Wait, Wait, Wait

These are the most anxious of moments. Twelve hours from now I'll be setting up my transition area, preparing to race at Breath of Life in Ventura.  I wish it were here now.  I guess that's a good thing, right?  Energetic anticipation.  A little bit of nerves.  A lot of excitement.

It's funny that just a few days ago I was freaking out.  I still am just a little, but more like I did at a soccer match as a kid when I had a bizarre and sudden urge to pee seconds before the whistle blew to start the game.  Let's just get this thing going!

I toured the course after picking up my race packet this afternoon.  The good news is that I rode most of this bike course almost a year ago, during my first Olympic triathlon -- Strawberry Fields.  I think back to all the progress I've made since then, and all the mistakes I made during that race. Well, primarily one involving eating and drinking too much Gatorade on the bike.  (I think I ate two Clif bars and drank two bottles of Gatorade!) That led to a cramp-filled run that took all my grit to finish, mercifully at three hours on the nose.

I'm hoping to hit 2:30:00 tomorrow, or perhaps even faster.  Anything below 2:44:00 will be my personal best.

I'm going to ignore my Garmin, though I'll have the stopwatch feature turned on.  I'm going to swim however I feel, bike however I feel, and run as sustainably hard as I can.  Heart-rate be damned.  Though I will try for a negative split to satisfy Coach Gerardo's desires.

The bike course should be favorable, save for some cross winds and one small hill we'll see three times.  The wind will blow west to east, and the course features three laps heading east, south, west, and north.  I'll pace myself accordingly, and if the "race police" aren't looking, maybe I'll tuck in to the left or right of a few riders to let them absorb the winds and let me draft just a bit.

Shh, don't tell anyone.

Now, as the day turns to night, it's time to eat dinner -- Stephanie is cooking an organic pasta meal -- and begin my packing ritual.  I like to get everything in order, in its place, the night before a race. Just like in real life for me.  I'm a "nester" -- everything needs to be in its place before I can relax.  Tomorrow morning, I just want to pick up my bags and head for the door.  Well, after a hot wake-up shower.  I still need to shave too -- my upper body only.  I'm not quite ready for the legs yet, though I probably will trim them at one point before my first Half-Ironman with enough time to spare to let the hairs grow back a little.

What more is there?

Nothing but to rest.  And to wait.

Two things I'm not very good at.

145 days and counting.

Race Ready

Namaste. My weekend began with a yoga session by myself at home.  As I've mentioned before, solitary yoga truly enables me to gain the mental benefits of yoga as much if not more than the physical.  It takes me to a very calm place that I rarely seem able to access.

I have no one to blame for that besides myself.

All the thinking, analyzing, and speculating never seem to stop unless I actively force the issue.

For 40 minutes tonight, I did.  And, like my Wednesday running lesson from Coach Gerardo, I simply focused on breathing.  As much as I could, at least.

More than the immediate physical and spiritual effects this opened up for me, it reinforced what I need to do this Sunday.  While I'll likely keep the heart rate monitor with me, it'll be more for timing checks on the bike and run, less on heart rate itself.  I'll focus on my breathing.  And hopefully go fast as hell.

For now, I declare myself race ready.

Tomorrow is a day of rest, and packet pickup.  Along with that comes a drive-through of the bike and run course.  After that it's all formulaic -- buy nutrition, lay out the transition bag, clean the bike, grab the necessary accessories (canola oil, anyone?).  Then, we wait.

146 days and counting.

Coach to the Rescue

First off, it may seem that I’m slacking in the blog department.  I promised (myself and my readers) that I’d blog every day without fail until Ironman. Fail.

Last night I had internet problems. The site seemed to be down.  The night before, I had a late massage from David at LA Body Mechanics that ended around 10:40 p.m. (more on that later).  I was tired, beat up, and needed some rest.

I actually wrote this blog last night in Microsoft Word so I could potentially double-post tomorrow (today by the time you read this).

The past few days have been eye-opening for me.  More so from a mental aspect than anything else.  Previously, I had written about my fatigue after an emotionally draining week.  That fatigue led me to miss a couple workouts.  Which caused me to start worrying – OK panicking – that I wouldn’t be at my peak heading into this weekend’s race.

For those of you who read my blog post about my night with the Lakers, I certainly don’t expect you to feel sorry for me.

