Pride comes before the Wall

I love these light, bright evenings. Instead of getting home and having to force myself into running kit and out of the door, I walk in and can’t wait to get out back out again, trainers on.

At least, this is how I felt last night. I went for a 5 mile “easy run” around Crouch End and Muswell Hill and it really was easy. Wow, I thought, I’ve reached the point in my training where even when I’m tired my legs can carry me along without too much effort. Running up Mount Doom at the end, I felt like I was being pulled up the hill by an invisible ski lift.

This evening, however, the ski lift was nowhere to be found and I was flailing in the gutter. It was the dreaded tempo session (hard): 35 minutes (5 miles) with 1 mile either side. It was hot. It was hell. I managed a pathetic 10 minutes of the tempo section before realising that if I carried on I might actually die of exhaustion. I can’t work out what went wrong, everything hurt at once. I managed to keep running for the whole distance, but could only manage two short bursts of speed and ran the rest at a snail’s pace.

Apparently Kenyan runners are famous for their tempo runs. They run them for 10-20 miles. I don’t think I am a Kenyan.