Sunday, February 25


Apparently, I’m a slow learner. Last night, actually early this morning, I once again found myself weaving my way home after spending the evening with the boys at our favourite pub. Unsurprisingly then, the prospect of this mornings 22 miler was rather disheartening.

Not wanting to delay the inevitable, I headed out into an unsettle morning. I knew I was in for a rough one when the first 10’ were more reminiscent of the final 10’ from last weeks long run. A creature of habit in times like this I sought out familiar terrain, getting out of town on the Goose and Lochside trails, around Mount Doug and this time up Ash, hugging the waterfront down by Cadboro Bay and back through the Uplands.

After half an hour, my legs and energy level hadn’t improved but they didn’t worsen either. With two GUs, I spread them out at 50’ and 1h40’.

Despite feeling less then stellar, I enjoyed the methodical, straightforward numbness that my mind had settled into… everything was nonnegotiable.

While cruising along Beach, at the end of the run I remember checking my watch. Only a moment later, I passed by a mailbox to turn and see a demonic, undead black cat with wings jump out toward me. Too tired for words and more intent on conserving energy, I let I silent and unimpressive “whoa” echo through my head, while leaping sideways. I turned back to see the cat had turned into a pile of black rocks… must remember to hydrate and store that conversation I had yesterday with my brother about gargoyles in the far recesses of my mind.

Training: a hard fought 2h32’31”, approx. 35.2 km at 6:57 pace/mi


Thomas said...

22 miles with a hangover? I'm in awe!

Mark said...

now that's putting in your time

Michael said...

Not so much a hangover, I am not one to suffer like that, but a lack of sleep (& I don’t need much) does me in ever time…