I don’t post very often about running stuff/times because, much like the dream you had last night, no one really cares and it’s all relative. I don’t mean to be a jerk, but seeing some chick constantly post her slow-ass 10:45/mi nike+ run times to facebook all proud of herself is really obnoxious to me. So I’m very wary of posting about my own exploits even after 15 years of serious running because, well, someone’s always faster and working harder. I digress…

I’ve been chipping away at a specific time barrier for the 10k since something like 2009. Whenever I’ve gotten in a training groove and started getting close to breaking it, I’d switch jobs…or get injured…or work would get crazy…or I’d get insomnia. This time, I had been getting close in January, and I got the first cold I’ve had in 7 or 8 years and derailed once again.

For the past month, I’ve been on track, and while I’ve been setting PRs at least once every other week, creeping forward, it was always just 10 to 15 seconds faster…still a good 45 seconds to a minute off the goal. Do you know how IMPOSSIBLE it is to up your average pace for 6.2 miles to shave off that much time? Holy fuck. So, I’ve just been plodding forward, timing once a week and staying consistant. But on Friday, I KNEW I was close when I came up on the finish. Final results: 18 seconds off the goal. (AAAarrrgh)

Today was do or die. I don’t normally time runs this close together, but I had to try again. I knew I ran the first leg too fast and felt my pace drop hard in mile 5 and 6. I came into the last 100m outright gasping for air and almost flailing…crossed the finish…held my breath… …

SHATTERED. I beat the goal by a minute and 15 seconds. I may have also set a vertical leap record right there, jumping into the air and screaming “FUCK YES&%#@!” at the top of my lungs. I then airplaned down the path and back into my neighborhood.

I now feel like hell. But damn it was worth it.