Mile Repeats

This blog is ostensibly about running, so I thought I would forgo the pine warblers and the beautiful sunsets today.  We are both behind in our training schedules because of the travel we have had to do, but we are both willing to undergo some hard running to get back on top of thing.  It is always difficult to find that sweet spot in training, between doing too little and doing too much, and especially at my age.  Still, I was originally scheduled to run some mile repeats today, and so I set out to do so on Fort Macon Road, which last time I checked did not have mile and quarter-mile splits painted on the pavement as our route in Highlands does.

It was a beautiful day!  In fact, these first three days have been "beach weather" days, up in the 60s and plenty of sun and a minimum of wind.  So I warmed up for a mile on the 2.5 mile route to Fort Macon, watching my GPS watch carefully, and at mile 1:00 I hit the split button and picked up my pace.  The mile-repeat pace based on my last half marathon training in October (which we had to cancel) was 9:45, so I was pleased to run a 9:37.  After slowing down and getting some water, I returned for the fourth mile, and ran that in 9:57; so my average was 9:47.  "If you can't do math anymore, you may be running too hard!" 

These workouts are something of a challenge, keeping that same steady relentless pace without the benefit of other runners around you.  Because in a race, you can sometimes find someone ahead of you who seems to be running your pace and hook onto him or her.  Or you can try to pick off those ahead of you, one at a time, a technique my friend Morris likes to use.  But here, all by myself on this long flat road, I am running only against myself, testing my own limits, psyching myself up.  I even wore my Boston Marathon shirt today!  "Remember who I am," I kept telling myself.  "I'm Boston Strong!"

 
Coveys of pine warblers kept flying up from the small wind-dwarfed trees along the way (they did manage to fly into this post after all), and I could hear but not see the surf breaking off behind the dunes.

Martha, too, had run five miles, and she seemed to take some delight in reporting that she, too, had picked up the pace in the third mile . . . and ran a 9:14.  Well, that is to be expected.  She is officially a faster runner than I am, and I am proud of her!  And she told me that, even though she is even farther behind in her long runs than I am, she hopes to try the half marathon herself in a little over three weeks, rather than the 5-K or 10-K.  We both realize that we are pushing our training, straining it to the limit, and now is the time to be vigilant for any signs of potential injury.

This afternoon I realized that I wanted something a little lighter to read than the Wallace Stevens biography I am slowly going through.  So I decided to try the first in the Rebus series by Ian Rankin, recommended by my mystery-reading friend Fred.  We drove to Morehead City and visited the wonderful Webb Memorial library.  The building is a marvel, comfortable chairs and sofas spaced around its many wood-floored old rooms as if they belonged in someone's home.

Martha told me that one room reminder her of something you might stumble on in the Grove Park Inn.  A man in the corner had settled down to read all afternoon.

I actually found that book I wanted in a sister library in Beaufort, just across the river, which was not as photogenic but seemed to have twice as many books.  And then we walked down on the beach to the pier as another beautiful sunset began to settled into the sea and into this post.