Whoooah, the legs just were not in the mood today even for a slower, shorter run which I guess should be no surprise after three harder runs in a row. Either that or like Samson, I lost my strength after this mornings go faster haircut. Or not as the case turned out. I headed out along the canal path which for once was dry, running past a
couple of pubs with their beer gardens full in the long awaited summer sunshine. Having been on the wagon for four days nineteen hours and twenty seven minutes or there about, the amber nectar looked inviting. Luckily the sweat, vest, smell and lack of money meant I had no choice other than to run past. At around mile three the lactic in the legs really came to the fore and I could easily have pulled up, limping back to the office instead at - shock horror - almost eight minute mile pace. Mind you, another mile and that might have turned into eighteen minute mile pace.
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