I had a speed run workout scheduled, so Jas and I headed to the Greenlake track on our lunch break to bust it out. The plan was to do a 20 minute warm up, then two miles all out with a five minute recovery, then 4×100 at my previous all out pace with a three minute recovery, then a 10 minute cool down. Total workout time: 1 hour. I started my warm up then began my hard effort. It sucked. Bad. My stomach was really sour and I felt like I didn’t have any speed. I stopped after one mile, figuring I’d do my recovery and then I could do another hard mile. I started my recovery time and the sour stomach went into overdrive. My easy set quickly incorporated some “awkwardly mosey over to the portapotty and unleash the fury” time (at least there were portapotties nearby — I wasn’t about to fail my #1 goal).

When my stomach quieted down, I left the portapotty and dejectedly made my way back to the track. Okay, so my two mile hard effort was kind of a bust, but at least I could do my 4×100 sets, right? I started one and had a decent lap time, then did a recovery lap. During my second lap the stomach acted up again, and once again my recovery lap included a sprint to the bathroom where I had to do the walk of shame past the same tennis players who I had just passed five minutes ago. I felt like waving and announcing, “Yes, yes, it’s me again. Yes, clearly I’m having some sort of bowel issue. Thank you for noticing. Yes, I have seen Anna Kournikova on The Biggest Loser. Uh, no, I don’t really like her more than Jillian. I mean, she kind of sucks and she’s got the crappiest team, so…you know what, speaking of ‘crappiest,’ I really gotta go. Again.”

After Wave of Number Two #2 came and went, I managed to bust out a super sad cool down mile, figuring that the workout was a complete bust considering my guts weren’t letting me run hard. Instead of 7-7.5 miles, I managed a fairly sad five. We drove home and I had some soup and some tea to try and quiet things down, then I headed to the allergist to get my weekly shot.

I needed to get a swim workout in but wasn’t sure I’d make the swim time at our gym, so later that evening after my shot I headed over to Medgar Evers to drop in on their lap swim time. When I got there, the employee recharged my parks & rec card and was about to scan it when I looked over at the pool and noticed an unusually large amount of pre-teens occupying the lanes.

Me: “Uh, is lap swim going on right now?”

Employee: “No, it’s a youth swim clinic.”

Me: “Oh…how long does that go for?”

Employee: “From now until 6:30.” Damn it all!

Me: “Does lap swim start after that?”

Employee: “Yeah, from 6:30 to 7:00.”

Oh, what the hell. 30 minutes for lap swim? Maybe the average swimmer could do my workout in that time, but Rebecca the Floating Turd was going to need about 50 to bust this out. No swimming for me.

I headed back home and thought, “Okay, the run didn’t go well, the swim didn’t happen, but I have an hour long bike workout scheduled tomorrow that I could do today” (I had been shuffling around workouts this week since Jason and I are traveling to Chicago this weekend). Jason pulled out my bike for me and I went to pump up my tires. I finished pumping up the front one, and when I removed the pump from the valve stem, it imploded into itself and my tire immediately went flat. FUCKKKKKKKKKK. Now I’ve got the saddest flat tire imaginable — an indoor trainer ride flat. Who gets these? Becca gets these.

I sighed and replaced the flat tube. By this point I was tired and in total “Fuck it” mode, so I did a pretty lazy spin while watching Teen Mom recordings from my DVR while Jason simultaneously laughed at and felt bad for me for having a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day. I ended up laughing it off with him — I mean, when three workouts go horribly awry, you gotta just roll with the punches, right? Thankfully, most of my workouts lately have gone relatively well coming off Injuryfest 2011, so I’ll take a shitty workout or two…just as long as this doesn’t become a regular thing.

Case in point: my recent track workout. I showed up for my first track night in like a month, but the pattern was eerily familiar. We all do some warm up laps and some drills before Teresa tells us what the workout is and assigns a pace for each of us. Every single time she does this, she assigns everyone a pace and seems to forget about me. I ask her “What’s my pace?” and she gives me one, then she scans the group and tries to find someone who runs at the same pace as me.

And, I swear to God, whoever she pairs me with ends up running like a minute frickin’ faster than what Teresa assigned us as our pace. We all take off in a group and I check my watch to make sure I’m running at an appropriate speed, then I look up and see that the group I’m supposed to be running with is a million paces ahead of me, competing in some sort of unknown foot race that I’m most certainly going to lose. I mentally shake my fist at them and call them jerk face overachievers for running faster than they said they would. I then proceed to run by myself. This happens to me a lot.

The same thing happens with Jason. We start off on a long run together and he half-ass jogs right in front of me because he thinks he needs to hang back and run at my pace. But then if I need to stop for whatever reason (e.g., I have a cramp, that hill nearly killed me, I’m fat and out of shape), he begrudgingly slows down and walks alongside me for roughly twelve seconds before whining, “Can’t you at least jog?” Then I snap at him to run at his own pace without me, which he ends up doing. He trots back to find me every so often, which I both hate and like (hate because I hate that he’s faster than me, like because at least he’s not completely ditching me).

I’m starting to think that I’m destined to run by myself because apparently there is nobody in the entire Seattle metropolitan area who runs at the same pace as me. It’s like the Farmer in the Dell and I’m the cheese who stands alone. Or, in this scenario, I suppose I’m the cheese who runs alone. Hi-ho-the-dairy-o, the cheese runs alone. I’ve gotten pretty much used to it at this point, though. Besides, I’m not much of a talker when I run. I once ran around Greenlake with someone who talked my ear off the entire loop, with me offering up the occasional grunt and winded “Uh huh.”

But still, there’s something about having a presence next to you that’s somewhat comforting. It’s like you mentally push each other to keep going and maintain a good pace. You don’t have to exchange words or have a lengthy, heart wrenching conversation about the meaning of life or anything. Oftentimes all you need is the physical presence of someone next to you to encourage you to keep going. And I don’t have that. (Well, Jason is pretty encouraging when we do our long runs, but I find his encouragement to be great or annoying, depending on my mood. Today it was annoying, then begrudgingly great.)

Maybe I’ll tape a dummy to the side of me, you know, like one of those vaudeville acts. Or I could pay a ridiculously fast runner to trot alongside me in a tortuously slow pace, just to stick it to him. (Wait, if I’m paying him then the joke would be on me.) Or I could get faster…that could work, too. I guess I’ll just have to work hard and try to catch up with all of the fast a-holes I train with. Until then, the cheese runs alone…