWLING. I looked at my garmin and saw 20:xx so thought, "Thank god, I've got less than a minute left before I get to turn around." Turns out it doesn't work that way when you're running 12-minute miles. Those last few minutes were agony.
Fortunately, the view rocked.
My crawling splits:
As tends to happen, once I turned around I was rewarded with a slight downhill and felt awesome within minutes. Even the hell hill wasn't as hellish as I had imagined. We gen whatever-ers really do have a flair for the dramatic.
It's funny how not working (or just having more time in general) means getting your run done is going to take longer. When I have an hour and a half between classes to run 4 miles and clean myself, I run 4 miles and clean myself an hour and a half. When I have 5 hours, however, you bet your ass I'm going to take five hours. That's just how it goes.