I drove all day Saturday, got back to San Diego on the 20th at 9pm, went to bed, woke up the Sunday at 4am and was in line to catch the charter bus in Balboa Park by 5:30am. Even as I drove to the busses I debated with myself about turning around and going home or at best parking, taking a sleep in my car until 6:30, and then jogging over to The Hall of Champions for the 5K race instead. But something forced me to walk to the lines at the busses. Maybe the force of habit I don't know. Either way, a ride at the top of the only double decker bus (awesome!) and an hour later, I found myself stretching at the Cabrillo National Monument listening to the cracks and creaks coming from my stiff body that had just spent at total of 13 hours in the car over the last 2 days. My neck wouldn't exactly hold my head straight and my butt still felt like it was asleep. Even when the gun went off and I crossed the start line I was in denial... the race would take me within a mile of my house in the first 4 miles of the run, so if anything I could just ditch out and go back to bed.
I didn't ditch out. I did finish... about 20 minutes slower than my time last year and about 10 minutes slower than my usual "didn't train enough" pace. And despite my snailishness, I paid dearly for the next day and a half: a mostly crippled creature limping and groaning from the couch to the kitchen, couch to the kitchen...
I'm ready now for my first little recovery jog. It's a perfect day for it: cloudy, as it was on the day of the AFC (perfect PR weather, it was). I hope to come back to this post every once in a while as reminder of the importance of not being an idiot.
(On pace at the 10K split... thinking I'll be OK, smiling even.)
(But by mile 10, not feelin' it...or more accurately, feelin' it) bad.
