Apparently, the best way to get me to do a hard session that I’m dreading* is to give me permission to skip it. Or at least it was this evening.
Just before leaving work, I fired off an email to my coach saying that I was contemplating giving the run a miss. I then travelled home, had a cup of tea, scoffed some Jaffa Cakes and read some running blogs**. By which time, I’d had an email back to say, essentially, “Fine, go ahead, skip it and we can rejig the rest of the week”.
You’d think I’d have thought “Result!” and headed straight for the sofa. I’d think I’d have thought “Result!” and headed straight for the sofa. But instead, I found myself heading upstairs to change into my running kit.
Now how on earth am I going to explain that to my coach?
*Progressions. Oddly enough, it’s not the physical effort I dislike, it’s the mental effort of trying to pace with that level of precision.