Ah, bikram running. Heat training. Love it, love it, love it. Liar, liar, liar. I am left more vomitus-prone after this 3 miler than any 18 trail-miler. All for an upcoming 5K. No typo there, folks, no inadvertent omission of a '0' after that 5. I have had 18-mile trail runs that left me more refreshed than this blasted 3-mile speed training run. At mile 2, I was entertaining thoughts of either slowing my pace or breaking up that remaining 3rd mile into halves. Ok, quarters actually, but I'll never confess that face-to-face to Blue Sugar Poet. Really, I tell myself, it's not worth pushing to the point of hating this sport, the point at which I wake up on training days with knots in my stomach. I'll feel much better if I back off a bit. No you won't, says that annoying inner sprite that feeds off bipedal mileage. You'll feel worse knowing that you didn't achieve your purposed goal. Stupid little sprite. I push hard, and at mile 2.5 I'm approaching a busy street that requires a non-governmentally sponsored crossing. I'm praying, begging, soul-bartering that oncoming traffic will force a short pitstop. Apparently my soul is recession-proof; several cars flying down the busy street stop me from an immediate crossing. And I nearly pass out. That smug little sprite smirks. See, I told you it would feel worse to stop. So after crossing the street, I kick up my pace, ignoring the lack of sweat on my skin (read red flag for heat exhaustion - it still seems silly to pack water for any run less than 7 miles). And I finish my 3 miles, only 90 seconds longer than my desired overall pace. 2 days later, 9 miles of dusty, hill-crammed trails taken at a more temperate speed felt like a cakewalk.