Return to the scene of the crime, hair of the dog that bit me, and get back on that horse. For the first time in nine months, I have entered familiar yet unfamiliar territory. I just completed the first week of a marathon training plan complete with a close encounter of the biting kind. Like the other seven marathons I've run, I charted out my sixteen week plan in a spreadsheet with each day and each week mapping out the runs and counting down to race day. As I've discussed here, I am trying a new plan for the first time ironically called the FIRST training plan from the Run Less, Run Faster book from Runner's World. Only three runs a week, but they're not for the timid alternating with 2-3 cross training days.
The week (or was it weak) started with swim on Monday and an early wake-up to get speed work done on Tuesday before heading out to California for work. A stomach bug should have scrapped (or crapped) my first run of the first week of my plan, but there was nothing that was going to stop me from missing the very first training run. I gutted out (pun intended) a three x 1600 run at a 6:55 average pace. Take that stomach bug!
|Slab of Bacon cologne from Dolce & Gabbana|
Four days of business travel including one late night and some dumbass who ordered a "flight" of tequila along with dinner on Thursday night. I flew home Friday and tried to get some decent sleep before my long run with my local running group, Runner's Edge of the Rockies.
My FIRST plan called for a thirteen miler on Saturday at 30 seconds over my marathon goal pace. Seeing a lot of running friends I hadn't seen in months and I'm sure a good dose of adrenaline had my splits all over the map. I started with the 3:20 pace group, but my heart rate was stuck in zone 1 and I was running much slower than the day's plan called for so I sped ahead. Sped is right as I ran a bit too quick in the middle miles as we wove through neighborhoods around Denver's Wash Park and Cheeseman Park.
|"Excuse me, does your dog bite?"|
Cheeseman provided my second ever encounter with a dog on a run. This was no poodle as Marmaduke chomped on my forearm around the turnaround. I "barked at the owner" to keep his dog under control. He looked back at me like "why did you let my dog snack on your arm?" I wondered why I was singled out...my bacon scented cologne, Marmaduke was more of a swimmer than a runner, I looked like a mailman, or was I the weakest one in the herd? I looked at my arm and saw no puncture wounds or blood so I went about running my miles. The next morning, I felt compelled to lick myself and found a nice bruise complete with bite marks. Grrrrr.
Final score, one stomach bug, 3000 kilometers traveled, two speed work-outs, my first long run, one dog bite and another great swim to end the week. I'm back in the saddle again.