I’ve been dabbling in Cross Fit lately and thus have been introduced to a new way of working out, which is pretty cool. The other day, to kick off the weekend, instead of lounging around drinking Doc’s Pumpkin Apple Cider and celebrating Flannel Friday, we did sprints. 100 meters, 10 times, with a 1-min break between each one. I was pretty pumped because I don’t really sprint anymore. For some reason I’m trying to turn myself into an endurance runner (does that switch ever happen?), so while I throw some sprint intervals in my runs, I generally stick to a slow (as in dial-up internet slow) pace. I was excited to sprint again.
- Sprint 1: Awesome.
- Sprint 2: Still awesome.
- Sprint 3: Oh God.
- Sprint 4: Why was I excited about this?
- Sprint 5: I wonder if anyone will notice if I throw up.
- Sprint 6: Lungs shouldn’t feel like this.
- Sprint 7: I wonder if anyone will notice if I leave.
- Sprint 8: Okay, if I go slow on this one, I promise to run fast again for the last two. (As if I hadn’t been trying to run fast the whole time.)
- Sprint 9: We were distracted by a boat in the way, so all of a sudden it was time to run and I was surprised, so I just took off and ran faster than I had since Sprint 2. I almost beat The Boyfriend for this one…possibly because I got a head start.
- Sprint 10: I don’t have to do this again!
The thing about being a sprinter is that in all the races I’ve ran, I’ve only had to sprint once; twice if I was unlucky and got sucked into the 200m dash. But usually, just one time as fast as I could. Then I could go home and eat dinner. None of this 10-times nonsense. After the sprinting, we did three planks and tried to hold them for as long as possible. I didn’t hold them very long but was still super proud of myself for the sprints.
The thing about sprinting is that it’s fun. It hurts, horribly. But it’s fun.