7:30 a.m. 6 miles slow. Probably ran about 8 min pace. Wanted to loosen up the legs for tonights 10 miler, which will include a cheeky little 4 miles at or around lactate threshold.
Was having a chat with the gaffa this morning. Asked her if she fancied doing some of the 5k races in Killarney, which are fast approaching.
'Nah,' she said, giving me one of those looks that suggest I'm pathetic. 'Why would I run 5k when my Sunday long run is 8 miles?'
I explained the whole warm up/cool down thing etc and all the race buzz stuff.
'Warm up and stretching and all that nonsense - nah, I prefer to just put on my trainers and run. I'm not into all that, 'look at me; I'm great,' stuff. Nah, you go run around the park in your shorts like some qwer old eejit, and l'll take the kids for a walk around the park.'
As she went out into the hall, she called back, 'Do you get anything ?'
'Yeah,' I said, 'I suppose, if you're in the first three you'll win something.'
'No, do you get anything for running. You know, like a medal or something?'
'I don't know,' I said, slightly bemused. 'Maybe. But why would you want a medal if you didn't win?'
She didn't answer.
6:00 p.m. 8 miles, including 4 miles warm up, 3.5 miles @ lactate threshold, 0.5 mile warm down. Disaster. Garmin played up, so I didn't get mile splits. I knew where the 3 mile mark was and hit that bang on 17 mins - A.P. 5:40, exactly what I was aiming for. I felt comfortable and decided not to up the pace but to finish off with another 5:40, that was until half a mile to go...
Felt like somebody shot me in the stomach: G.I. issues. Stopped in my tracks and did the body-popping shuffle home for the last 800m.
After I sorted out the necessaries, I told the wife what happened.
'I doubt you'll be winning any medals in Killarney, if that happens,' she said. 'That sort of thing never happens to Paula.' | 