Holy shit, that was the worst fun ever. I didn't have time to run yesterday, so I thought I'd run a really hard workout today to make up for it. Decided to run about a mile (~1600m) to the track to do some 1600m repeats. (10x1600 with 400m jog between each, for the curious.) I borrowed my brother's watch so that I could get splits, and that's where shit hit the fan.
For some reason, that watch doesn't have a standard up-count timer. Instead, it sets the timer to the previous hour (19:00:00 in this case) and starts counting down. So I ran the first one at a fairly good clip, but as I hadn't run a timed 1600 in a while, I wasn't sure what to expect. Looked down at the end and saw 18:53:57, and I thought, "Hey, that's close to 18:54, which means I did that one in 6 minutes. I'll just keep doing that."
You may have noticed that that was actually slightly over five minutes. So I ran the next one, and it was about 10 seconds slower. I held that pace for a few, but then started dropping off a bit. By the seventh or so, I was running close to what I thought was 7 minute miles, and I was pissed. I got two side stitches (one on either side) and a shoulder stitch on number 8, but finished right on what I thought was 7:00. Number nine was slower due to the aforementioned pain, and I was getting downright furious with myself by the time the fourth lap of that one rolled around. Staying near 6? I was going to run over 7!
So with about 150 meters to go in the ninth lap, I started sprinting like a madman. And then I didn't stop for the 400m recovery. I just kept going. A thought sprang unbidden to mind, in my own voice: "There is blood in my veins, foam upon my lips, and sweat on my brow. What compares to the terror of the chase, or the exultation of the hunt?" There was just me, the track, and the long-forgotten pain. I ran like crazy, form going out the window. On the last lap, I don't think I blinked, regardless of the sweat sliding into my eyes. During the final sprint, I started laughing. I don't know why, but I felt as light as a feather, invincible, unstoppable, joyous beyond measure. I crossed the line, immediately rolled onto the grass on the inside of the field, and threw up. Then I laughed some more, stood up, grabbed my shirt off the fence, and left. Only when walking home did I realize that I had been miscalculating the times: that last one ended up being a 4:54, a personal best.
I'm going to be sore for days.
((And I think I scared the crap out of those old joggers.))