Warmed up 2 in the early morning. The race was at 11:00 AM. Right before, I did strides with Eric Lambert. We didn't time them, but both of us were feeling sluggish. The temperature was 88 degrees. Much better than the day before, but still plenty hot. As I walked to the starting line, I kept thinking: "I really don't want to run a 1500 all out." Usually, this is a precursor of a mental failure during the race. Heat messes with your mind. It distorts both your sense of pace and your sense of pain. The first three hundred was in 55. It felt uncomfortable. Eric led. We passed a kid who started out too fast around 250 meters. When I heard the split, I knew I needed to lead if I wanted to get a decent time today. I led for 300, then let Eric lead. We did a 71.8 next lap. Somewhere around 600 meters, when I returned the lead to Eric, a mental beast within me awoke. It was the same beast that kept me from breaking six. It almost got me today. I came within a millimeter of dropping out. I had thoughts like "there's no way I can keep up" and "I'm sprinting all out to keep up. My legs have to give out." I wanted Eric to be faster. I wanted him to drop me so I would have an excuse to run slower. I envied everyone who wasn't running. Everyone who sat in the shade, sipping ice-cold water, watching contentedly as I endured what I am convinced is among the most devious forms of torture ever devised. The agony of torture racks is undoubtedly greater. But the pain of running is self-inflicted. It has a mental and emotional side unique to running. Somehow I survived until the kick. It was in 70. Eric got me by 0.08. I ended up with 4:31.58. I'm happy with my performance.
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