I had this grand plan about ramping up my mileage for spring.
Not that it was an orginal plan. Same plan as every year, in fact. Arguably, not so much a plan as a routine.
Each year around this time I’ve been “streaking” — but in the running, way, as in trying to run a minimum distance each day. Setting a running streak. Three weeks or maybe even a month of consecutive running. Kicking off April first with a daily challenge to myself to say, um, how many days can I lace up in a row? What kind of distance can I chalk up? How often do I want to do sports laundry this month?
But then I got sick.
Perfectly, poorly-timed, sick. April first, just as we got back from a mini-vacay to the coast, I got off the plane with a chest cold of the kind where running seems to make it worse.
How does that go again? Neck up, run about. Neck down, rest it out.
This was a neck down cold. Chest coughy-phlegmy-x-ray-worthy sick.
I’m like 97% better. And better enough to do some short, slower runs with the crew now that spring is in full swing. Not better enough to attempt that streak, yet.
We ran our regular Thursday meet up last night and slogged off a six klick semi-trail run through the trying-to-bud-out tree canopy, the light and shadows playing with our senses in that way that only happens in the shoulder seasons. I wore shorts, and only had one coughing fit. I guess that’s a good thing.