I have been a self-proclaimed masochist for several years. The type that finds pleasure in pain -humor in the emotional idiosity in which I find myself consumed all too often, and pride in some of the physical crap I endure because it all makes me stronger.
Today, I did an indoor brick at Equinox. A 45 minute spin followed by an easy 5K at race pace. After a few minutes slow, my legs were adjusted and I kicked the speed on the treadmill up to tempo. Frank Sinatra singing a live recorded version of New York, New York came onto the iPod.
I love that song.
Not once has there been a time when I have heard that song and my heart didn't gush like a high school girl crushing on the captain of the football team. With my heart rate at a blissful 85% I checked out my reflection and form in the mirror before me, sweat glistening on my color bones, arms pumping, and a steady stride, I looked strong and I thought to myself, were it not for New York, I would have no idea how awesome I am.
I would not be training for this race were it not for this city and the amazing friends I have made her to challenge me to do this.
I'm pumped!
Now, if I can keep the pace for 26 miles in less than 11 months we should be good.
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