Day 33: Anaerobic Ascent and a Bridge to the Dark Side

A Test of Speed and Sanity

As promised, today’s training took a significant upward turn—both in effort and in sheer stubbornness. It was time to shake things up with an anaerobic-focused run, stretching to a full hour. Nothing says ‘commitment’ like voluntarily gasping for breath before sunrise.

After a thorough warm-up, I launched into the main event: seven one-minute intervals at a blistering 4:30 min/km pace. For those unfamiliar with this kind of suffering, that’s about a minute per kilometre faster than my usual 10k pace—so, essentially, the sort of speed that makes your legs file an official complaint with the management. Recovery periods of three minutes in between allowed my heart rate to return to something vaguely human while lactic acid was politely escorted from my muscles. This high-speed torture is proving invaluable for improving my top-end pace, even if it occasionally makes me reconsider all my life choices.

Into the Darkness, Literally

With the run stretching longer, it was time to venture onto one of my extended routes near work. After breezing (read: huffing) through Borstal, I reached the Medway Bridge footpath, a familiar stretch—but never this early. Running alongside the M2 morning traffic gave me a new appreciation for the speed of vehicles, mainly because I briefly wondered if I could hitch a ride.

The bridge itself is well-lit, which is comforting. The entrances and exits, however, are where the universe decided to test my bravery. I was abruptly plunged into pitch black at both ends, an experience that felt less like marathon training and more like an audition for a particularly low-budget horror film. But I emerged unscathed, having only mildly terrified myself and possibly a passing cyclist.

Once safely across, I descended into Strood before returning over the Medway via the historic Rochester Bridge. One of my recovery periods coincided with a perfect vantage point of Rochester Castle, standing majestically on the opposite bank. A small reward for the effort—though my legs remained unconvinced.

The Road to Madness (and The Math School)

The final stretch led me past Rochester Cathedral and up the unforgiving Maidstone Road hill. It’s a tough climb at the best of times, but with tired legs, it feels rather like scaling a mountain in lead boots. Still, there’s something deeply satisfying about conquering a hill at the end of a session—like winning a small but significant battle against gravity.

This marks my first weekday run clocking over an hour, a feat made possible by a 5 am wake-up. I suspect there are many more of these early mornings ahead if I want to fit in all my training. Sleep, after all, is for people who don’t have a marathon to run—or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself until the hallucinations start.