Well, I woke up this morning around 5am, perfectly naturally, feeling well rested on the whole. I knew I was going to run today, of course, because it's one of those days where I get to run by myself. I find that running alone is more of a test of where you are psychologically and physically than running with a friend or group, because you set the pace yourself.
Problem was, fuckwit here didn't have a watch to take this morning. And it's probably just as well, as the course I planned to run I had mentally mapped at around 4.5 miles. Now bear in mind, since the Lake Vyrnwy half a couple of months ago, I have completely dropped my mileage through the floor, and 4.5 would be the furthest I have gone in a while.
Of course, I was wrong about the distance. Only by two miles. Which, okay, a 6.5 mile run isn't huge - but it's hard enough when you haven't run more than four on the road for two months. I'm not including Best. Run. Ever in this, because I don't know how far that was, and it wasn't on the road. My instinct says BRE was about five miles, but today proved to me it could have been more like seven, or even three... I know nothing.
So, a tough start to the day, and a four-miler on the cards for the morning, to take me to around 12 miles for the week so far - bear in mind that last week I ran around 17 miles and this week I only aimed to match that, I'm a little ahead of myself. Four tomorrow makes 16, and I still have a Sunday run to add to it. Fingers crossed I don't overdo it and hurt myself again. Nah, never happen.