Maintenance Training

.. kind of like getting hit by an 18-wheeler.
That's what I felt like after a 9-mile tromp through the Tennessee Valley in the Marin Headlands on Saturday. Coach Neil kicked my ass, as well as talked me up the 1.5 mile uphill that started our run. Coach Neil ruled. I didn't even know I could actually run up a hill. Usually I see them and I am intimidated and I resign myself to walking. But when your coach is running next to you, you can't stop. I felt nervous but remarkably not terrible for about the first 3/4 of a mile. After that it was a little painful, and Coach Neil was talking most of the time trying to keep my mind off of the feat. At one point he said: "Do you hate me and do you want me to just stop talking?" (Please note that Coach Neil was not even the slightest bit winded as he said that.)
"No.... huff... Coach .... I ... huff... just... .huff.. don't... huff... want... huff ... you ... to ... huff... think ... i ... huff... can ... huff... contribute."
About 1.25 miles into the run, Coach asked what my RPE was. For those un-tri-dorks out there, that's "rate of perceived exertion." It's a scale of 1-10 where one is lying in bed reading a magazine and 10 is a pulmonary seizure.
"I'm... a ... huff... 10... coach."
"No you're not a ten," he says.
And that's why I love my coach. Because even thoguh I feel like I'm dying, he knows I'm not actually dying. And he knows how far to push me.
Did I know I could run 9 miles with 4,100 feet of vertical elevation?
No. I didn't.
And if you would have asked me Saturday morning, I would have said, "No freaking way can I run that far."
And then I did.