Last night was club night and I was determined not to let a stubbed toe prevent me from running. 'Stubbing' may not sound like much of an injury, but it was on a very sharp, loose paving slab and resulted in a small pool of blood on a Hampstead back road. As I hobbled home, leaving half my toe blowing around north London, I feared I might not walk for a week. Let alone run. Suffice to say, 6 hours and one large plaster later, I decided to crack on. I could always drop out. But it did make the result all the more surprising.
As it was another beautifully balmy evening (and I had a career-threatening injury) I opted again for the shorter run. I do like the way running in the heat warms up the muscles and by mile 3, I actually felt quite good. In fact, I felt so good that I decided to up the pace for the final stretch. Which meant I did 4.3 miles in 39 minutes, working out at 9.04 miles/minute (pace calculator cararuns.org). Can that be correct?! If it is, then it's by far the fastest run I've done for ages. I'm delighted.
I've now made a conscious decision that future runs will be either farther or faster. I cannot do both. It's been an interesting learning curve. My headless chicken approach to training might not be pretty, but I feel it is finally becoming a bit more effective.