This morning I went for my 11.27 mile run (which I haven't done since about this time last year). I did enjoy it (although it was a bit worrying that John, who only started running in September, said he was pleased that I was keeping him slow. He had another 7 miles to run after I stopped (as he'll be in the FLM), and I was thinking 'OK, I have been running for years longer than you. WHY am I so slow compared to you?'
We went to the pub for a lovely pub lunch afterwards, and it's only now, after our friends have left, that I put my time into Excel, and found that it was at 13 minutes a mile. It felt good at the time, but I now accept there is no way I could have done that marathon.
On the side, my time was faster than I managed for that route last year.
And back on the side, my bum really really hurts.
Now I'm scared about the 16 mile race I have next Sunday. Eeek!
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