IT band: Hey! HEY YOU! Blondie!
Me: Hmmm? What?
ITB: It’s me, your left IT band.
Me: Oh hi. How are you?
ITB: How am I? HOW AM I? You’re making me run 8 1/2 minute miles. How the HELL do you think I am?
ITB: Oh please. I’ve heard you say things that would make a sailor blush. So how do you explain yourself?
Me: What do you mean? We’re running, like we always do.
ITB: No, we’re NOT running like we always do. We’ve been going slow lately. It’s been nice. I was feeling good.
Me: Well, I guess I felt we needed to mix things up a bit. You can’t improve unless you challenge yourself. Besides, we’re just doing short runs for a while; 6 miles at the most.
ITB: But what’s up with trying to beat our personal bests? You’re not getting any younger, you know. You should take it easy, old girl.
Me: Hey! Be nice. I’ve treated you well. Haven’t I been using the foam roller on you like our physical therapist wants?
ITB: WHAT? You mean that medieval torture device? That thing FRIGGIN’ HURTS.
Me: Inside voice, please.
ITB: All I’m sayin’ is, if you don’t slow things down a bit I’m going to rebel. You’ll be lucky to be able to run 15 minute miles.
Me: Okay, grumpypuss. I’ll slow it down this weekend. But I’d still like us to go fast on occasion. Will that be okay?
ITB: Harrumph. What’s in it for me?
Me: Well, you’ll ultimately get stronger. And you may start looking all sexy and lean.
ITB: I suppose. But do we always have to go for a PB?
Me: Of course not. I just wanted to see if we can do it. I’ll shoot for 8 3/4 to 9-minute miles; how’s that sound?
ITB: Hmmmm… Can we get a massage too?
Me: You betcha! Now go to sleep and let the ibuprofen do its job.
ITB: Nighty night.