Run #11: Urine Trouble, Now!

"Ramming Speed!"  (Of course, this is right before he crippled the Defiant.  Makes sense.)

Word to the wise: if you are attempting to run a 5k, and you have an inkling for a tinkling, don't embark before you visit the loo.  There's nothing like the urgency of a full bladder to help you pick up the pace, but there are probably healthier (and less disturbing) motivators.  This public service announcement brought to you by Mr. Painful Nether Regions.

That said, I am pleased to announce that I completed another 5k tonight, and did it in record time - 32:48 - slicing 1:16 off Friday night's time.

Tonight, about 1.0 or 1.5 miles in, I hit a groove.  Well, I'd loosely define it as a groove, if you consider a groove to be the general feeling of "What the heck, I don't really care if I die."

I started out at 5.3 mph, and quickly increased speed until half way through when I reached 5.6 mph.  Then, kamikaze style, I started speeding up even more, as the angry 250-lb Klingon riding on my shoulders shouted "RAMMING SPEED!" and jabbed his angry blade into my back - so I went up to the nutso speed of 6.2 mph.

Why is the Klingon so angry?  Why, why WHY?  Is it because he, too, needed to go potty?

So, I was cruising along, and at 2.5 miles, I thought I was going to die.  This is not hyperbole, as in, "Gee, I feel like I'm gonna die;" this was me having a vision of myself actually having a heart attack and dying alone on the floor of the empty gym with no one to call 911.

An empty gym is great until you realize it means dying alone.

So, I said a prayer, praying that I would not in fact die.  The answer to my prayer was: "slow down."  (Thanks, Father!)  So, I reduced speed to 5.3 again, bloated bladder be danged.  Then toward the end, I started to pick up again, until, for those final 0.20 miles, I was going at extreme ramming speed - 6.3 mph - in a last ditch attempt to show a good finish time.

Those last 0.07 miles seemed to tick away SO slowly, even though they SHOULD have been flying by, given my gazelle-like rate.

When I finished, I had a serious head rush and wanted to collapse.  And I didn't even have to go to the bathroom anymore!  All the way home, everything was sharp and bright.  If this is the "runner's high," I don't like it.  I prefer my dull, non-dizzy, non-head-pounding self, thank you very much.

I don't want to do that again.  It hurt.  I can barely walk now.  I need to slow down.  I've got WEEKS to get my time down to 30:00.  Time to stop murdering myself.

I completely HATE running.