Random Photo of My Beautiful City |
You’d think by now I’d have this down. At this point in my running life, it’s not like the concept or execution of a good threshold run is difficult. How many of these things have I done? And yet, and yet... it’s the same old thing: I go out too fast, exceed my threshold, leak too much evil lactic juice into my system, and die.
The frustrating thing, though, is that “going out too fast”
was actually slower than I expected. Here’s the tale of my 8k flop by the
numbers (k splits): 3:44, 3:39, 3:44, 3:35, 3:47, 3:51, 3:43, 3:52. The back
half hurt. Part of my problem is that I never seem to be able to adjust for the
heat (29 with the humidex) and the terrain (quite hilly on Waverly Rd.) – and I
always have this pie in the sky idea that, all of a sudden, I’m going to be the
fittest ever.
Never happens.
Oh well. No injury, no biggie. I’ll just recover and then
try again on Sat to find where my threshold is these days.
As for the march toward Toronto, I’m on my own for about a
week. Alex is now in Cork, Ireland attending the Cork International Short Story
Festival where they hand out the Frank O’Connor Short Story Award.
It’s a big
deal – it’s given to the best collection of short stories in English on the
planet. Alex is one of the five finalists this year. Go running buddy!
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