The Disconnection

It's no secret I have test anxiety. While the great results of last week's bike test did allay my nerves for this week's run test, I reminded myself that my cycling abilities differ greatly from my running ones. Call me Dr. Buzzkill.

So back to my anxiety coping strategy of overplanning: I'd do my test on the flatest part of my neighborhood route as I wanted to run on pavement and not the squishy, slow cinder of the Leigh High Valley Trail. I do this test on Sunday after rearranging my workout week to have Saturday as a day off. Kevin would pace me with specific paces: running in front of me for the first mile at my old Vdot pace so I would have to chase him down, but not too hard. Then run right next to me or behind me at a pace 12 seconds per mile faster than my old Vdot pace for th rest of the run. He would rehearse his best impression of CK, my race nemesis, and taunt me relentlessly as her stand-in during my test.

Planning done, I have a run test nightmare on Monday night. The dream: I'm exiting an ocean swim at Ironman Galapagos. Sea lions and fur seals playfully swim around me, curious about a rubber clad, flailing denizen of their waters. I run up a shore with sharp, black lava rocks, dodging dozens of marine iguanas. In the transition tent, I take off my wetsuit. Inexplicably, I start putting it back on.

"Hey! Stop doing that! It's time to get on your bike and ride." I tell myself.

Completely disconnected from my mind, my body continues to put on the wetsuit. I am bursting with frustration. Later in the dream giant tortoises pass me on the run.

On Tuesday, I take my new power zones for a spin and ride 2 X 20 at FTP. I'm always thinking that I could have gone harder on my tests despite finishing most of them too hypoxic to see straight and drooling. Tueday's ride left my legs and lungs quite fatigued and proved that I most certainly went hard enough on my last test. A bike workout well done.

A warm front rolls into on Wednesday and appears only to linger until Friday before more cold, wind, and snow pummels Upstate NY.

"You should just do the run test today while the weather is good." Kevin suggests.

He's right. Besides, I don't think I can sleep through any more nightmares about Ironman and marine iguanas.

"Do you want supportive or stern encouragement?" Kevin asks as we gear up for the test.

I'm too nervous to think about it. "Whatever you can come up with, honey."

The first 0.5 mile starts on a slight uphill. Kevin about 5 feet in front of me calls out pace and the first split. He turns around frequently to check my form.

"You look great, baby. Way to keep up the cadence"

At the first mile, I'm 12 seconds ahead of schedule and running downhill.

"Here's where we can put some time in the bank for the last mile uphill."

I'm not responding at all to any of his words because I cannot spare one oxygen molecule toward speech. All of my hemoglobin is being utitilized for running only. My leaden legs will not turn over. With every ounce of concentration, I will myself to keep my cadence at 90 rpm. My footfalls thud loudly on the pavement.

"Keep your feet light! Like running on hot coals!" Kevin says.

1.3 miles into the test I want to stop, but can't muster the energy to say it. My pace starts to slow despite running downhill.

"This isn't time to take a break! You can lie on the couch all night, but you're running right NOW!"

"No one ever died from quad pain."

My quads don't exactly hurt. They just won't move.

"I just saw CK running 7:30's in army boots..." That bitch couldn't run 7:30's if I paid her. Again, words in my head as I'm too taxed to speak.

"This is the hardest part of the run, baby. Anyone can run fast for the last half mile." Kevin speaks effortlessly; his enthusiasm ebullient.

I think Damn you for speaking so easily at this pace. My legs have disconnected from my brain. I concentrate on driving my legs down and back, keeping my feet light, cadence high. I manage for a few strides and succumb to the heaviness again.

With 0.5 miles to go, Kevin asks,"Do you want me to run ahead of you so you can see what 8 min/miles looks like or stay and berate you?"

I gasp, "Please stay and berate me."

He brings me home with the continued combination of "You can do it, baby!" and "CK's gonna kick your ass!"

A 6 second PR over last the test. I'll take it. I'm just so happy to be done running, finished with the test.

Kevin know me better than I think he does. His words, pacing, and company was the perfect combination to get me through that test. I hope to someday have a high enough Vdot to speak without difficulty at those paces. Until then, I shall keep plugging away with the training and recall some Kevin sound bites when I'm suffering. My favorite is No one ever died from quad pain.