Day 57: Overcoming Tired Legs and Stockers Hill

The Reluctant Start

Some days, stepping out the door for a run is an act of sheer enthusiasm. Today was not one of those days. The lingering effects of yesterday’s double threshold session clung to me like an overenthusiastic relative at a family reunion. My legs, in particular, were staging a quiet protest, demonstrating all the flexibility and responsiveness of a pair of ancient oak trees. It took until the afternoon before the rest of me joined in on the idea that running was, in fact, happening.

The Stockers Hill Question

The plan for today was a 55-minute base run, and I set off towards Highsted Valley with the vague notion of letting the route decide itself. Of course, this meant that the route, being a fickle and slightly malevolent entity, led me to the bottom of Stockers Hill. At this point, the sensible thing to do would have been to turn around and choose a gentler incline. Naturally, I did not do the sensible thing.

Stockers Hill is one of those climbs that seems to stretch both time and space, where every step forward feels like it might be your last. Somewhere near the top, I began to suspect that I had accidentally entered a different climate zone. Nevertheless, I reached the summit through a combination of stubbornness, momentum, and a deep-seated refusal to be defeated by geography.

The Home Stretch and a Well-Earned Reward

From there, the run wound through Rodmersham, past the ever-tempting Fruiterers Arms, which whispered persuasive arguments about the benefits of hydration and along the country road towards Bapchild. The initial heaviness that had made the start so unappealing gradually faded, and I found a steady rhythm. Despite my earlier misgivings, my legs carried me without complaint, which I took as a reassuring sign that they have finally accepted their fate.

The true highlight of the day, however, was the post-run reward. This evening, the unmistakable aroma of a Bakewell tart in the oven greeted us. There are few greater motivators in life than the promise of something warm, sweet and served with custard. Stockers Hill may have put up a fight, but in the end, I was the one sitting down with dessert. A victory by any measure.