Tuesday workout: rest
Wednesday workout: 6 miles with 4 tempo (9:30), Pace Gloves
This run was hard. Really hard. I haven't done any faster running since my marathon, and I was extremely close to walking during the third tempo mile, something I never, ever do. Also, Anchorage broke a heat record set in 1937 today, but that's all I'll say about that.
Things started off great. I looked down at my Garmin during my warm-up and saw that I was running a 10:00 pace with minimal effort. I figured 9:30 would be a piece of cake and had grand visions of running 9:00s. Whoops.
I had forgotten the mental fortitude required of a tempo. And what running fast feels like. I think I can confidently say based solely on this run that I greatly prefer distance to speed. I'd like to be faster, but I think I'd rather train for a 12-hour 50-miler than a 1:45 half.
Despite the run's difficulty, I was still happy to be out there. My calves, however, will not be happy tomorrow.
I ran here.
At work today, my coworker mentioned that two other people in the office are running the same half marathon I'm doing at the end of August. When I told her I'm also running it (see, I'm being more open about my running!), she exclaimed, "Awesome, you're going to kick their asses!" To which I died laughing.
There is literally no chance of me beating these guys. They are a million times faster than I am. If they don't DNF, they will beat me. Of this I am absolutely certain. I explained this to my coworker and she said, "No, you're definitely going to beat them. You ran a marathon!"
Oh. The marathon.
It's relatively common for people to overestimate my running abilities based on the fact that I ran a marathon. When I calmly explain that running a 9:55/mile marathon does NOT translate into a sub-8:00/mile half/10k/whatever, they laugh and tell me to stop being modest.
I'm not being modest. I'm being realistic. That's not to say I'll never be able to run that fast. But right now, f-ck no.
Our conversation reminded me of a blog post I saw on Facebook called, "Please stop telling me I'm going to pass the Bar." Particularly this paragraph:
"When I say to you, 'I am going to fail the bar,' I don't mean it the way a nerdy college sophomore proclaims 'omg! I am totally going to fail this chem exam.' I don't mean that I might get a C, or I might not be the smartest kid in the room. I mean that, come November, I. Might. Fail. The. Bar. In fact, there's a 50% likelihood that I will. When I tell you that I think I am going to fail, I'm not saying it because I need affirmation that I won't. I'm not kidding. I'm not over-reacting. When I say that, I'm trying to warn you of what might come."
Of course, running a half marathon isn't even remotely comparable to taking the Bar. But when I say I'm not going to beat my fast (male) coworkers, I'm not fishing for compliments about how fast I am; I really mean that I am not going to beat them. I am the turtle. They are the hare, except they win. That made sense in my head.
- Does anyone ever overestimate your ability to do x, y, or z based on the fact that you've run ____ miles before?