The sleepy downtown streets had a soporific effect on me today. In fairness I hadn’t really given them much help. Upping my first two training runs of the week each from 12 to 15 kilometres had rendered me sluggish. My legs leaden.
Gamely I ventured forward. 10 kilometres being my modest goal. The air had a crisp chill to it as I slid through a downhill segment early to help gain speed and momentum. Hopeful that this would propel my efforts.
The cool temperature and the stillness of the streets were ideal for running but even with these much-appreciated boosts I decided to shut down my exertions early. Tomorrow is half marathon Fridays. The extra rest will do me some good I reason. Moreover, with the mileage gains I made earlier in the week, sacrificing a couple of kilometres now will still leave me ahead of last week.
Satisfied with the conclusions reached as a result of my mental discourse I picked up the pace shortly after the 6 kilometre mark. After all I was now in my penultimate kilometre. Time to salvage this run.
Seldom unless I am specifically aiming for speed do I consult my watch in training. Preferring instead to base my endeavours on feel. And so it was today. Oblivious to how fast or how slow I had run the first 6.5 kilometres I picked up the pace. My legs responding surprisingly to the dictates of my mind.
I was spry if not fast. The relief of having just over a kilometre to go – as opposed to over 3 kilometres – working wonders in rejuvenating my spirit. Turning southward I would now finish with the wind at my back galvanizing me. And with the 8th beep of my watch I stopped the clock.
Eyeballing my splits and my overall time I realized I had achieved something to take pride in.
A new personal best in the 8k.