Running is a distillation and concentrated expression of many of life's moments - bound up into one intense experience. This week's Boston training was no exception. At week six of our 16 week plan, we are now starting to increase some distance on the long runs, and also to increase the distances in our speed work; reducing our recovery time, so we get long gasps of speed work to replicate the sense of exhaustion you feel later on in a marathon. Instead of the fast and furious 800 metre repeats of last week, we were now shooting for 2000's, which is about a mile and a quarter, and consequently long enough to start to feel more like endurance speed work. Q-Less was her usual 'less than optimistic self' when I mentioned going to the track for our Tuesday training - bad memories of high school, coupled with a lack of willingness to have every stride measured and on pace, had her voting for the trails around the school instead. Initially we were scheduled to run 3 X 2000's at 10k pace, but I pointed out that as our tempo runs were much harder than that, 4 was a more realistic goal. Also, our pace should probably be closer to 5k/10k, as it was supposed to be speed work. More groaning ensued as Q-Less digested my latest work out......and she muttered something about my generally deranged state of mind before her assent was grudgingly given. I did remind her that stellar athlete that she was she was more than capable of the times we were aiming for, I think the phrase was 'if I can do them at that pace, you DEFINITELY can'.
The sun was shining, the weather has been unseasonably warm and glorious and we had both accidentally worn similar shirts - baby blue, black tights - we were starting to look like a team... and passersby were laughing at our twinny look. The first repeat was really fun. Q-Less is a consummate one stepper; in speed work she will never let anyone get more than a pace ahead of her, her competitive nature just works that way. I am also competitive, but recognize her long stride and generally stubborn nature, so naturally hang back behind and accept my role in the pack hierarchy of running. However, on Tuesday I had new shoes, my legs actually felt good, and I was feeling a little bit cheeky. The nagging IT band pain I had suffered from seemed to have temporarily vanished, and it felt good to fly over the rocks and divots of the horsetrail. Initially we had talked sagely about the wisdom of running single file, as others do use that trail, and it is quite a rough surface. But that was immediatly out the window, and every time I drew level with Q-Less, she promptly sped up...every time I tested her...she responded harder and faster. At the end of a very exhilirating first repeat I glanced at the split and we both agreed it was way too fast - 8.20, instead of the 9.11 goal pace. Cheri was groaning and moaning that it had been way too difficult and there was no way she could make another three at that pace, plus she wanted to vomit badly, she wanted to go back down to 3 not 4 repeats; I did point out that she didn't have to respond, she could have let me go ahead but she looked at me like I was a four headed alien for even suggesting it. As a solution I proposed for the next repeat, which would now be an uphill reverse of the first one, that Q-Less should instead lead, with me hanging back in a 6 feet exclusion zone so she wouldn't feel threatened or compelled to pick up the pace, and she would try and get us back to the 5k/10k range we needed to be in. Q-Less shot off at almost the same pace as the first one. I followed dutifully, finding it slightly more challenging as we were now travelling up at an incline, but still enjoying the satisfying burn in the lungs that a bit of speedwork does for you after days of slow but steady paces. At the end of interval two Q-Less was spitting with frustration and grumbling with rather more gutteral noises, about how punishingly fast and hard this work out was. I took great pleasure in pointing out that as she had led the pace she only had herself to blame and self righteously observed that perhaps that was why she kept suffering at mile 16/18 in her marathons.....lack of self control, patience blah blah preach preach preach. Fortunately the third interval went much more smoothly - we agreed I would lead with the same exclusion zone rules....we got right back to pace. Q-Less was also happy, she realized on the second interval that she had put way too much pressure on herself to be fast due to her general discomfort the first time round. When the going got tough her response was simply to try harder, run harder and do more, not take 5% off. By my leading she didn't need to battle her own fatigue and conquer it, she could simply run the prescribed pace. At interval four I offered up the choice to Q-Less of following or leading and she readily accepted the former, preferring to run behind me at the correct pace and not put too much pressure on herself to go fast...I should have known this was way too rational and reasonable a response....
Cruising through the fourth interval of a ten mile run is always a mixed experience. The legs are becoming slightly numb and disconnect sets in. It feels a bit like mile 22 of the race - the speed is not outrageously fast, but you are trying to achieve something that the body is not sure it wants to give...and the mind is definitely the lead muscle in this situation. Thinking back on the intense exchanges we had had during this workout distracted me from the waves of tiredness wafting over me, and I was beginning to run on auto pilot. The only sounds were Q-Less gasping and mildly groaning in the background. The chain fence of the High School cross country team's finish chute lay tantalizingly ahead, the end of our final interval. Through this miasma, my brain operating on about a quarter function, fed a signal to me that the sounds I was registering were getting closer. Q-Less was gasping her way to the finish line in one final spasm of competitiveness. Allowing me to lead had only been a temporary tactic and she would not be satisfied until she had 'beaten' me to the finish line of our final interval. I don't even think that this was a premeditated tactic, more like an involuntary Q-Less response, but if there was any life left in her amazonian legs they were not finishing second. Having suffered myself from the pace mistakes of the first two, and then nursed Q-Less through the second two intervals, this seemed a little rich. I had deliberately gone out a little slower to allow us both some recovery, building, then maintaining a good even pace to get us to the end of that final interval in better shape. The raw injustice of this situation rose up and grabbed me by the throat. With the immaturity that comes from being a second born, 18 months behind a very accomplished and competitive older sister, I reached out my arm just as she passed me and gave her a big slice of what they call in the North of England 'smack bum pie'. Various expletives were spewed out on that horse trail as I called her every name under the sun, and then some more - despite becoming more Englis as I ranted I am not sure much of this was lost in translation. Q-less gave me a rueful look then laughed and said 'You didn't think I was going to let you beat me did you?'
Rage and frustration were swiftly replaced by mild embarrasment....physical violence and verbal abuse of one's running partner isn't something I am proud of. Nonetheless and Merciless laughed their heads off when they heard about it, and it did seem somewhat ridiculous when we talked about it later at kids' werestling match. Rationalizing it made me realize that running friendships are particularly intense, and the closeness of that relationship is a lot like a sisterhood. The last girl I slapped was almost certainly my sister Jane - she would get so bored in the long summer holidays she would pick a fight for the fun of it...some of them were epic battles, I remember one resulting in me chasing her all the way down the bottom of our long cottage garden, holding her down on her back whilst I ground red hot meringues, fresh from the oven, around the sensitive skin of her face.
Running friends share every mundane detail of their family lives as they happen...what else can you talk about during those 18 mile runs....you know each other's bathroom habits.....you each have to show weakness and vulnerability at times when you struggle during a run. You get to understand someone's psyche by seeing them in some extreme situations. Running is also a very levelling experience, you go through it together and only your companions on that particular run will every truly understand what the emotional journey was like, the happy crazy runs, the miserable hard ones when the weather has turned treacherous. The trial is also a truly private experience, you don't need to even look each other as you bob alongside together, deepest secrets are confided, and never revealed. I might use this blog as form of therapy and it can illuminate certain aspects of runnning, but there are shades of the trail that will always remain as dark and as enclosed as the confessional.
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