A bad run

It was always going to be a bad run last night. I was home a bit later from work, so by the time we had gone for our family walk and I was setting off for my run, Philip was close to his bedtime: I would be back after he was asleep. I didn’t like the idea that I wouldn’t spend any more time with him that evening, and the first part of my 10k progression was filled with regret and guilt. Were my priorities right?

By half-way, and having moved up to a steady pace, I knew I wouldn’t be able to run the last third of the progression at the fast pace I had set myself. Already a mile before I was due to speed up to it, my calves felt stiff, my laces too tight, my breath laboured. And how could there be a headwind all round my loop run? I would slow to a comfortable pace, and leave the progression for another day.

The final third was hard; I was never going to maintain the target pace. I thought at least I could make an effort and see how long I lasted. 2k from home I passed a speed of Harriers doing their Tuesday evening reps, and I felt slow and tired in comparison. I turned under the railway bridge and up the hill to the traffic lights, knowing they would break my pace and I’d have to stop. Crossing between traffic I knew the tail end of the run would take it out of me, and I would burst before the sprint finish that marks the end of the progression. It was only as I sprinted the last 100m that I felt some spring in my step.

It was always going to be a bad run last night, only it wasn’t.

And today, bodyweight drills: Which in our house means me training with Philip’s weight: lunges with Philip on my shoulders, squats holding him up to my face to see him laugh at me! Kettlebell swings? Hmm, we’ll see!

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