Yeah, the last two workouts have kicked my butt.
Last night’s run was tough. Six 90-second intervals. Started the first one at 4.7 and had lung and throat pain almost immediately. Felt like what I think asthma must feel like. Second run I took it down to 4.0 and that at least took care of my fear of never breathing right again. The next 2 I did at 4.5, and the last two at 5.0.
I dream of being one of those tiny runners I see on the trail: chatting casually with a friend, looking terrific in tight running gear, and showing no physical distress at all. At present, I’m a sweaty, sloppy, blochey-faced, huffing and puffing, “it’s the big one, I’m comin’ Elizabeth,” hot mess.
So that was last night’s run. Today I borrowed hubby’s car so I could make it down unplowed streets to get to yoga. There were only four of us there, and the instructor was one I had a few times back in October for wimpy candlelight yoga. But he’s no wimpy instructor. By 30-minutes in the sweat was pooling in my glasses, and I was wondering if I’d make it to the next pose, much less the next sequence of poses.
I sortof love that feeling. I need to learn to love it when I run, but for now I really like that I dig that “I can’t possibly go on” feeling when doing yoga. Or maybe it’s that I love pushing beyond that feeling. This, btw, is why yoga videos haven’t been working for me lately: I need a studio atmosphere to push me a little further each time, and this studio has been consistently good about challenging me.