No, Seriously . . .

Dateline November 20th, 2006 . . . a date that will live in infamy . . .

The above should be said in a Darth Vader-esque voice with sufficient omnipresent surround sound and appropriate god-like reverb.

So, I jumped on the treadmill, punched in my coordinates and took off. The first mile was the hardest. It wasn't physically challenging, per se, it was just that I wanted to run faster than the pace I was holding to: 10 minute miles.

If pressed, my 30-something body could probably clean a mile in under six and half minutes. The pressure would have to take the form of some sort of threat of physical harm coupled with some kind of time machine that would allow me to retrieve and use by 20-something body, but it could be done.

Once.

I would then die.

Painfully.

So starting out on a 6 mile tour, my body longed to kick it into high gear and go for the gold. That's the nice thing about a treadmill, no matter what your body thinks the ideal pace should be, the machine just ignores that and happily chugs along where it was set. I get the feeling that the tread would merrily go through the motions even if I wasn't standing ontop, running my little baboon heart out.

What a jerk.

But I digress. I started on my 6 mile adventure yesterday and moved through the motions nicely. My iPod sang sweetly in my ear (Killer Cuts from the old Killer Instinct videogame Eric and I used to play in college), my new running shoes cushioned my feet and I was off and running . . .

I hestitated above because I felt a semi-serious urge to add a "literally" after my statement. Generally, I abhor the use of that term as with exclamations points it is massively misused. However, the truth is that I was not metaphorically running. I might have been spiritually running, or even ethically running, but those were secondary to the actual, literal running I was doing.

So there, I said it.

As I was running, I thought over my previous post. It was more of a blog than the normal articles I prefer to write. An update on my otherwise boring and mundane, even pedantic life regarding an aspect that most people will either not care about or will care about only in relation to the periphery of thier own lives, giving thought only while the seconds tick down on their microwave toward the sweet satisfaction of industrial strength popcorn in a bag.

But I did think about it, because one of the concerns I have, asside from being more athletically capable, is my knees. Two knee surgeries and plenty of pain while moving (walking, biking, eating) will do that to a runner. So, having easily made it through my fourth mile and heading quickly to my fifth, I made a decision.

I haven't cleaned a full six miles in a single stretch in (yes, literally) years. My knees only recently became accessible again, and amiable to running any distance, let alone that of a 10K, even at sub-race pace. Further, I'm aware that my Johnny-cum-lately competitive streak often has me pushing my body when I should just work into the pace that I want. I'd like to think that's something I have in common with the legendary great Steve Prefontaine, but given that the guy once ran the 1500 meters in 3:38, asside from a love of the run, the drive to push a body beyond realistic limits is the only thing we would have in common.

So, there I was, coming up on mile five and thinking very hard about how doubling my normal workout distance, even at the sedate 10 minutes per, might actually be pushing my body too far again. My decision was to not push quite so hard. Six miles is six miles, and it will still be there tomorrow. In my mind I knew I could do it, and my body said it could do it too. The concern was that if I did it today, would I be able to do it tomorrow?

I strode up to the five mile mark, and then, began my cool down walk.

Today, my both my calves and my right leg are a little sore. It's a good sore. The kind of sore you know you earned and deserve. I could have gone the distance, and probably would have been just fine. I'd like to run 10Ks again, and be somewhat competitive in my age group. I'd like to set personal goals and beat my PRs race over race.

That's not going to happen with just three or four weeks of treadmill training. I've trained up to race paces in the past, and been competitive, even with knee injuries and whatnot. I know what it takes and I know there is some pushing that needs to occur. I also know, that I need to be mindful of my knees.

But sitting on my shoulder, swinging his cleated feet, my own personal Pref is whispering, "The best pace is a suicide pace, and today is a good day to die."