I decided to go for a little 3 mile run with my friend Hurricane Carlitos yesterday. Anxious that it was getting dark, I pestered him as he finished up his lab stuff while giving myself a good stretch. I felt kind of tired but I knew a run would wake me up. Plus, since Carlitos doesn't run all that much, I figured it would be kind of easy-going and relaxing.
We get into the park, and Carlitos takes off, setting the pace. My ego got the better of me, and I matched him, figuring he would tire in a mile or so. Well, he may have been tired but he didn't slow down. We whizzed past other runners and darted up the hills as we rounded the mounted police. I took deep slow breaths to try to avert the stitch that was creeping up my side.
We hit some down-hills, and I coasted, focusing on taking short, quick steps. I had on my new racing flats (New Balance 900s--they rock), and they made me feel light and fast. Coasting downhill gave me a little adrenaline rush and I picked up the pace slightly, which Carlitos easily matched (he used to run track).
The end was in sight. I pointed out the ice skating rink to Carlitos. He perked up slightly. I think he was hurting more than he let on. He said, "I have a cramp," but with my shuffle on and my heart pounding, all I heard was, "Crank it!" That's all I needed. I took off, much to Carlitos' dismay as he tried to keep up with a hand on his side in mild agony.
It was over almost as quickly as it started. We got back to the med school as the sun set, dripping in sweat (well, Carlitos maybe). The run taxed me more than I realized because after I got home and ate, all I could do was lay on the sofa. I felt like I do after a hard race. I guess I pushed it kind of hard but it was fun, nonetheless.