No that is not my gym bag or shoes, just a representation of my most greatest passion. No, I am not a track girl, but to get the sprints right, one must go there. I won't say how many I did, let's just say, I was near barfdom. Safe to say, close enough to exhaustion, were the key words. Trying to pick up speed in my long distance runs is hard, but thanks to a friend who encouraged me to cut distance just one day, would help me in the long run.
Personal goal envisioned.
Ready.
Set.
Go.
As the maintenance man at the track adjusted the sprinkler heads at dusk and the racoon scurried on the bleachers, there I was audibly breathing and groaning. (Exactly like the Russian fighter on Rocky 4 as his trainer kept upping the speed on his tread mill). I am no star, but it felt good, and bad. My intercostals were cramping, i needed to poop. I hope i can walk in the morning.
Nite all.
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