I need to invest in a Garmin. Or some other tool that measures my pace.
Last night's club run was slightly painful, which came as a bit of a shock because I was excited about going. For some wholly misguided reason, I imagined my enthusiasm would translate into an elegant gazelle-like canter around Hyde Park. Unfortunately, it was more Gollum than Bambi; all stitchy and hunched up. And it took a glacial 17 minutes to get into my stride. In the pub after, as I inhaled a lovely ham, egg and chips, it was generally agreed I must have been hungry. My empty tum had not been up to the job. No fuel. This seemed fair.
It was only when I got home and did my usual running maths (4.3 miles in 38.31 minutes) that I realized it was simple. I was running faster than normal. I can't believe this comes as a surprise, week in, week out. It didn't feel any faster. The park wasn't a blur of trees and squirrels all leaping out of my speedy way. It felt like the same pace as usual, only it hurt more. So the great news is, I did an 8.54 minute/mile. Which is my fastest yet. And which is also why I think I need a Garmin. Or maybe a pacemaker to run beside me and deliver regular reports. And give me a post-run foot massage. That would be good.
(Pic: Hyde Park last Friday. Thankfully, much quieter last night.)
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