Opryland

I'm back from a week-long annual sales conference in Nashville last week with my new employer. It wasn't the boondoggle I've experienced with other companies. A maniacal boot camp would be a much more apt description.

Starting Sunday night, it was close down the bar, get up early, work sessions all day, dinner, back to the bar. In anticipation that each passing day would make it more difficult to run and drink, I dragged myself to the hotel gym at 5:30 am on Monday, ran outside at 6:00 am on Tuesday, 6:30 am on Wednesday, and threw in the towel after that.

We were at the Gaylord Opryland all week, which was quite nice actually. Regrettably, the crazy schedule didn't allow me to meet up with Rae and Brent. I did run by the cultural highlight of their town, I think, as the Grand Ole Opry was right next to the hotel. Not that exciting though, at the crack of dawn.


All was not lost, as I stumbled across this gem on the outskirts of the hotel, which I think would be exciting at any time of day (and twice as much on Daisy Duke day):

Heart Don't Fail Me Now

When I'm within sight of a 5K finish line and my lungs are on fire, there's always a few more drops of gas to be found to power me on home.

When I've busted through the wall on a marathon and my legs are screaming bloody murder, it's still possible for the mind to tell the body what to do. Not easy, but possible.

Yet when I'm barely breaking a sweat but my HR is too high, no amount of mental toughness can get the heart to beat any slower than it wants to. It just doesn't work that way. Invoking every cuss word I know doesn't work either. Feels like it should work, but has quite the opposite effect on the heart. Dammit.

After 7 consecutive weeks of steadily decreasing average mile pace (12:21, 12:03, 11:40, 11:28, 11:26, 11:10, 11:02), my 2 runs this week were back at 11:30 pace - why, I have no clue. It's like my heart forgot how to run. I'm going to blow this week off and start again next week.