I was outsmarted by Scott’s Garmin on Saturday. I have neglected the iPod as of late (I’ve been very disappointed by the wildly varying distance gauge…even though it’s calibrated and I run a fairly consistent pace, it’s been all over the map. Quite annoying.), and when I finally readied it and myself to run I noticed that the battery had gone dead. Phooey. That’s what I get for ignoring my friend the nanobot.
I was about to go out the door completely technologyless when Scott suggested I take his Garmin. He does this frequently: Mr. Engineer is a big fan of data, so the Forerunner is the perfect running tool for him. I’ve always been resistent to it because it looks ginormous and heavy compared to my Ironman, and he continually tries to bring me around to his side. I’ve always thought this is because the only thing he likes better than buying me things is having me USE the things he’s purchased. He’d like me to have a Garmin, but he has to know I like it first or risk having it be like a certain unfortunate first Christmas present. (He bought me a very pretty necklace that I’ve only worn a handful of times…possibly less than a handful. It’s all my fault, of course…I just have trouble taking the time to put jewelry on in the morning. I’ll have to take it all off when I go to run! Because, clearly, life revolves around running.)
So this time, to humor him, I take the watch…only complaining a tiny bit about how heavy it feels. Start, stop, lap…suresure…it’s a watch. It’s not until I begin running that I realize “coach” could have an entirely different reason to force the watch on me. What better way to keep track of my progress than to have little brother literally tracking every step I take? Ooh, he’s a sly one. It’s too late to go back and tell him that I’m onto his evil plan, so I spend the first mile playing with the Garmin. 9:18? Holy cow. Too slow! 8:45? Well, that doesn’t feel too bad. 8:24? Don’t mind if I do! The watch obligingly beeps to let me know that I’ve passed the mile mark, and I decide to up the pace a bit to see what I can do. Why not?
I increase the pace into the “moderately uncomfortable realm” and peek at the watch. 8:23? What? Okokok, maybe it needs a minute to accustom itself to my new, blazing speed. Waiting, waiting…8:17? Are you kidding me? I have to be able to break 8:00 pace. This is crazy. The rest of the mile passed in a blur…fighting the watch, fighting my legs, fighting for oxygen…when the watch signaled the end of the second mile, I glanced down for what I was sure would be a shameful split. What I saw almost knocked me to the ground—7:22. Ah-ha…I get it. The “average pace” window I was staring at was telling me my average for the entire workout, not for the mile. Outsmarted by a watch. Awesome. At least I know I can run under 8:00 pace!