Recovery Run
by Robert James Reese » April 19th, 2009 » 3 Comments
I love the term "recovery run." When I first heard it (back in my days as a non-runner), I was skeptical that such a thing could exist. How can you recover by running? Doesn't running wear you out?
Flash forward to this weekend... I woke up this morning feeling like I'd been hit by a bus, then dragged under the wheels for a block or two. After yesterday's 13.3 mile run, I headed over to Roosevelt Island for a brutal football game. There were a ton of guys from our team missing, so we had no subs the whole game. I was out there, getting my ass kicked each and every play for 46 minutes. The receivers I was covering were subbing out every possession, then sprinting down the field on fresh legs and leaving me in the dust. We got slaughtered. 40-something to six was the final score, I think.
That didn't diminish our drinking spirit, however. I limped along with the team back to a bar in midtown where we played dice and drank pitchers of beer for the next several hours. Then, stumbling back towards home from the subway, I decided that I desperately needed to eat taquitos, so I stopped by the store and picked them up along with a box of fruit snacks and a box of Cocoa Pebbles. So, I get home, more than a little tipsy and then load up on junk food. And, this is how I came to wake up today feeling like shit.
It was about 2:00 this afternoon when I finally felt that my stomach had settled enough to try a run. Stretching out my legs almost brought tears it was so painful. My first few steps were excruciating and I almost threw in the towel. I'm glad now that I didn't.
Maybe a half mile or so in, things slowly started loosening up and the pain started to ebb away. Still, I kept it slow-n-steady until about the two mile mark. It was then that things really started to click. My pace increased from 7:10/mile to 6:45/mile and I kept running over a mile past the normal turn-around point. I found a new hill (recently opened on the East River path near the Queensborough Bridge), raced up to the top of it, then down the other side and right back up. Me doing voluntary hill work? Seriously?
The trip back home was almost effortless. I was facing a strong headwind, but it didn't even phase me. It was just one of those rare, perfect running days when everything clicks. It's crazy how they come when you least expect them. I mean, today was my sixth consecutive running day and I treated my body like crap yesterday. How does that result in me running at a great pace with almost no exertion today? I sure wish I knew. If I did know, I'd be a hell of a lot less nervous about the marathon.
Flash forward to this weekend... I woke up this morning feeling like I'd been hit by a bus, then dragged under the wheels for a block or two. After yesterday's 13.3 mile run, I headed over to Roosevelt Island for a brutal football game. There were a ton of guys from our team missing, so we had no subs the whole game. I was out there, getting my ass kicked each and every play for 46 minutes. The receivers I was covering were subbing out every possession, then sprinting down the field on fresh legs and leaving me in the dust. We got slaughtered. 40-something to six was the final score, I think.
That didn't diminish our drinking spirit, however. I limped along with the team back to a bar in midtown where we played dice and drank pitchers of beer for the next several hours. Then, stumbling back towards home from the subway, I decided that I desperately needed to eat taquitos, so I stopped by the store and picked them up along with a box of fruit snacks and a box of Cocoa Pebbles. So, I get home, more than a little tipsy and then load up on junk food. And, this is how I came to wake up today feeling like shit.
It was about 2:00 this afternoon when I finally felt that my stomach had settled enough to try a run. Stretching out my legs almost brought tears it was so painful. My first few steps were excruciating and I almost threw in the towel. I'm glad now that I didn't.
Maybe a half mile or so in, things slowly started loosening up and the pain started to ebb away. Still, I kept it slow-n-steady until about the two mile mark. It was then that things really started to click. My pace increased from 7:10/mile to 6:45/mile and I kept running over a mile past the normal turn-around point. I found a new hill (recently opened on the East River path near the Queensborough Bridge), raced up to the top of it, then down the other side and right back up. Me doing voluntary hill work? Seriously?
The trip back home was almost effortless. I was facing a strong headwind, but it didn't even phase me. It was just one of those rare, perfect running days when everything clicks. It's crazy how they come when you least expect them. I mean, today was my sixth consecutive running day and I treated my body like crap yesterday. How does that result in me running at a great pace with almost no exertion today? I sure wish I knew. If I did know, I'd be a hell of a lot less nervous about the marathon.
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