Nonetheless, times like these call for a good coach.  Someone to reel you in when you start to drift – OK beeline – for an anxiety attack or confidence crisis.

Enter Coach Gerardo.  Over the past few days, he’s essentially grabbed me by the arms and shaken me, metaphorically telling me to “chill out” and remember why I love the sport of triathlon. David, during his massage, pointed this out to me too.  I had gotten too locked into “the numbers” of the sport.  We all know them well.  Heart-rate zones and duration of workout especially.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I swam, ran or biked simply for the pure joy of it.  It’s always with an end-goal in mind.  A workout to check off the list.  A time to beat.  Someone to beat.

Gerardo has really reset me and got me ready for this Sunday.  He gave David tips on the best massage for me, and reminded me why I was doing all this (because I CAN!).  Yesterday, he (and Richard) ran with me the entire set during our Griffith Park brick to show me I could run a lot faster than I think – maintaining a seven-minute mile pace for two miles while not totally blowing up in the process.  Today, Gerardo pushed me in the water farther and harder than I wanted to go, ignoring my whining to coax a personal best 1:26 100-yard swim out of me.  And, after that, he sent me an email congratulating me on a nice bike time trial yesterday, smooth cadence at 92 rpm and staying in heart-rate zone 3.

That’s the mark of a good coach.  He took me from the brink of dejection and collapse to feeling like I’m truly ready to rock this Sunday.  My energy is high, my confidence is back, and most important…I’m excited to race again.

Thanks coach.

147 days and counting.

Pain in the Neck

The good news is I don't think I'm sick.  No symptoms of illness today.  No sore throat.  The headache is gone.  No achy bones and joints. The bad news is that my lats and neck are extremely tight.  My back feels rounded by tightness.  My side neck muscles are totally strained. It contributes to a feeling of illness because my entire upper body feels off.

And it's definitely because of my new swim stroke.

At least I know the culprit.

It could be a lot worse. I could have gotten sick.  I may still get sick, for all I know.  But so far, the past couple days have given my legs a chance to heal completely.  I feel fresh from the waist down  I'll be jumping in the pool tomorrow morning and perhaps I can work through the soreness and agitation. Maybe Coach Gerardo can pinpoint what I'm doing that's causing this tension.  Or, maybe I'm doing the stroke right and this is the initial natural by-product. I hope so. And I hope I pick up at least a minute of time from this new mechanical tweak/parlor trick.

Not much else to report from today.  The only "workout" I had, if you can call it that, was a 1.5 hour yoga session at Black Dog.  It was a "gentle yoga" session, perfect for my back and neck but not so good for my fitness level.  However, I feel a touch better in the lats -- not so much in the neck.

By tomorrow, I'll essentially have worked 2.5 hours in three days.  I basically missed roughly 6.5 hours of training.  Will that come back to haunt me this Sunday?  I have no idea.  I do know Gerardo wants me to post a 2:30:00 finish time at the event. That would be 14 minutes faster than my previous best.  I am up for the challenge still, but I doubt it will be good enough to qualify for nationals.  I will fire it up and do my very best though.  That's all I can do.  Bum swim stroke and all.

150 days and counting. And exactly five months from today, I hope to be an Ironman.

Down and Out

I didn't do any training today yet it feels like I did.  My back and neck are sore.  My head hurts.  My knees are creaking.  I'm tired.  Wiped out really. Still, it would be dishonest to say I didn't enjoy the day at least a little.  Since training was out, the only thing I really could do with any amount of success was sleep, eat and drink.  Not to mention one hell of a hot, steaming bath.  And I did those things well.

I really needed a quiet rest day at home.

Yet I can't help but get a little frustrated about one portion of my issues mentioned above...namely, my tight back.  Why am I changing my swim stroke the week before the national qualifier triathlon?  On one hand, I completely understand that I can generate much more power from a bigger muscle group (lats) than my hands.  However, at what price?  It practically hurts to breathe when I'm leaning against the couch while typing. That can't be good.  And that's after a sports massage with David on Friday night.  Do I not use my lats at all and that's why I'm so sore?  I don't get it.

Further, why is it that after every damn industry event I get sick?  You'd think I'd have a decent immune system with all the generally good food and proper sleep I enjoy -- not to mention the close to 15 hours of training a week.  Am I so fragile that one week of schmoozing, occasional boozing and cruising the show floor reduces me to a whiny mess at home?

