Which is worse? The last mile of a 5K that you took out too fast when your legs are just failing and you feel like you might piss yourself (oh, the challenges of natural childbirth...) OR the cold hard fact that you are just not as fast as you want to be?
Agony. In both cases.
Which is fine, really. Nalani sent me a text this morning asking how the 5K went. My response: It was a good test that confirms I have a lot of work to do. How's that for a relentlessly positive description?
It was a good lesson for me b/c this is the first time I've ever done a 5K with a heart rate monitor. I was pretty sure I could hold a HR that was about 13 beats higher than what coach suggested. Turns out, I cannot. So I learned that one the hard way. Might be the best way to learn a lesson, no? Actually, what it was is that I had decided on a pace that I thought was reasonable (except it was not) for the 5K so I did the first mile at that pace and disregarded my HR. The email response from coach said something about how I can't just ignore my anaerobic threshold and arbitrarily pick a pace I wish it was at. I can't? Shoot. And that next time maybe I should pay attention when he gives me guidelines for a race. Ok. Got it.
In good news, a 5K has about as much in resemblance to an Ironman as thether-ball has to knitting. Or something like that.
Anyway, it was a challenging morning on a lot of fronts. But I came home and got to play with this little fairy which made it all better. Looks like we're both trying to figure out how to fly.