Speed: lacking. Stamina: lacking. Sweat: abundant.

That’s practically the size of it. Tuesday’s run was 9:30 min/mile. Today, 9:39 min/mile. The first mile was a 10 min/mile. By comparison, my marathon pace was 9:09 min/mile. My best half pace is 8:30 ish, and my best 10k pace 8:10. I did a 7:45 min/mile not so long ago. Aye me. We were not feeling the running love in the dark and dank. Oh no. It got a bit faster, but not dramatically so. And, unlike Tuesday, the tigers were in hiding. 

Still. It takes time to recover from being ill. So, I can’t get too het up about it. Well. I can. I can do almost anything. However, I shouldn’t get too het up about it. It doesn’t help. 

Last night we went to see a recording of John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme, which was nicely funny. Tonight it’s football. Tomorrow I’m back to earth. A parents’ meeting for the next Guiding Trip (Kip on a Ship, a sleepover on HMS Belfast). I get to visit “my” Guides, which is lovely. I’ve missed the other parents’ meetings, owing to being ill. Oddly, the BBC felt the need to confiscate not just my Swiss Army card, but my Acme Thunderer whistle. And some people’s forks. But not the spoons I had in my bag. Not my ceramic soup bowl. I cannot fathom the logic involved. 

And then a half marathon on Saturday. Which is going to involve some walking, and will be lovely. 

Xxx

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