I do think there's another factor at play here, and it's one I'm perfectly accepting as the culprit: the epic awesomeness of my GSNML this past Thursday.  If ever there's such a thing as an emotional hangover, I've got it.  I'm lethargic.  I'm reading every little post-game write-up -- even from the Boston newspapers.  I'm re-reading my own blog post!  I'm just trying to relive the magic of that night, and failing.  I miss that euphoric feeling, as draining as that night ultimately became.  It was such a high.

So, the truth of my situation is that I'm really drained. Physically and emotionally.  I trained really hard last week to try and maintain my peak conditioning, and with everything else going on I just kind of petered out heading into today. I overloaded my body.

As I mentioned yesterday, all things being equal, I'm glad I'm getting this out of the way now and not in a few weeks preparing for the Vineman 70.3 event.  But I would really have liked to have swept into this final week of Breath of Life prep with a wave of confidence and strength.  No doubts.  No fears.  It seems the only "important" race where I've experienced that sensation has been Wildflower.

I sure hope I don't have any conventions before the actual Ironman in November.

151 days and counting.

Sick? Again?

What timing. There must be a big race coming up because once again, I feel like I'm getting sick.

Oh, that's right, that Olympic triathlon qualifier for the national age group championships.  On June 27.

Yep, it's time to come down with something.

I mostly credit that annual germ-fest known as the E3 videogames tradeshow as the culprit for my demise.  There's 45,000 people pouring through the LA Convention Center doors, most of them hygenically challenged...all putting their hands on the same controllers at each kiosk.

Gross.

So, couple that with lots of hand-shaking, late nights, early mornings for training, questionable nutrition, and less sleep.

I suppose it's no surprise that I don't feel my best.  Coach Gerardo indicated that if I skipped today's run and tomorrow's four-hour bike ride that my fitness level wouldn't be affected at all.  That's enough to get me to probably call it a weekend and go toes-up on the couch for some much-needed rest.  I tried to rally today in the pool for a long swim and came pretty close.  The workout called for 3,500 yards over an hour and 10 minutes.  I didn't have that amount of time because Stephanie and I were attending her cousin Emily's birthday party in Huntington Beach.  Still I managed 2,300 yards consisting of drills and laps in about 55 minutes.  It wasn't ideal, but I could sense incremental progress in my stroke, especially the lat muscle pulling instead of my triceps.  That means I'm using bigger muscles to push me through the water instead of just my arm and hand.  Hopefully, that will make me go faster!

For now, I'm likely to hang it out for the weekend.  Take it easy. Chill out.  Shut it down. Maybe that will help me overcome whatever's ailing me and get me back on track for next weekend's big race.

151 days and counting.

Greatest Sports Night of My Life

I'm 12 hours removed from what is unquestionably the Greatest Sports Night of My Life (GSNML), and among the greatest moments in my life period. My heart-rate is still elevated. My hands are still shaking.

Why?

Thanks to my friend Ophir, I scored a ticket to the Greatest Sports Event One Can Attend (GSEOCA): Game 7 of the NBA Finals...Lakers vs. Celtics.

To say "I was there" would likely be the greatest understatement I've ever made.

No, I was much more than "there."  I squeezed every memory out of the experience the way I wring my swimsuit dry after a workout.  I left every emotion out on that basketball court the way I do at the end of a race.

Except, unlike triathlons, the best part of the experience happened after the game!

As I type these words, I'm still shaking my head in disbelief that all of this actually happened.  And while I don't have photographic evidence for everything stated below, you'll just have to trust me and my word that none of this is exaggerated.  No embellishments.

None needed.

My GSNML started inside a suite at Staples Center.  The energy inside the building was so intense I felt like I was playing in the game!  It felt like before a triathlon.  Giddiness.  Nervousness.  Anticipation.

Then, Gerard Butler (yeah, the dude from 300) came over and introduced himself, simply as "Jerry."  But because he didn't get a good grip on the handshake, he started over, saying, "Mate, that's a shit handshake let me try again."  Jerry was THE nicest guy.  Totally unassuming, just one fan among the near 20,000 on-hand to yell, beg and plead our team to victory.  More on him later.

