We’re having an unseasonably warm, sunny spring day. Some forecasts predict a high of 87, about 20 degrees higher than normal for this time of the year. Add to that low humidity—this warm front has come from the southwest—and one has the essential ingredients for a perfect day.
I’ve long despaired about letting days like this go to waste: I need an excuse to get outside. Of course, yard work always awaits me, but at this time of the year, before such weather becomes routine, I’d like to enjoy a piece of the day. (I detest yard work, by the way—a consequence, I suppose, of growing up on a farm with two domineering parental units who regarded yard work as the most direct route to virtue.)
This morning I headed back down to what is becoming my usual route, the somewhat soft trail alongside Wissahickon Creek known as “Forbidden Drive” (so named because cars are not allowed). I proceeded with a little bit of trepidation: only about 18 hours had elapsed since yesterday’s exhausting run. I knew not to be surprised, then, if I had a lousy time.
To my surprise, I felt good during the first part of the run. In fact, nine minutes in I decided that I’d pick up the pace of my minute-and-a-half running segments. The first segment went well, and I could tell I was pushing myself. I decided to slow down for the next segment, and to alternate faster and slower segments thereafter. The second fast run went well, too. But by the time I started the third fast run, it became clear to me that I was proceeding more aggressively than my body could take. About 45 seconds in, I slowed down and remained at the slower pace for the rest of the runs.
Nevertheless, this strikes me as progress, however modest it may seem. Tomorrow I may try a different variation: two slow runs for every fast run.
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