Alright. Who writes these ‘gotcha’ headlines? It has to stop. This isn’t the Daily Mail, for fuck’s sake. (Note: this is the correct usage of the phrase. It’s the genitive case, so the apostrophe is warranted. Grammar is important. Like I said: it’s not the red tops around here…)
Anyway, the flaw in the logic of running every day for a month is that I have already settled into the lowest common denominator. 5k? Okay, we’re done. And the part of my brain that still works and has access to the memory bank (the parts of that which still work and deal with, specifically, matters relating to training) are telling me that I would better off running 10k every other day. Make something of it – speed work, hill work, pace run – and then take a break. Rather than trotting around at a so-so pace, and then rinse and repeat the next day. And probably get in the same mileage at the end of the week, regardless.
On the plus side, the cardio fitness will improve. Not so sure about the knees.
Anyway, I’ll persevere, because I said I would do it, so I will, so I will. It’s an experiment, if nothing else. And I do love an experiment!
During the week, in the park, I had a lovely run in the bitter cold. The trees were dusted like a Christmas movie set, and it was bone cold. A Buzzard flew over my head and I missed the chance to take a picture. I did suggest that had I taken the picture, it would have been a disappointment. And every now and then, life throws me the chance to prove that I can be right sometimes, because a few days later, on another run in a different part of the town, a spied this Buzzard in a tree and I did manage to get a picture.
So, proof indeed that iPhones are no substitute for a 600mm telephoto lens, and that most images are best preserved in the memory banks, where they fade away gracefully.
The day after the first Buzzard incident, the temperature picked up a degree or two, and the sun came out in fits and starts. As I ran along the edge of the woods, it felt like it was raining, but sounded more like a million tiny chandeliers, tinkling all around me. The trees were shedding their early seasonal decoration, and a gentle multitude of thawing ice was pitter-pattering onto the path. It was a magical sound, though I was glad I was wearing a beanie; one or two fragments were more like hail stones.
So. Day 9 in the Big Brother House. The run streak continues. Onwards we go.