I thought I was running fast today, but the watch told the real story: 6 miles in 50:37, or 8:26 per mile. Patience, winter running is about patience. And getting slower.
This one actually went pretty well, probably because I didn't push myself very hard. A columnist in the current issue of Runner's World says keep up the hard stuff, even if you can't get to a track, or do races. I've never liked doing workouts this time of year, because I seem to have trouble with seasonal asthma, and I get exhausted to the point where I leave myself susceptible to colds.
I did manage to elevate my heart rate briefly, when I had to hop onto an unshoveled sidewalk, to avoid a numbnuts driver who wouldn't give me enough space on the road. I was back on the hardpacked snow thirty yards later, having approximated the gait of two people in a three-legged race. I cursed the driver, and the dipshit who didn't clear the sidewalk. Rage expressed and released, I shuffled on in search of blissful exhaustion.
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