It’s been a hot day.
The hottest ever in the UK. It’s a day to stay indoors, to drink iced water in a shady corner. Outside, temperatures soar. It’s reported, not so far away, to exceed 40°c. Mr A’s old thermometer, an inheritance from his Grandad, pushes towards the dizzy heights of 100°f.
The climate emergency feels real. Air conditioned spaces feel comfortable. It’s a mixed blessing, the cooling units are part of the problem. It’s not a record we hoped to see.
It’s not a day for running.
Half a week ago it seemed easy to say yes to running ten miles in mid-October. Two weeks ago, I watched endurance runners battle on to 100 miles and more around a five mile loop. We camped, with two daughters and two grand-daughters: their dad began to run at lunchtime, kept running through the night.
My target’s just a tenth of his. There’s 3 months left to train. With 3 miles back in my comfort zone, 10 miles sounds like a possible challenge. Place secured, I planned to make a plan. Thirteen weeks to go. It can’t be that hard to gear up my running and put in the extra miles.
I started a training spreadsheet, opened my diary in search of uncommitted time. It will be neither easy nor impossible. There’s time to make a plan, break it, struggle round the route. The plan is simple: run further, not faster; prioritise the headspace; enjoy the running me-time.
#thisgrannyruns is back. Or will be, once the temperature falls.