A quick recap of the week:
Monday: 10k recovery run of reasonable pace.
Tuesday: Speed work. Yuk. Has to be done. Over 14k of laps, around and around and around the pitches…
Wednesday: Another recovery run of just over 10k.
Thursday: Tempo run of just over 13k, below the target pace of 5:35.
Friday: Recovery run of just under 11k.
Saturday: Long run. Managed 26.5k and the legs were okay. Could have snuck in a few more but we had important family stuff to do. No lasting damage to the quads, knees or ankles that I can tell.
Strange thing. It’s Sunday, and I am missing going for a run. And yet, running, when you are running six times a week… well, let’s just say you can’t start to lose the love a little. Even as I sit here and type this, I am looking forward to the 10k recovery run tomorrow, whenever I can fit it it, but at the same time, I know the knees will be sore as I drag my arse up the Black Avenue (which is pretty much the starting point of every run I do).
It’s a love/hate relationship. And it will continue like this up to and including the marathon at the end of October when we once again try and crack the four hours in Dublin. And then things should hopefully settle down for a bit, and perhaps I might give my weary legs a rest, and we may even enjoy going for a run again, without a watch, or a gel, or a care in the world.
P.S. Quick shout out to Eamonn McEntee who took on the Hardman last weekend and lived to tell the tale. Fair play to ya!