“Speedy! Come queek!”

(For anyone who’s never seen an early Warner Brothers cartoon, this post title is a reference — and a semi-racist one at that — to the Speedy Gonzalez character.)

Okay, I’m officially taking back every bad thing I’ve ever said about hating to run fast. Or, rather, I’m caveating those previous statements. I did a track session of 200m repeats today and wouldn’t you know it, they were a blast! I understand why someone would want to be a sprinter: You only start hurting in the last 15 meters or so, and it’s not even that bad. At least not at my current velocities.

I won’t go into great detail, as a bath and dinner beckon, but I was assigned 12 at 43-44 seconds apiece and, except for three at 45, I was dead on for the rest. I even did a 13th (the last one, at 44, thank you very much) since I forgot to record one of the earlier ones.

I’m almost afraid to say this, but they felt too easy. I only wish I’d worn my spikes because I could feel a lack of traction and kept thinking, “Darn. If I had my spikes on, I bet I’d be running 41-42.”

The other great thing about doing shorter repeats is that not only do they probably look a lot more impressive than, say, 1200m repeats, but I also don’t have nearly enough time to completely fall apart and exhibit the unattractive wheezing, nose running, tears and spastic form that longer efforts elicit.

Short intervals. Try them today.