Day 47: Threshold Torture and a Well-Earned Treat

-

A 5 AM Start and a Dreaded Run

As promised, the 5 am alarm meant I was up and out early, travelling to work in Rochester before embarking on today's threshold run. These sessions are fast becoming my least favourite, sitting somewhere between dental surgery and attempting to fold a fitted sheet on the scale of enjoyable experiences. Today’s ordeal consisted of a 17-minute hard effort, maintaining a heart rate of around 165 bpm—a challenge that never fails to make me question my life choices.

The cold weather certainly didn't help. My body, quite sensibly, did not want to get moving, but needs must. The first downhill section was where I noticed my improved fitness from the last six weeks. I wasn’t working as hard as I used to on the descent, which was a clear sign of progress—but also meant I had to adapt my route to make sure I hit the right effort level. Enter Maidstone Road, with its reliable uphill section towards The Math School. This, predictably, did the trick. My heart rate soared, my legs burned, and my lungs expressed their discontent in no uncertain terms.

The Art of Suffering (With Purpose)

Threshold runs are tough, both mentally and physically. They require a delicate balance between listening to your body and pushing through discomfort—because, let’s face it, the line between sensible training and sheer lunacy is thinner than one would like. Adjusting my route mid-run was a good call; keeping my body guessing is part of the process, even if my legs would strongly prefer a less surprising routine.

But I got through it. By the time I arrived at work, showered and marginally more human, I had a full day of teaching ahead of me—because clearly, one endurance test per day isn’t enough.

A Well-Deserved Reward

After surviving both the run and a tough school day, I decided I had earned a small beer. Sometimes it’s nice to have one, even if part of you wonders whether replacing lost fluids with something that actively dehydrates you is counterproductive. Regardless, it was a well-earned treat.

Training is ramping up now, and I can feel the intensity creeping in with each session. But as long as I keep pushing forward, I know I'll be ready when race day comes. Until then, I’ll keep running, keep suffering, and keep rewarding myself appropriately—because if you can’t bribe yourself with small indulgences, what’s even the point? 



Location: Sittingbourne, UK

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Day 117: The Countdown Begins – With Bubbles, Cable Cars and Freeze-Dried Yoghurts

-
Image
An Alarming Rest Day The first of my rest days arrived with the cheery chirp of a 6am alarm, because apparently, my brain hasn’t received the memo about the whole “rest” part. Still, there was a strange satisfaction in rising early knowing I didn’t have to pound the pavements today. That satisfaction was slightly dampened—much like the weather—by a particularly excitable pollen count. Despite the persistent drizzle, the air was clearly full of microscopic mischief. The antihistamines made their valiant appearance and were taken with gratitude and a mild grumble. A Journey Worth the Cable Car This afternoon marked one of the most exciting rituals in the London Marathon build-up: collecting my race number. It involved a drive to the O2 followed by the delightfully surreal experience of sailing across the Thames in a cable car, which felt a little bit like commuting in a Bond film if Bond wore Asics and carried a protein bar. Upon landing on the other side, the Excel centre welcomed me...
Read more

London Marathon 2025: The Final Chapter

-
Image
Morning Light and Marathon Dreams Today was the day I had been building towards for months. Every cold morning, every soaked pair of socks, every long, lonely run came down to this — London Marathon day. The alarm clock chirped far too early, but I was already half-awake, running through the plan for the day in my head. After polishing off two cinnamon and raisin bagels (because clearly one was not going to be enough) and a strong coffee, I packed up my bag of gels, SaltStick chews, and hope and we set off. The drive up to Blackheath was filled with that strange, electric mix of excitement and anxiety. My parents did their best to drop me as close to the start as they could and I waved them off with a grin that hid the fluttering nerves underneath. I made my way to the starting area, ticking off the necessary pre-race rituals — most importantly, joining the epic pilgrimage to the toilets, where I was reminded once again that there are few places in life where dignity is checked at t...
Read more

Day 30: Canterbury 10-Mile Race - A Yardstick for Progress

-
Image
The Morning Rush Sunday races always mean an early start, and today was no exception. Arriving in Canterbury at 8 am, I was immediately thrust into the trifecta of pre-race rituals: parking, collecting my race number, and navigating the inevitable toilet queue—an experience that can feel like an endurance event of its own. It was a bitterly cold morning, hovering around 2 degrees. Dressing appropriately for a race in such conditions is always a gamble: the first few minutes will chill you to your core, but once you’re moving, layers can become an unnecessary burden. After a quick, if not particularly effective, warm-up, I bumped into a friend, Ben Holliday, whose detailed analysis of local cricket diverted my attention from my frozen fingertips. Perhaps distraction really is the greatest warmth. The Race With over 1,200 participants, the start line was a jostling crowd, all shuffling for position like biscuits in a tin. The initial bunching, while slightly frustrating, provided some re...
Read more