Com·mut·er

“One that travels regularly from one place to another, as from suburb to city and back”.

I realize the absurdity in admitting this, but prior to cycling to work I never considered myself a commuter. Now though, since the birth of Isla, I once again find myself wearing hidden layers of spandex as I travel daily to and from work.

Something that has caught my attention, and subsequently become amusing, is the way in which people get sucked along as passage ultimately becomes a contest. Yesterday morning I was determined to enjoy a leisurely ride at a pace dictated by me, not others. I was hugely unsuccessful. My failure hit home as I walked up five flights of stairs to my office (an effort to promote a healthy work environment), my legs throbbing as the lactic acid was pushed further into my muscles.

The true effect of my commuting negligence wasn’t fully transparent until after returning home and beginning yesterdays run, a warm-up that has never felt so rough.

[it reminded me of the brick (bike/run) sessions I would do while preparing for Ironman]

With little time remaining until race day, I was determined to make the most of the situation and made sure to ease my way into the first interval. Although I felt fatigued and was running with heavy legs, the session was probably one of the more controlled I’ve done in months. I slowly wound things up as I traversed my way along an undulating route of road and trail, saving the best for last and completing the final repeat feeling strong.

This weekend I’ve got a tempo filled long run on the taps, and then it’s one final workout next week before I start to wind things down. Fun and games.

I’m so freak’n tired.

Training:
Thursday: 1:16:03 with 4x2-miles (2’)
Friday: 36:58 with 4xstrides