I went to the track for the Wednesday night session; I don’t think I’d been once during my marathon training, which means it’s the first time I’ve been this year. And as my wife is starting an exercise class on Wednesday evenings from next week, it could also be the last time I’ll go this year. There’s always Monday nights…
I wasn’t feeling too bad after the marathon. Or rather, I think i have more problems with my head than my legs. I hadn’t really noticed until somebody pointed out I’ve been very quiet today, rather than my usual garrulous self. I hope people will tell me when I’m getting stupider as well as when I’m getting gloomier.
Anyway, I knew going to the track could have been a big mistake, so I had no illusions about being able to sustain a stupendous pace for half an hour, and the 30 minute tests I’ve done over the last few months have taught me that even 1:40s are over ambitious, so I was content to be trying to run consistent 1:44 laps tonight. Ostensibly we were doing 1:46s, but that’s not divisible by 4, so what kind of madman would attempt that?
There were three of us running together; tonight’s session was 4 lots of 7 minutes and 30 seconds, with a 90 second recovery in between. This was a lot less horrible than the usual 6×5 minutes with a one minute break: that extra 30 seconds really helped me to recover.
That said, the final 7 and a half minutes were a strange kind of hell. Going into it I figured I’d drop out in shame after a lap or two, so managing to grind out 4 and a quarter laps at basically the same pace I started with was some sort of victory.
Afterwards, exhausted, I took the train home. I didn’t quite have the glow of adrenaline I get from running fast laps at the track, but at least I’d got out and run. There’s only 6 weeks until an 800m race – I guess I need to speed up.