I’ve always liked a morning run. The reasons are multiple: it gets it out of the way, mornings are lovely and full of promise, it’s quiet and if it’s sunny, then it’s not too warm. I was woken up unfeasibly early and by 6.00 I was sitting with a cup of tea and a backlog of Juneathon blogs, supervising a small boy intent on crawling his way to every possible danger in the front room.
When I was able to hand over the supervisory reins to Ginge, I bounded out of the door like an excited labrador. Now, technically the C2K plan had me back doing a sequence of run 5, walk 3, run 8, walk 3, run 5, but what is the point of a plan if you can’t ignore it? I decided just to run and see how I got on.
How I got on was twenty minutes running, interrupted at 12min30 for an utterly pointless thirty seconds walk. It was the sun wot done it. I was plodding along into the sun when I made the mistake of remembering how I hard I find it to run in the warmer weather. Before I knew it, I had convinced myself that I needed to have a little break. Hmmmm. After that, I carried on plodding home and when I got there, realised that it felt harder than last time because I was going faster than the last time.