Coaxing my inner child out of her fetal position for a treadmill tempo run.

If you live in the Midwest or the Northeast right now, your outside looks a lot like this:

Which is why I didn't do my 8.5 mile tempo run like I was scheduled to do on Thursday.  The picture above was taken right as it started to snow like a *BLEEPNAUGHTYWORD* and I was on my way home from work.  This occurred after it poured down rain for most of the morning, which is why I didn't do the run in the AM like I normally would have done.

Weather.  Sometimes it sucks.

When I got home, it was snowing softly, and there was no wind to speak of.  It was warm.  So, I did what any other reasonable runner would have done: Busted out my new set of Yak Trax Pro and tried to get that tempo run done any way I could.

Only I underestimated how wet, sloppy, and calf-fatiguing running in that kind of snow could be.  I found myself picking my way over patches of ice, my Yak Trax digging into the wet heavy snow such that it was like running in the heaviest, wettest sand you could imagine.  I couldn't get up to the speed I would need to really make the run effective.  Well,  I could get up to speed, but it would most likely be when I was sliding on my ass after I fell on the ice rather than by running down the road.

If it had been a long run day or an easy run day, I would have kept going, because the snow was so pretty and the evening so quiet and warm.  But it wasn't.  It was tempo run day, dammit, and Mother Nature had once again outwitted me.  That *BLEEPANOTHERNAUGHTYWORD*

So I called it quits and decided to treadmill it this morning, even though it meant doing 6 miles at tempo pace.  Six miles.  Siiiixxxxxxx looooonnnggg miles.  That number freaked me out (even after running 20 miles Saturday!  I am nuts.)  You, see I hate doing long tempo runs on the treadmill more than I hate root canals, meetings with people who lie to me on a regular basis, and going shopping at Walmart on a Saturday afternoon.  In fact, "hate" isn't the word I should use; it's "loathe."  I don't know what it is, but I mentally shrivel at the thought of doing a faster run that's longer than 3 miles on the thing.  I break down, thinking I can't do it. My inner child goes all fetal and rocking, inconsolable.

But this morning I reminded myself that if I think I can't, I can't.  But I could.  I was going to try, but I would have to make some modifications in order to convince my inner whiner that I could do it.  So I did for myself what I would do for any of my students caught in this mental trap--I started small.  Specifically, I ramped down the speed that I woulds run at because I needed a speed that I could be successful at during this first try at an 8 mile tempo on the treadmill.  I just needed to show myself that I could run that long at a faster pace on the treadmill, and I'll jack up the speed later if Mother Nature decides to be a total jerkface again.

I'd say I did a pretty good job this morning, even if I did have to stop after 5 miles because I needed to get my ass to work on time:

I threw in the elevation just for fun.  How did I lose elevation on the treadmill?  My Garmin footpod is possessed.

Not my fastest pace ever, but I did feel challenged.  I broke it up into smaller bits ("Just make it to mile three make it to mile three MAKE IT TO MILE 3 YOU *BLEEPOHANOTHERNAUGHTYWORD*!") which made it much more manageable.  The TV helped, too; "My Name is Earl" is also surprisingly good treadmill TV, along with a documentary about the USS Indianapolis tragedy.

The lesson from today's run?  Sometimes runs aren't about physical training--they're about proving to yourself you can do something, even if that something is not mentally crumbling while running slower than normal on a machine others handle just fine. Now that I know I *can* do a longer tempo run on the 'mill, next time I'll ramp up the speed and coax my inner child out of her fetal position for the entire run.