Week 12 of training for Boston brought another high intensity week. 56 miles is not really that many compared to collegiate runners, or serious marathoners who with their 'two a days' can get to 120 plus miles in a week. But for the Real Housewives the fact that more than half of those miles were run at paces ranging from race pace to 5k pace meant it would be another leg melting week.
For most of our speed work or tempos I have had the less than delightful site of Q-Less' bubble butt in front of me - not that it isn't cute, Q-Less is very proud of that butt, so we have all had to admire it at times. However, it is always harder to motivate yourself if you feel you are trailing in the weeds, even if the clock tells you you are a head of pace, and some weeks I have wondered whether solo speed work might be more satisfying - just me and the clock, afterall, we have had a pretty solid relationship and my garmin rarely talks back. This week's intervals told a different story. For our 8 mile speed work out we had 5 one mile repeats. The first three went pretty smoothly - 6.50 pace, hard at times, but not gut wrenching, and for once Q-Less and I were running fairly closely together. By the third repeat Q-Less was starting to flag considerably. Not content with the 7 mile recovery run the day before she had also indulged her passion for tennis and taken on a game after the run, singles no less, and boy was she hurting. After some pathetic arm waving and gutterall noises she was motioning me to go ahead. I had a flash backs to all those miles of chasing her sorry butt and was sorely tempted to enjoy the brief satisfaction of giving her the same glorious view, even if it were for just one run.
Then a brief and probably rare expression of maturity occurred. I remembered how ludicrous competition actually becomes in the race itself, all thoughts of keeping up with your girlfriends fade in light of the grueling reality of the situation. At mile 23 all you want to do is finish and see your family again - juvenile rivalries and the spark of the boxing ring fall away, redundant and insignifcant. I think that is why so many runners raise money for charities, or to feed their village in Africa and perhaps why Ryan Hall switched coaches and decided to run for God - there has to be more to this incredible effort than an improved PR.
For the next two miles I hung back with Q-Less who both times started at what seemed incredibly slowly, but by mid interval she would courageously revive her exhausted legs into action and finish the interval somehow galvanized by seeing the end in sight and was able to run a respectable, albeit very negative, split. It was surprisingly uplifting to take the focus off myself for a moment and wait for Q-Less to make her come back, and it reminded me why we were even doing speed work together; it was down to the 'power of two'. If one loses mojo surely the other can find it for you, and vice versa.
Our long run a day or two later also included pace work, another 18 mile race simulation. I don't know if the reversed circumstances altered our running psyche, but instead of running in tandem on Kelly Drive and dodging the bikers and strollers, we came up with a new approach to the long run. My conservative steady pace, and Q-Less' more impetuous speed and strong kick, combined well for the first time as we made our 10 mile race pace section an Indian Run. At each mile we took it in turn to lead; neither one got too far ahead; neither one felt she was holding back the other.
Leading was empowering and made me feel stronger as a runner, enjoying the head wind off the river and all the views of Philadelphia. The strange sights of the city whizzed by as snapshots. Two ladies head to toe in burqas, with only the small slot revealing their eyes as they flickered over us with seemingly no emotion; the child in its buggy that they pushed seemed to do the same, as his baby blanket and hat offered an equivalent tiny window into his face. An elderly african american nanny kindly made huge efforts to let us pass her double buggy on the free way overpass and called out 'Do the Lord's Work' as we ran past.
Then every other mile we switched and I got a chance to draft off Q-less, offering me that perfect buffer against the breeze and a brief pause in the run, I could check out and let her lead the way, relaxing and knowing that no matter how big the gap got she would have to slack off to let me lead the next one. This combination of pacing brought us in at a 7.39 pace ( well ahead of our race pace goal of 7.50) with both of us feeling good - Q-Less felt redemption after feeling lousy on the intervals, and for once I didn't feel I was holding any up on the pace work.
After all it had only taken ten years of running together - but for once I think Q-Less and I actually made our partnership work. Perhaps Boston will become one long Indian Run. Turning 26.2 miles into 13.1 miles would certainly be a beautiful thing for both of us.
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