After a couple of gentle exploratory runs I felt pretty good, though I aborted one of them a lap early because my knee began to twinge. So on Monday night I went out to run at full chat. It was 6.20 pm and I was supposed to be meeting Tony, Linda, Craig and Glynis for supper at 7.30 somewhere smart that was 20 minutes uptown. Clearly it wasn't time to dawdle.
When I ran 43m 29s for two laps of the lake circuit (9460 m) earlier this month and took 90 seconds off my previous personal best I thought that I had squeezed every drop of effort out. But running with fresh legs, lots of other runners to act as impromtu pacemakers (see that quick running guy up ahead? you've got to get level with him inside the next 1 km, etc) and the prospect of being late for supps at Rockpool all combining to spur me on...
I couldn't belive that time. I knew that I ran the first lap at a pretty high level because the split was just under 21 minutes. But my legs ached at that point and they carried on aching for the next 21 mins and 29 seconds. I really had to dig deep mentally and keep going. Now anyone who knows me would probably say that lack of self-motivation is my single biggest weakness. I'm a lazy, lazy bastard. So to push myself, even for such a short period of time, to the apparent maximum, and get another whole minute off my personal best in the process is massively satisfying.
I know you'll agree that I look appropriately smug...
Like young fauns prancing on a bright mossy forest floor we pass lightly over the shithouse performance of the England cricket team on Tuesday evening (and consequent spunking of another goodly sum) and arrive with sparkling eyes and dew drops on our noses at...
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