I ran a twelve-minute mile for the first time in my life on the treadmill last night. Actually I ran two of them, and then some, 'cause I ran for 30 minutes plus warm up and cool down.
Woo-hoo!
I still remember being made to attempt a twelve-minute mile in junior high gym class. I remember (a) thinking that it was unreasonably impossible to get around the track once in three minutes, let alone do it four times and (b) not being able to run the whole distance anyway and having to drop to a walk.
So!
After a year my swimming is still improving. But I'm at a point there now where occasionally I go through periods of not improving, or I'll have a couple workouts in a row where my 50-yd sprint is slower than the last time.
With running, every time I do it I get to go measurably faster and farther than before. Still a beginner, but that feels so good, to keep turning up the dial.
Maybe it's just the psychological effect of the big round number causing it, but… last night while cleaning up the dinner together,
ME: Ow! My legs hurt. I don't remember ever feeling it here before (indicates outside back of thighs). What is that?
MARK: That, my dear, is fitness. "You know it's working 'cause your legs pound."
Hmph.
Memo to my junior high gym teacher: You can just forget about me ever shooting ten free throws in sixty seconds.
… Maybe.
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