I ran 3 miles of downhill on the 'mill on Wednesday while the pizza Pie sat in the oven until I finished. Nothing like delicious food to motivate me to push the pace. 8:00, 7:41, 7:30 at a 3% and
that Pie was mine!
On Thursday, the P.I. developed. That is, poison ivy. It started oozing out of my right wrist during work and got extra gross during the 5.2 miles I ran on Wednesday night. All my backbreaking gardening Monday had given me an extra gift--weeping blisters!
But I need to get that 3.14 miles in. It was 3.14.15 after all.
I put on my 9 things (2 shoes, 2 socks, 1 pair of shorts, 1 sports bra, 1 shirt, 1 Garmin, 1 iPod) and went for my Pi run in the midst of training for 26.2 miles. It was a good thing that Pi happened to be the equivalent of about 5 kilometers or 3 miles as I was not really feeling like I could muster much more than 5 miles without hurting my weekly ambitions. I was aiming for 8 minute miles, but honestly was happy to just slog through the run at any ol' pace.
There were 9 cars in the parking lot when I begin, but once I finished my run (and listened to 7 songs), there were no longer 9 cars in the parking lot. Just 3.
And I was done. Only 15 digits of Pi I could muster in my run. 3.141592653589793
Today, I was truly kind of expecting the worst. I was up against the biggest mileage week I can remember and I felt like poo last night. I ate a bagel, drank some coffee, and resigned myself to a long, slow run.
The first few miles were the worst. I wanted to be back under the covers.