My brain doesn't know how old my body is

The problem with sprinting is that it's really fun.

And worse, the sense that I could run FASTER is even more compelling.

Since I began running in November, I haven't run all out, full speed. In part this is because Ric Rojas, my coach, has encouraged me not to, and in part it's because I can tell that I'm not quite ready, and in part it's because I'm afraid to, and, in part, it's because each time I think I'm ready... I get some minor injury (see previous post).

But the real problem is that my brain is attracted to the potential fun and it has no idea whether my body can follow its whims. My brain has no idea that I'm heading toward 46. And so my brain will say to my body, "Come on, let's go a bit faster..." or, "I know you ache a little bit, but why should that stop you from training," or, "So what if you're older than the parents of all those kids on the track... let's kick their butts!"

Sometimes my brain has an conversations with itself:

"Let's really take it easy tonight. 50% effort should be fine."
"Yeah, right. How 'bout 110% you wimp?"
"Oh, okay."

Rumor has it that I'll eventually learn how to take it easy, either by getting smarter or getting hurt enough to give me no other choice.

I'm hoping for the former.

"Pu-lease... you're leg feels 90%, why not go to that Masters meet and see what you can do?"

Damn brain.