My training schedule called for a 3-miler both Tuesday and Thursday, and even though 3 miles sounds like a drop in the bucket, hardly worth the effort, I was persuaded not to jump my mileage by two very strong arguments. One, Sunday’s knee pain; and two, Wednesday’s speed workout. Turns out, this morning my sore hips and hamstrings needed nothing more that a 3-mile recovery run at a 10:12 pace.
It always amazes me how I still return home sweaty and out of breath even when I am not putting forth an effort even near maximum. It also always amazes me the way I warm up even in 12 degree temperatures; this morning I didn’t even wear a hat and was completely toasty.
This weekend I’m looking at a 7-miler and a 14-miler–that makes 21, which definitely beats the pair of threes. (I think I’m confusing blackjack with poker. Someone help me with a better metaphor.)