On to the game.  Or what threatened to turn into the Worst Sports Night of My Life (WSNML).  We all know how the score turned out so I'll quell my sports-writing temptations.  What I can tell you is that I've never perspired completely through a shirt watching a sporting event that wasn't weather related.  (For the record, the shirt was linen, which contributed to my sweatiness.) That's how intense the GSEOCA was.  And I seriously thought we were going to lose around the third quarter when LA was down 13.  During halftime I was utterly stunned and shocked.  My hands were on my face, elbows locked on the table in the suite.  Could this really be happening?  I've waited my whole life to see a Lakers-Celtics game, let alone a Game 7 like this.  Was I going to have my heart ripped out and stomped on, and then put in a blender for good measure?  It sure felt that way.  The Lakers looked horrible!  The gravity of the moment clearly weighed heavily on Kobe and Pau in ways I hadn't seen from them before.  But I've certainly felt that way myself.  Maybe we all have at some point, sports or otherwise.  I remember playing freshman high school basketball and not scoring a point until halfway through the season.  When I finally made it into games, my mouth was always dry.  My legs never felt steady.  My hands shook uncontrollably.  I lost muscle memory.  My adrenaline was out of control, and my performance suffered greatly.  It happens.  But not to the Lakers! Not on Game 7!  Not tonight!

Fortunately, it didn't.  And even that is an understatement.  At the low point of the game, I began preparing myself emotionally for the notion the Lakers were going to lose.  I detached from the game.  I didn't get so hyper-joyous or dejected with every made or missed shot.  I found a center and stayed there.

And the funny part? Believe it or not, my triathlon training helped.  I realized that at an Ironman, bad stuff can happen. Things can go unexpectedly bad.  I can get a flat.  Or crash.  Or cramp.  Or dehydrate.  And that's that.  A year's worth of training can go down the toilet in a flash.  But in the middle of the event itself, you can make a choice to be resolute.  To fight through the pain.  The suffering.  The injustice of bad luck.  You just have to stay focused.  And remove yourself from the emotional panic of the situation.

So, as that Lakers deficit kept decreasing, as everyone else's emotions around me kept rising, I stayed calm.

At least until Derek Fisher tied the game late in the fourth quarter.

Then I went apeshit.  Along with the rest of the building.  Like cresting a huge summit on the bike and seeing nothing but downhills and flat roads ahead, I knew the Lakers had it.  They would not lose from that moment on.  They climbed the mountain. They wouldn't be denied.  The fight and resolve was going to pay off.

Now during all the pandemonium of the closing minutes, Ophir and I learned we were sitting next to another famous somebody...at least a famous somebody in training: Baltimore Orioles centerfielder, Adam Jones.  Another super cool cat.  We talked about the Orioles' new manager, Juan Samuel ("a good guy, hope we keep him") and about whether it's harder watching a huge sporting event or playing in one ("I don't know, I've never been in a World Series.").

As the seconds ticked off the clock to the Lakers' 16th title against my arch-nemesis Celtics, I found myself celebrating, high-fiving and hugging a Major League Baseball player and the star of one of the most badass movies of the past few years (the CG one about the Spartans, not the drivel with Jennifer Aniston).

GSNML!

And my night would only improve from there!

Following the game, and singing "We Are the Champions!" along with a delirious crowd until I became hoarse, Ophir and I were given two NBA Game 7 Day Passes.  This would get us on the court for a photo -- which alone would have been enough.

But why stop there?

"Why stop there?" became a catchphrase for the next two hours.  Why stop at the court when we can try to get to the locker room?  Why stop at the locker room when we can get to Kobe's press conference?  Why stop at the press conference when you can actually talk to some of your favorite sportswriters like Scoop Jackson, JA Adande and David Aldridge?  (BTW, each writer agreed hands-down that Game 7 was the "worst best game" they'd ever seen in their careers.) Why stop at Kobe's press conference when Aldridge is interviewing Pau right in front of us?  Why stop at watching Pau get interviewed and actually share a few words with Derek Fisher (and his wife), Pau, Shannon Brown, Jordan Farmar and even none other than Vic "The Brick" Jacobs ("Feeeelin youuuuu!!!!")?  Why only meet some of the Lakers when you can fist-tap Kobe, Ron-Ron, Lamar, Andrew Bynum (who couldn't walk and was riding with his leg outstretched on a kart), Josh Powell and even Adam Morrison?

Why stop with all of that when you can touch the Larry O'Brien trophy with your own hands!?

