It seems that Thursdays are the day I try to run fast. If I look back at my fastest 5k times in the modern era, it appears I’ve picked Thursday as the day to give it a go at beating that time. Nora’s training plan was for three miles today, so that meant 3.1 for me. And I was rearing (raring?) to go.
At mile one, I was much faster than any previous single mile (ME), and though mile two was a little slower than that, it was still a top-three time. All I needed to do was around a nine-minute mile to finish, and I was set.
That’s when something weird happened. I looked down at my watch to see what my current pace was, and it was restarting. Mid run. Restarting.
As it turns out, the run to that point was not lost, but the dream of setting a new PR died.
I want to play it up. Claim I’m devastated by this unfortunate turn of events. But I can’t.
True to form, I’ve nearly forgotten the experience already. I’ve moved on to thinking about homemade fat-free ice cream and Celtics basketball.
Oh, and this post kinda sucks.