If you’ve ever been in the tricky predicament of explaining words of a love song to a 4 year old, then you understand the limits of language. There are some things you just feel in your heart. Translating lines, like “when your heart is breaking, I’ll be right here waiting” just comes out all clinical sounding. In a 4 year old mind, something “breaking” is bound for the garbage and “waiting” is physically impossible. I’ve carefully avoided the line “you drive me crazy”…right now, that is just a slappable offense in my house.
It’s a time like this when I become acutely aware of the inadequacy of the sum and arrangement of all the words I keep stored in my head. Like with love, there are moments in life when our heart gives in to what our head mistrusted years earlier. Somewhere between the carseat and the driver seat, we understand why lovers like the backseat.
When it comes to all things literary, I’ve always felt an authority (this is assumed and not awarded) on the validity and volatility of words. When it comes to running, however, I’ve been like the 4 year old in the backseat, innocently humming the melody of a love song and mashing words together for my own, unique rendition. I’ve been completely content running alongside experienced runners, following their lead, and moving my feet to their rhythm. I’ve never known how to make up a track workout or define terms like tempo run, fartlek, 5k pace, 10k pace or race pace (there are probably enough running terms to launch a new kind of dictionary). It dawned on me last week that in no other circumstance would I be content to “not know” the definition and application of words.
It was a Monday morning and I was scheduled to run Yasso 800’s, and vaguely knew what the term meant…gibberish for 800 meters at the fastest pace I could hold with a minute recovery, named after, Bart Yasso, a beast of a marathon runner. Well, I was wrong and so was my workout…here’s how it went:
Speaking of love, the morning was made for it. The world was vibrant, the way it looks when you’ve found new love. The moon was full and a warm yellow; the air was cool and kinetic; and although it was garbage day in the neighborhood, the breeze smelled of fresh laundry. I started out running like I was in love too, with an excess of thoughtfulness. Despite fumes of wine in my head from the night before and a poor night’s sleep (4 people in a queen-size bed… 2 little boys curled at my sides like kitties and a husband who thinks his side of the bed is the middle), I left especially early so Ed could leave by 6am and I ran my neighbor’s newspaper up to her door on my warm up.
I started the 800 intervals on the 2 mile loop in my neighborhood. I picked up the pace, but the usual dark bends in the road slowed me down. My neighborhood run is always my “fun” run, my “just get a few miles in” run, my “day off, relaxation” run. The street signs, the yard where my favorite tree is planted, the house where the crazy lady lives…all these markers reminded me of a different kind of run other than Yasso 800’s. Although the body has an uncanny ability to meet physiological demands, mine would not meet the demands of a specific workout without the right technique and the right conditions.
I scrapped the plan and headed out the neighborhood gate for the Atlantic Boulevard Bridge. It was too far a trek for a Monday morning, but I’m accustomed to asking forgiveness over permission. The Atlantic bridge is my favorite Jacksonville hill. It’s where my sole sisters and I rallied after long runs, it’s where we watched dolphins play as the sun came up, and it’s where fast driving cars and a slow incline make you feel small yet mighty for trying. And the descent is heavenly! After an 800 meter climb, it’s a sloping, curving, 700 meter finale that recharges the heart for whatever comes next. It’s like the dip in your lover’s arm, the place where his chest meets his shoulder, the place where you can nestle your weary head and hunker down after a hard day. It happened to be the hill where I first “felt” the words “Yasso 800” in my heart and legs. Glad to be approaching the climb, I closed in on my target, the summit of the bridge, and pushed my legs hard to the top, for a time of 3 min 28 seconds. The 3 minute downhill recovery was just the remedy for 4 more of the same. The concept of Yasso 800’s is simple – run your 800 meter intervals in your goal marathon time. For me that means 800 meters in 3:30 with the same recovery time, ideally under the same marathon conditions, i.e. hilly marathon, hilly Yasso’s. It seemed serendipitous that my favorite bridge had all the right components for a perfect Yasso 800, and unlikely that after hundreds of crossings, I understood and felt the term and the technique for the first time. A bridge, a girl and Yasso…now that’s a love story!
One more thing about love…it’s contagious. Like germs clinging to airplane seats, my feelings about running have travelled hundreds of miles and inspired my long-time friend in Alaska to train for her own 10K race. Milla, you inspire me to keep running and writing…let’s never limit where running can take us…maybe we’ll race together one day.
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