A ten-week training series started at club today, aimed at improving 10km times. I thought it sounded good, so left the house this morning fully intending to go.
As I left work, I still intended to go. Halfway home, I’d downgraded to a run around the block. Nearly home and I’d decided that my cycle counted as Juneathon and who needs to run every day anyway, surely exercising every day is enough.
As I reached home, I decided to change into my running kit and do a run of some sort. By the time I’d changed into my kit, the club session was back on the agenda.
Turns out, the training sessions are simple. 10 x 1km laps, alternating fast (race pace) and slow (this week 90secs off race pace). Which brought on another round of internal bickering. Slow, fast, slow, fast, slow. 5km That’s respectable. I can stop after 5km. Or I could do one more effort. And a slow lap to cool down. 7km is ample. But it’s only three efforts out of five. So maybe I could manage one more. And a cool down lap. But that’s definitely it. There’s no way I can do the tenth. Not even slowly. I’m stopping. I really am. Oh. The woman behind me is off on her tenth lap. If she can do it, surely I can do it. Slowly. Not as an effort. Just to round things off. I can. I can do it. For Juneathon.
10km. 1 hour, 34 secs. Done.