Some runs are hard.
Sometimes you can predict which its going to be, either by distance or training plan or even how you feel starting out.
And sometimes you can't.
But worth repeating.
Last week, I had a wonderful run. Which I went into with no expectations for speed or even distance, but both were respectable. And more than that, it just felt easy.
I fully expected tonight's short run to be miserable. I'm attempting to fight off the bug that seems to be felling my friends, and I've definitely been a little under the weather. In fact, I skipped Monday's run because I just felt fatigued and I hadn't given my body a full rest day in two weeks. So Monday was just my usual bike commute and a nice stroll with El Bandito.
Since I'd skipped Monday's run, I didn't want to skip tonight. And I am the woman who claims to believe trapeze cures the common cold.** However, I expected it to be hard.
And ... it wasn't, really. My breathing was more labored than I'd hoped. My legs felt slightly leaden, and all I really wanted was to flop on the sofa with a book.
And then it was done. And it wasn't so bad. I certainly didn't feel any sicker than when I left the house.
There will be more hard runs, I'm sure. And more easy ones. And eventually, as the ankle gets stronger again, longer ones.
and now, with footnotes!
* I've never actually had this happen to me, but I love the lyric and it seemed like a good title. And I've certainly had days like that, metaphorically.
** Actually, I'm far too much of a scientist to really believe that. But I claim it anyway whenever I'm ailing and El Bandito questions my intelligence when I go to the circus gym anyway.