Now, why shower?  Why wipe any of that experience off my fingertips?  The sweat from Lamar's shorts.  Derek's shoulders.  The champagne coating the trophy. The stench from Vic "The Brick's" poncho.

Yeah, showering was probably a good idea, come to think of it.

In the end, I'm reminded of a Jewish prayer recited around Passover.  It's called Dayenu, and it simply means "it's enough." For example, if G-d had delivered the Jews from Egypt, it would have been enough.   If G-d had delivered the Jews from Egypt but not opened the Red Sea for them to cross safely, it would have been enough.  And so on through a long list of singularly epic moments.  But G-d did all those things, and for that we are supremely grateful.

That's how I feel about the GSNML.

If you told me I was going to attend Game 7 Lakers-Celtics, it would have been enough. (It was on my Bucket List.)

If you told me I was going to attend Game 7 Lakers-Celtics and sit next to athletes and celebrities, it would have been enough.

If you told me I was going to attend Game 7 Lakers-Celtics, sit next to athletes and celebrities and the Lakers would win, it would have been enough.

If you told me I was going to attend Game 7 Lakers-Celtics, sit next to athletes and celebrities, the Lakers would win, and I'd get my photo taken on the court afterwards, it would have been enough.

If you told me I was going to attend Game 7 Lakers-Celtics, sit next to athletes and celebrities, the Lakers would win, I'd get my photo taken on the court afterwards, and meet most of the Lakers while celebrating, it would certainly have been enough.

If you told me I was going to attend Game 7 Lakers-Celtics, sit next to athletes and celebrities, the Lakers would win, I'd get my photo taken on the court afterwards, meet most of the Lakers while celebrating, chat with my favorite sportswriters AND touch the Larry O'Brien trophy...I'd keel over and faint on the spot.

But it all happened.  And even more that I'm probably forgetting.

GSEOCA = GSNML

153 and 152 days and counting.

How Training and Work Balance are Like Lakers-Celtics

So far at E3 this week, my balance between work and training has matched the Lakers-Celtics series.  Round 1 went squarely to training.  Decisively.  Woke up early to spin and fit in a yoga class before two parties Monday night.  Yesterday, training won out too.  Swam at 6 a.m. and still managed to attend two cocktail parties last night. Today, work wins.  Hands down. I thought I'd be able to wake up early to fit my 2.25-hour brick workout in before a packed day at the convention.  No dice.  Six a.m. came and went on my alarm clock.  So did 7.  Right up until 8:30 a.m.  I've got meetings until 4:30 p.m. today so I'm hopeful to bolt immediately after to make the 5:30 p.m. start at Griffith Park.  I've got one cocktail party tonight but it's not urgent I attend.  Worse comes to worse, I'll make this my day off this week and push the brick to Friday, when the show is already over for me.

As for games I want to check out, well, Bulletstorm is at the top of the list. As is Call of Duty: Black Ops. Throw in some Medal of Honor, Dead Space 2 and Killzone 3, and I'm a happy man.

But I'll be even happier if I can still manage to balance work and training effectively.

One lesson I have learned this week is still related to Lakers-Celtics.  I have a better appreciation for not being able to "get up" for certain days of training, just like a basketball team might not have the intensity necessary to win every game in a long series.  Sometimes, fatigue really does trump your best intentions.  That's what happened to me this morning, and like the Lakers, I don't panic or anything.  I just wait for the next opportunity to show up and put in the effort.

That said, the Lakers better f-ing show up tomorrow night.  No excuses.  Especially against Boston.

My prediction?  Lakers by 5. I called the Lakers in 7 at the beginning of the series but almost lost belief when Andrew Bynum got hurt.  But he's shown me a lot by toughing it out despite his terrible knee injury.  It's inspirational as I continue my training.

Now, work wins again.  I have to cut my post short and get ready for a day of meetings. And hopefully a solid workout.

154 days and counting.

Work and Training Collide!

This week is going to be difficult to find time to blog.  It's E3 -- the Super Bowl of videogames.  And it all happens right here, in sunny LA.  In downtown. During the Lakers-Celtics series. Can we say NBA traffic jam? Boom-shakalaka!

(If you're old enough to get that, good on ya!)

E3 week is really the first solid week where my training and work schedules collide head-on.  Yes, I realize how fortunate I am to even say that considering we're six months into the year.  I'm at the show all day, parties at night, and up early in the morning to train.  Something's gonna give.  So far, it was blogging last night.  I came home around 11:30 p.m. knowing I'd need to be up at 5:30 a.m. to get in the pool at 6.

