January 2014

So January, then. One run. Sixty minutes, 8.4 kilometres, and a pace that suggests I was either taking in the scenery or seriously reconsidering my life choices somewhere around the 5km mark. To be fair to myself, getting out at all in January in the UK requires a level of motivation that I'm not entirely sure I possess, so the fact that I laced up once and shuffled through a morning run is, I'm choosing to believe, a moral victory of sorts.

So compared to December, when I somehow managed five runs covering 37 kilometres and even picked up five personal records (which tells you more about how low the bar was set than any dramatic improvement in fitness), January was, let's say, a consolidation phase. The consolidation being of the sofa, mainly. The shorter days, the cold, the general grim relentlessness of a British January — all perfectly reasonable excuses, and I'm sticking with every one of them. The honest truth is that one session in a month isn't a foundation you can build much on, so February is going to need to be a rather different story if I'm not going to find myself standing at the start of something in the spring, quietly panicking.

Summary generated by Claude