It’s quiet in the café this morning. A soft rain heralds the dawn of Easter Monday and many are still on holiday.
I sit with my legs propped up by the fireplace. Another day off running. Merely for taper this time around. I race next weekend.
After foregoing the week to counter the effects of over-training, I ran on Saturday and I ran yesterday. 25 kilometres combined.
My first run felt “dusty”. I say that as opposed to rusty as dusty seems more apt. It certainly felt that way at the time.
Have you ever went awhile without using your oven? When you do finally use it (for something other than storage space), it seems to hum to life in fits of confusion. It emits a funny smell. But eventually it gets going.
Short the funny smell, hopefully!, that was how I felt. I forgot how the ground appears to shake when I run. But my vision soon made the necessary adjustments to stave off motion sickness. I had to pee twice in the first 500 metres as if my bladder panicked at being thrown into a body that suddenly moved quicker than 5km/h. But still, I managed to run.
In fact my first kilometre on Saturday, minus requisite bathroom breaks, was covered about a minute faster than usual. And instead of being skeptical, I’m not so sure that time split was wholly inaccurate. It just felt so good to be out there again.
Yesterday’s run, in stages alone, in one stage with my crew, and finally with D by my side, felt like a confirmation. That Saturday was not a fluke, that Saturday was not a dream.
I can run.