Day 74 – Threshold Run Trudge
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The Burning Cold It was back to the grind this morning with the dreaded threshold run. The air still carried that late-winter bite, the kind that burns the lungs on the way in and somehow manages to do it again on the way out, just for good measure. There is something uniquely unpleasant about cold air at this time of year—it has all the crispness of a bright spring morning but none of the warmth to go with it. Every breath felt like inhaling liquid nitrogen while my legs did their best impression of reluctant statues. As I descended Shorts Way down to the Rochester Esplanade, I had to work hard to keep my heart rate up, which is ironic, considering how eagerly it tries to spike when I see the alarm clock in the morning. At this hour, my body is deeply offended by the concept of speed. Every fibre of my being clings to the idea that nothing should move quickly before the sun has made a proper appearance. But marathon training doesn’t care for such sensibilities, so I pushed on, lungs b...