At the track, early morning.

6:30am. I crawl out of bed, throw on my running gear, eat a breakfast bar with a glass of juice, and then stumble out to my car. While driving to the local track I ask myself why I'm doing speed work-outs on a track. I'm middle aged, and so unavoidably I am getting slower every year. Running track is frustrating, it's pointless, and it hurts. I could sleep in, then just go for a nice leisurely jog. Why do this to myself? I get there and meet S, an elite college cross country runner who I used to coach. This Summer we are running some work-outs together. He will be far ahead of me on each lap, but I find that chasing him around makes me run faster. I don't want the work-out to look like some athlete followed ages later by a hobbling aging man. I want to look and feel like I belong there. I'm still a runner, damnit. I'm still a competitor. It helps that S is very encouraging and positive, he's a good training partner. It's fun to watch him run too. He runs controlled yet strong, has good form, and is very fast. We are running a pyramid work-out: two 200 meter sprints each with 200 meter jog recovery, followed by two 400 meter runs each with 90 seconds rest in between, then one 800 meter run with a 90 second rest, then back down with two more 400s, and two more 200s. At some later point we’ll need to add another 800, but we're not at that stage yet. We jog a couple of laps warm-up, do some dynamic stretches (NO static stretches before a work out), and then we're ready. It's not too hot but is already humid, and we are already sweating. My legs still haven’t woken up and still feel weak. This is going to hurt. The 200s aren't too bad, they're short and they get my legs going. The 400s are tough. On the first one I start too fast, pulled by the flying feet of S, but I regain control quickly. The first half of the 400 feels manageable as I stay controlled, but by the second turn I am gasping for oxygen, my legs starting to bind up and feeling like lead weights. The final straight to the finish is an endless painful trudge where it seems I’ll never reach the finish. Then somehow I do.

Basically that was a normal 400 meter run.

The 90 seconds rest flies by while I try to get my heart and breathing under a semblance of control. Then, too soon, we are off running the next 400, which must be run at the same speed as the first. That one hurt even more. The 800 comes after the two grueling 400s. This means two laps at speed instead of one. I back off just a fraction in the first lap in order to have with something left in the tank for the second. Meanwhile S just keeps on flying along. The second lap feels like the last part of a 400, except instead of dying for about 150 meters I am dying for the entire 400 meters. After staggering across the line I stretch out the ensuing rest break to two minutes. Now to run two more 400s and two more 200s. Funny enough at this point I know my pain threshold, and I know my endurance limit. So I actually run these laps a couple of seconds faster than the earlier ones. Even though I'm dead legged and tired, even though they hurt a lot more, I know I can do it, and I do it. Watching S still cruising along ahead pushes me too. I will not give up like some worn out has been. No excuses. We finish with a couple of laps cool down and some stretches. I shake hands with S, and off we go to start our days. Driving back, I remember now why I do and love track work outs. I'm testing my body and mind to their limits, and my body and mind still pass their tests. There is the exhilaration of feeling the combinations of pain and speed, of tiredness and strength. Best of all is the exhilarating feeling of being fully alive. I'll be back at the track next week, grumbling as I go.