I know that’s kinda the name of hte Mexican ride in EPCOT but today I’m using it to talk about something that’s apparently important but that I didn’t quite understand: The Tempo Run. I didn’t know this, but apparently there’s more than one type of running. There are several and one of them involves the word “fart” (thank you, Sweden).
The Tempo Run (or Carrera de Tiempo as I like to call it so it reminds me of Disney not of sweaty torture) is supposed to be run at a brisk pace, so you’re pushing yourself more. You’re huffing along to “Spice up your life” by the Spice Girls as opposed to belting it. See, it makes more sense already. I’m a stodgy 12 minute miler, though I’ve gone as low as 9-10 minutes for what you Gallowayans would call a “magic mile.” I have no shame about my minute per mile pace. I finished my first half secure in the knowledge I could’ve stopped for pictures with characters and I’m fast enough for Disney and isn’t that enough?
Suprise! No. You can never overestimate the powerful paradigm of the-faster-you-run-the-faster-you’re-done. Yesterday was an unequivocal tempo run. My 5 miles came in well under an hour. This was as much because of a killer bee chased me 1/2 a mile as it was my conscious decision to do a tempo run, but you take your victories where you can get them
5 miles: 57 minutes and 26 seconds. Fastest mile: 10:36 Most leisurely mile: 12 minutes 48 seconds.