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February 7, 2017

Debajo Dos: Inside Paul’s first week of training

I’m one week into rigorous training and figured I would chronicle and share my daily workouts, so that future exercise physiologists, phrenologists and the like, might study the inner workings of my implausible ambition and unusually shaped skull. Presently, most physicians recommend exercising no more than 30 minutes per day at a frequency of three days per week, but I scoff at these aerobic teetotalers. If you want sauteé the omelette of greatness, you must crack some eggs of exertion.

Monday, January 30th: 4 miles in roughly 30 minutes; my friend, confidant, my colleague and training advisor, Stephen, is of the philosophy that running longer than your goal race distance is key to peak human performance. Not sure if I believe him.

Tuesday, January 31st: I took my wilting Hokas to an indoor track here in town and grinded through six repetitions of 200 meters. I averaged between 29 and 31 seconds each time. Grimacing as I flew around the sacred oval in my tiny, red, schlong-hugging shorts, all eyes in the infield were fixated on me, presumably because it’s rare to see a man redefining self-propelled human motion like that.

Wednesday, February 1st: This was what we in the “biz” call an “over-distance day.” Six solid miles on a muddy dirt road with my friend Tommy.

Thursday, February 2nd: A truly taxing affair. After a brief warmup, I was told to run at a steady tempo of approximately 5:40 mile pace for three miles. After completing the task, I walked home, coughing like someone afflicted with the plague. I stared into the abyss and the abyss stared right back. Perhaps man wasn’t meant to fly.

Friday, February 3rd: The human form can only handle so much abuse so I drove to Los Angeles for a weekend of rest, relaxation,and thicker, heartier, more particulate-rich air. No running on the docket during this travel-heavy day!

Saturday, February 4th: Shaded by spindly palms and in the presence of hungover sitcom writers, my friend Ryan and I defiantly jogged to a cave where a scene from a Batman movie was once filmed. Only in Los Angeles can you see movie magic like that! Such culture!

Sunday, February 5th: After a night of “moshing” at a “show” (Ty Segall; who is a heck of a rocker and has very nice hair), my sinew screamed in agony, my bones felt more fragile than normal and my musculature was Charlie-horsed in its totality. Another day off was required.

Five days of running. Over 25 miles on the week. Two workouts, the likes of which I can’t imagine any other athlete being brazen enough to even contemplate. I’ll take it. My only concern is: “Is this sustainable?”

The tentative plan is to attempt to shatter the elusive two-minute barrier and establish an untouchable world record in the 800 meter run on April 20th. This date has been chosen, as it is a counter-cultural holiday centered around “weed” and so it is unlikely any ruffian teens will interfere with the race or be rude to me after.

This is the second post in a series by Paul chronicling his journey to break the two-minute barrier in the 800 meters. Check out his previous post below:

Introducing Debajo Dos and one boy’s quest to run fast as heck 

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