I've been back at the track, early morning solo efforts in a bid to 'improve the situation'. Recent chats with James and Jim was of the nonsense that none of us are yet fit enough to return to training after our various periods of absence. If ever there is a place, format and outright successful environment for getting fit, then runclub training is it. Targeted, engaging, disciplined, yet heaven forbid we'd any of us contemplate the indignance of dropping down a group, irrespective of how we've welcomed others into our group doing the same. Need to get fit first. Ridiculous.
But there has been other running. Sunday I'd decided nothing less than a run of double digit miles would do. A mental route guided me home almost to my doorstep at 9.9 miles which had me flailing around up and down the pavement until the magic number had flipped. Not normally how I like to run, seeking some kind of numeric glory. In my head I'd also decided I couldn't shy away from Artists Lane. A modest lump by some standards, but easy to avoid and only deliberate to do as the knowing nod from the descending cyclers confirmed.
