At 2pm this afternoon it was bright sunshine and light winds. Standard that at 5pm when I decide to run it is horizontal drizzle.
Jacket on. Hood up. Football Weekly podcast playing.
Classic commuter. Can’t be bothered to look out of his window so he just follows traffic instead of letting me cross the road. Prick.
Midweek means all the fit, healthy runners are out. Lordie, I feel obese.
Students. Professional looking runners in neon. Then there’s me in ridiculously baggy, black shorts.
I’ve done 1 minute tempo run, 2 minutes recovery x 6. Fine.
2 minutes tempo run, 2 minutes recovery x 6. That was ok.
3 minutes tempo run, 1 minute recovery x 6. Struggled with that one.
This evening it’s 8 minutes tempo run, 2 minutes recovery x 3. Yup. Might die.
Eight minutes is really long when you’re out of breath. You think it’s six minutes in when it’s only three. Just. Keep. Going.
Second set. Two minutes recovery!? IS THAT IT?
Third set. Totally cool with this. There’s a casual jogger ahead. I’ll overtake him if I’m doing a tempo run.
*Two minutes later* I’m closing in.
*Further four minutes later* Nope. He’s still yards away.
Skinny people make running look so damn easy.
Done. Time for a banana chia milkshake and chicken. Lots of chicken