This morning I woke up from a deep sleep full of dreams. We hit the gym fairly late last night, leaving when it closed at 10:00 p.m. I wasn't planning on going at all, but then The Biggest Loser was on TV and for whatever reason I cannot in good conscience lie around watching that show without feeling extremely guilty. About forty minutes into the episode, I got up and headed off to the gym with Ellie, who had been asking to go all night anyway. I guess there is something about watching people work hard to get where they want to be that still is pretty motivating for me.

I took it pretty easy on both the elliptical-like-gazelle thing and the treadmill. Honestly it was a fairly leisurely eleven-minute-mile pace. Enough that it felt good, though I was still a bit sore from my weekend cross-country skiing. It was also my first gym workout in about a week, so it actually felt good to be back at it. There are about eight weeks to go until the B.A.A. 5K, and I have big hopes for that race. Thinking about racing as I headed for bed must have gotten embedded in my subconsciousness because sure enough, I had a running/race dream.

I lined up at the start line for the Boilermaker. Apparently I was up ahead with the elite runners, Kenyans and Ethiopians all around. The gun went off and I did my best Usain Bolt impression, quickly taking the lead after 50M. Apparently I held that pace and was well out into the lead by the time we hit the elevator. Yeah, there was an elevator. We rode up the side of a cliff, giving enough time to catch your breath. Apparently I had strategized about this because I knew I could recover from my sprint pace during the ride up. As soon as the elevator let me out, I took off again at a dead sprint winding my way down the roads, past the cheering fans, who would not get out of my way in the road. The crowd let my competitors close the gap. I think they were in the road because they hadn't expected runners at that stage of the race for another five or ten minutes . . . I was that fast.

Eventually I made my way into the brewery where the race course winded all through the whole bottling plant, past the fermenter tanks, and to the finish line in the tasting room. I  made it to the statue where I grabbed the trophy, in first place. The crowd was stunned. Apparently I had no business winning this race as a no-name runner in an orange 2 Fat Nerds shirt. Not only had I won, but I managed to finish the whole race in 12 minutes. That's right: It is a 15K race. I was that fast.

It was a pretty good dream I suppose, I woke up out of breath and feeling pretty sore and I must have kicked the dog off the bed while I was sprinting at some point.

I know it was just a dream, but for some reason that's all I've been thinking about all morning. I guess it made me realize that I want to train, get faster, win my age group, and be stronger and better. I want to move to Colorado and train in high altitudes. I want to run up mountains . . . how realistic all these are is a matter of opinion I suppose, but I know if I train hard I can certainly keep improving my PR times. Last night's dream helped me make up my mind. I now have my sights firmly set on the B.A.A. 5K, where I want to see just how much I can push it.

Go For Broke?