Last night’s run was special. It was absolutely teeming down with rain. I felt tired after working all day. I was grumpy, and not in the mood. I was hungry. My calves still hurt, but I had to run. So run I did.
I clocked the first mile in 6:55. Way too fast for an opening mile. So I slowed to what I thought was my regular running pace for the second.
About half way round, I noticed how good I felt. My calves had got used to running, even if they did hurt a little. And then, as I crossed the line in front of my house, I pressed the lap button on my watch. 6:45. That can’t be right.
But it was. So I slowed even further for the third lap, running at what seemed like an incredibly slow pace. Again, over the line in 6:57.
I had planned to only run four miles, as a nice break in point for a second run of the week. But I was going to be damn if the last one was going to break the 7 minute mark after three great first laps.
Checking my time at the half distance mark, I realised I was only a couple of seconds inside my goal time. It was going to be tight.
I lengthened my stride, but became aware my strike rate dropped, so I increased that. Three quarters of the way round, I checked the time again. I had this.
The words “Finish strong” appeared in my mind, and I stepped on the gas. I have no idea what I looked like. I didn’t care.
At the line, as I slowed to a halt (instead of powering through) I checked the stopwatch one final time. 6:48.
This is the first time I’ve run four consecutive sub 7-minute miles in four years. And it’s only the beginning…