1:47.6

Season finale, with a 1:47.6.  Not too bad though.  I went in feeling tired and a wreck and came out with a decent time and a 3rd place finish.  That gave me 50 euros and a sweet ass 4pack of Duvel beer and two beer glasses.  51 point through 400, and 1:19 through 600m.  Solid splits.  but with 200m to go I was cooked.  100m to go I was in 3rd place and 4th started to push on me.  Then I thought of money and beer.  That was my motivation tonight.  Sometimes it doesn't matter what drives you to finish, but I pushed hard right to the line.  That was all I had left.  I wish it was better but I'll take it.  I'll write a sum up later, but right now theres a sweet ass party in Leuven and I have a date with vitamin alcohol.

Last hurrah for the season

One last race.  That's what I keep telling myself.  This past week has been a struggle for me mentally to get out the door and get after my runs this week.  My hamstrings hurt when I wake up and when I run.  I've had two small workouts this week to try and kick-start my system one last time.  Monday's went well.  2x300, 1x200 all at pace.   The workout went well, 38.5, 39.0, and then a 25.3.  This transfers over to a 1:42.8.  So what does this transfer over too in a race.....who knows.  I had 2 minutes rest between stuff so it's really nothing.  It's just telling my body one more time, one more race.

So I'm looking for something in me to get my ass going. I'm a performer so when the gun goes I believe that I will perform.  I hate loosing and there is no way I want to go out with my performance last week.  Plus I do this because it's something I love.  I love the win, I love the fast times and that feeling of accomplishment.  But I also love that nervous sensation that comes as I warm up, or that burning feeling in my legs when I'm pushing to the finish.  I love telling my body to push further when it's telling me to stop.

But if you have words of wisdom or encouragement to give me, please do.  Something that may help snap this feeling a little sooner than just before the gun goes.  Feel free to email me or write me here.  

There is one thing great about Belgium besides the waffles and chocolate; they serve beer at the meets. My race takes 1:46 to run....I bet I can get to the beer line before I reach 2 min

DNF

I've always prided myself on being able to finish a race. Whether it was a really fast, tactical, or just plain slow. But I've always finished. Last night I was entered in the 1500m. Conditions were terrible. Cold, Rain, wind, and delayed races. Nothing you want in a race. You just couldn't get warm in the warmup. The rain got you cold down to the bone. The gun went off and I went straight to the back (no clue why). 400m in and I feel terrible. 800m in still just hanging on barely.  I get to 950m and stopped.

I never stop. I hate the idea of stopping. But I have no clue why I did. I just didn't want it at all. Inside and out, nothing wanted to be on the track. Some people can stop and it doesn't bother them. That it's just another unsuccessful races. That's fine for them but I hate it. I don't know if it was how I was raised or just something I picked up on the way, but it really bothers me. It's not in me to do this. I stayed up half the night tossing and turning analyzing what went wrong and where. And it's stayed on my mind into today. It's like that guilt feeling inside like I've let someone down. And I have....me.

I can say now that I've stopped once, and I hated it. I'd rather jog it in then stop. Why? I have no clue, because finishing whether first or last has never felt as bad as giving up, and that's what I feel I did.

One last race is next Saturday. You better believe I'm getting after it.