Speaking of the pool, this morning's workout was both painful and productive.  Painful in that I felt inadequate in the pool next to Ann, Janna and Deirdre, all of whom seemed faster than me in their respective lanes.  That's never a good feeling.  It brings out all the insecurities I already lambast myself with as it is.  Especially when I'm pushing as hard as I can and simply pop when trying to keep up.  I know I'm supposed to be swimming at my own pace, but at the same time I feel guilty if I'm in a "faster" lane than Janna and Deirdre and they're kicking my ass in.  I try to keep up, generally do, but fall short at the end.  I'm going to attribute that this morning to lack of sleep and standing for hours straight at cocktail parties.  I can move all day, but when I stand still my back locks up.  When I lock up, I get tired. When I get tired and don't sleep enough...well, stuff happens.  On the plus side, I did two things I've never been able to do until today: swam the length of the pool on two separate occasions without taking a breath (GASP!!!) and I shaved a full second off my fastest 100 time (1:31) at the very end of the workout.

So no matter how painful training gets, there's always a bright spot and something to cling on to.  It's such motivation to get out of bed in the morning even when sleeping is the only thing I want to do.  Fortunately, I just snuck an extra hour in from 7:15-8:15 after the workout.  That will save me from certain doom for round two tonight -- two more cocktail parties.  And tomorrow morning I need to get up super early to fit in my brick workout before round three.

There's so much more to talk about right now, but I need to jump in the shower and jet over to Helen's Cycles.  Yep, my tri bike was in for repairs...the front wheel needed tru-ing. And those pesky aero bars needed an adjustment too so they don't keep tilting in the middle of my rides.

Off I go!

156 and 155 days to go.

An Informative Workout

Learning by doing is a lot more effective than learning by guessing.  That's how I'd sum up my nearly two-hour run workout this morning.  My assignment was to run the last five to eight miles at the goal pace I'd like to run a Vineman 70.3, with a goal heart-rate in mind as well.  I chose to target eight-minute miles at a 158-160 goal heart rate.

This may have been a tad aggressive.  I was working off less than six hours sleep, courtesy of a stellar engagement party last night for Stephanie and me.  About 50 of our closest friends and family gathered to help us celebrate something that was five-plus years in the making.  (Here's a photo of Steph and me with my future in-laws!) But I didn't let it stop me from getting up early to swim with the LA Tri Clubbers in Marina del Rey.  Even though I'm generally total crap with fewer than six hours sleep.

For the first 45 minutes of my solo run, my legs felt awful. I couldn't even elevate my heart rate to zone 2!  It was truly one of those days where quitting seemed the best option after my mile swim.  But, I knew this is probably how I'd feel during the Ironman, or perhaps even Vineman. Tired, defeated, sore, and alone.  I know that if I don't train to overcome these hurdles, I won't be mentally strong when it counts.

So I dug deep.

I realized that an eight-minute mile pace wasn't going to be feasible when my first mile clocked in at 8:05.  I felt like I was running much faster, but the clock indicated otherwise.  So, I changed my goal to reflect being as close as possible to 8:00.  That went out the window with an 8:10 at mile two, but I lowered back to an 8:09 for mile three.  The wheels started to come a little loose after that.  I went to 8:18 in mile four, 8:23 in mile five, and I essentially screeched to a halt with an 8:34 at mile six.  I stopped shortly after that because I was really trying to pace myself for a sub-50 minute 10k to emulate the Breath of Life Olympic triathlon coming up in a few weeks.  The good news is that I did break 50 minutes on less than optimal sleep and eating/drinking conditions.  The less-than-good news is that I can't hold an 8:00 pace.  I maintained my 160 bpm heart rate for the most part though, which was a success.  In fact, I dropped my heart-rate by a few percentage points compared to my last big tempo run of this type, which occurred about two weeks ago.  Progress.

Overall, I reinforced once again that I can tough out a good run when necessary.  I learned I'm not as fast as I'd like, but running faster than I used to be.  And my stamina is slowly improving.  I wouldn't have learned any of this had I not dragged myself out of bed, or chosen to push myself by ignoring my body's protests.

I'd say that's the makings of a great workout.

157 days and counting.