No More Numbers

The Reservoir in Central Park

I’ve never been good with numbers. Whether it’s math class or money, it gives me a headache and an anxious feeling in my stomach. So today’s two-hour budget meeting was hard to get through. I was reminded of 6th Grade math class, when I was often excused to go to the nurse with a migraine. The budget meeting took me right back there, and I wished I could raise my hand and ask for a hall pass.

I had a similar problem during the team run Wednesday night. While running around the reservoir in Central Park, we simply had to count lampposts; three lampposts running at our regular effort, then three at an increased effort while still breathing comfortably (comfort is relative in this case).

My trouble was not with the increased effort – though that was at times troublesome. The problem was with the counting. I just couldn’t – ridiculous as this sounds – I couldn’t count to three. I would be fine for one, and even sometimes make it to two, but then it was as if I entered into a fog for a few seconds, and when I came out, I couldn’t remember if I’d passed two or was just getting to two. Or if I’d counted the third lamppost from the last set as the first one for this set. And by the time I thought about that, I’d lose count again. With each set, I would be sure that I was going to do it right. And then, all of the sudden – the fog. One… wait, was that two or am I just getting to one?

How is it possible to, continuously, for over thirty minutes, lamppost after lamppost, not be able to count from one to three? How, I ask you!



The Path Around the Reservoir

On the upside, the temperature had finally cooled making it a beautiful night for a run. The reservoir is always lovely, but it is particularly picturesque at dusk. I managed to complete the two laps around the reservoir, and though I never got the hang of counting, I did manage to challenge myself throughout. And with every workout, I learn something new, and I feel stronger and faster.

Until tonight.

Tonight I’m in Boston on business and staying in a so-so hotel. I worked until it was dark out, and since I don’t know my way around town at all, I decided I’d better not run outside. My so-so hotel has a less than so-so (but free) “fitness center” with three treadmills, only one of which actually worked. As I was the only one there, I called dibs on the working treadmill.

I haven’t run on a treadmill in ages, and those I have used were in great shape with nice traction and comfortable bounce – easy on the joints.

This one looked like it might have been highly functional in about 1989. Under the rubber tread, which was partly worn away, the running surface looked to be made of wood. Not so bouncy.



The original treadmill

But it did have all the necessary options for different workouts – cardio, weight loss, random hills – and settings for speed and incline, plus heart rate sensors on the cross bar.

I didn’t really feel like running tonight and I was already hungry before I even left work, so I just wanted to get this run over with. As a result, I jumped right in without warming up. And, to keep from getting too terribly bored, I chose to do the “random hill” workout.

Bad start. First of all, you have to warm up into a run. You can’t just jump into it full force. Well, maybe you can, but I can’t. As a person training for a very long-distance run, I should know better. It’s the first thing they teach, right after one foot in front of the other.

The lack of warm-up and random steep inclines had me gasping for breath after only a few minutes. I was sure my heart rate was too high, so I eased the incline back down to zero and slowed my pace to 4.5 miles per hour (a 13 minute mile)*. After taking it easy for about five minutes, I increased my speed to an 11.5 minute mile – my average speed. But soon I was out of breath again!

Completely discouraged, I decided to run three miles instead of four, and again reduced my speed to a pathetic 13 minute mile pace.

Too slow! It was taking forever to finish at that pace! I was bored out of my mind. I stuck it out until mile 3, and then, as usual, I decided to push myself to 4. After all, what was another mile? Especially if I could push myself even harder and run the 11 minute mile pace!

Eleven minutes later, dripping with sweat and red as a KitKat wrapper (mmmm – KitKat), I finished my run and returned to my so-so room. Just now, lounging on the so-so bed, eating my so-so room service, it occurs to me that maybe the treadmill was broken. Maybe I was running an 11 minute mile the whole time, and at the end I pushed it to nine. That’s certainly what it felt like.



More likely, though, is that I was having a bad day and should have listened to my body rather than pushing myself so hard. But sometimes it’s really hard to tell when your body is just copping out, and when it really needs the break.

*Note: Don’t be too impressed with my ability to figure number of minutes per mile from miles-per-hour. I’m just reporting what the treadmill told me.