And I Would Run One Hundred Miles

[Sweder]

A warm one, 6.06 kilometres in dead on 43 minutes. Not one step deserving of a cut, so 4 miles tucked away.
With Lewes Skittles tonight and racing ocean-going yachts in the Solent tomorrow, my feet won't kiss the turf until the weekend. Seven miles in week one is a good start, Saturday's outing should put me comfortably ahead. And that's as close to a fucking graph as you'll get out of me.

I'm with Marathondan on the whole pace thing. If you bank the miles and make some sessions tougher than others, pace will sort itself out over time. The pace of this run - 7:05 mins per km - was slower than Monday's, yet the effort felt greater this morning. These outings are short, stepping stones to fitness across the babbling brook of ale, burger grease and late-night sofa-slouching during the Women's World Cup. Once on the other side I'll think about some proper mileage.

I had occasion to dig out my JSJ report from 2006 (posted on Charliecat's blog). It's notable for being the time that Rog announced his conversion to God-bothering and my calves started seizing up in races. I read on for a bit, catching up on some of the old training runs. The mileage we were hitting back then seems over the hills and far away just now, but that's what's needed to take on that brute of a run. No use trying to run before you can walk. Or crawl, for that matter.

On, on.