On paper, today’s run should have been a dream. 90 minutes of easy running in glorious sunshine on some flattish, and really quite pretty, trail*.
But when you start looking at your watch 18 minutes in; when you know you’re on mile 3-and-a-lot but turn out to only be on mile 2-and-a-bit; when every bus stop becomes an exercise in willpower; when you will every traffic light to be against you so you have an excuse to pause, you wonder whether it’s a dream or a nightmare.
The stupid thing is that there was nothing actually wrong. My feet didn’t hurt, my legs were fine, my pace was solid, my form was reasonable. I was just very, very tired, the cumulative effect of 6 days of peak training. Yes. 6 whole days in a row. How people manage run streaks that run into years baffles me. After 6 days, I’m done. Tomorrow, I rest. You can send wild horses, a pack of wolves, or even Mr Motivator with a cupcake on a string but I am not budging from my sofa.
*Trail more in name than in fact. It turned out to be about 90% tarmac. Which I should have known, but had forgotten.