Lightning is my middle name

I must be the slowest runner in the whole wide world. This morning when I ran to work, I took it easy. I woke up with a killer headache (I almost never get headaches) and until the last minute I uuum'ed and eeeh'ed, unsure if it was such a good idea to run to work. But I bit the bullet and started running. It was apparently a great idea, because my headache dissolved into nothing with each passing minute of the run.

When I was about a kilometre away from work, I felt great. My legs felt light, my lungs strong, my will was made of steel. I could almost imagine how it must have looked to other people: perfect technique, speed, elegance. First they saw me coming, and then they heard the "whoosh" as I broke the speed of sound. I kicked it up a notch. I was flying. My feet hardly touched the ground. Running fast never felt easier. I glanced at my Garmin. 4:48 min/km. I was on fire! (stop laughing. That is actually fast for some people. And tortoises.)

Then, later, I came home from work and uploaded the data from my Garmin to SportTracks. I almost fell off the chair laughing when I saw the splits. Amazing what tricks your mind plays sometimes. While I was busy picturing myself as the goddess of running, my Garmin was registering speed that was average, even for me. That 4:48? That was a speed that I maybe managed to maintain for a couple of seconds, long enough for me to glance at the clock and think I am Usain Bolt. Average speed of that super fast kilometre? 5:34. I've run half-marathons that were faster than that.

photo © 2008 Craig ONeal | more info (via: Wylio)