Cowboy Hazel

My return to speedwork this morning was less than stellar. I met up with Antonio and we jogged down to Central Park, both of us feeling lethargic and slow. We decided to continue the jog up Harlem Hill and saved the first of three 1-mile repeats until two miles into our run. Got the legs going, pushed hard up the hills, felt like we were running fast. Half way there. Quarter to go. And stop. 6:37. Seriously? All that work and we only did a 6:37? We did a half mile cool down, then off again. Same drill. Half. Quarter. Point ten. And stop. Sweet! 6:11! But, I feel like shit even worse now. A slower half mile cool down. We're at the bottom of the park. And go! About 0.5 miles in, we hit Cat Hill. Halfway up the hill, I maneuver to the left, feeling my stomach is very uneasy. Just before the crest, I dashed off the road and threw up onto a tree. It wasn't a lot, just enough to get a horrible taste in my mouth. I start running again, trying to finish up the mile hard. Finally, I see Antonio jogging back towards me and my Garmin beeps the end of the mile. 6:35. I'll take it. No more intervals, but we were both finally warmed up and ran the next mile in 6:46 without meaning to. Then a 1.5 mile cool down and the morning was over.

Next week: Less pasta Monday night. More sleep. No puking.