For the first time, I ran wearing gloves. It turned out to be a smart move and definitely helped keep me on the road for longer. I managed 13-14 laps of the park (lost count somewhere around ten), before the sun finally set and I was forced to take it on the road for a long loop home. May have bitten off more than I could chew on the final stretch - the long red line between seven miles and the hard left bend is all uphill. But Billy Big-Balls here said, No, I'm a marathon runner, I can make it up a poxy hill. Had to walk the last hundred metres or so up that damned incline before I could get my breath back and recover. But eight miles in the cold and the dark is pretty dang good. I'm planning to change up my schedule and run on Saturday instead of tomorrow, to give myself a chance to do something different.
Since taking up serious (if what I do can be called serious) running three times a week, I've been neglecting my usual HIIT workouts at home. To remedy this, I've decided to add a short core-oriented workout to Tuesday and Thursday evenings as a way of boosting my body to be able to absorb the punishment of ninety-plus minutes' continuous running.
My first session was Tuesday and I'm already feeling new kind of pain today. Instead of that constant, dull back ache, my stomach muscles seem to be in revolt. You know how your stomach clenches and spasms after you're violently sick and can't throw up anymore? Yeah, that's what I'm feeling today. That probably means it's working and I need to keep going. I'm sure that's exactly the best course of action.
Funny story from yesterday's run:
I have a slight phobia of dogs (maybe I'll talk about it some time), and the park where I run is a very popular destination for dog walkers. I spend a lot of my running time fleeing in terror or dodging curious canines. It's probably hilarious to anybody watching, but I really don't like dogs. I don't care how small, cute, or friendly. I'm afraid of them.
So yesterday I was nearing the end of my laps. The light was fading fast. No moon in the cloud-strewn sky. My mind was on other matters - where to run once the light disappeared completely, what I'm eating later, etc - and I near one particular stretch of the park. This part of my lap was mostly in darkness; thick tree branches hung overhead, casting deep, impenetrable shadows over the path; to my left was a high stone wall; to my right, a hedge about six feet high. It's like the Death Star trench.
Just as I was about to enter this part of the lap, a black dog emerged from the gloom, blocking my path. Around its neck was a flashing collar composed of red LED lights that illuminated part of the dog's face - namely its grinning, sneering, toothy snout.
Imagine that for a moment. Pretend you're running in the oncoming darkness. Pretend you're afraid of dogs. Pretend you're about to enter the darkest part of your lap. Imagine that a dog steps out in front of you, looking like the exact description of the Hound of the Baskervilles:
I have never been more terrified in my life. It didn't matter that the dog was smaller than my shin bone. It didn't matter that the dog's owners were right behind. It didn't matter that I probably could have taken that animal in a fair fight. All I saw was a four-legged demon.
So what did I do? Aside from damn near soiling myself, I made a kind of high-pitched, Yeep noise and ran past it, ready to take a swing if it turned in my direction. Luckily the beast's appetite for human flesh was sated at that particular moment; it chose to let me escape in peace.
That was when I decided to get the hell out of the park and finish my run on the road.
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