on a crisp, clear day.
Helen and I (and Brown Dog) drove over to Brecon for a run up the mountains. We ran a figure of eight loop. From the car park it was one steady climb to Pen-y-Fan then down a ways before heading up Cribyn before down to the saddle and back up Pen-y-fan and then - thankfully, oh, yes, mercifully so - back down to the car.
By the time I got to Cribyn my legs were shot. A bloke at the top said, in a cheery voice, "If your with that woman who's running, she's two minutes ahead" - yeah, cheers mate.
By the end I was down to impulse engines. The legs had nothing. It was only eight miles in distance but bloody hell did it ever feel like more. I suppose there was 4,000 feet of ascent so that counts for the equivalent of another four but flippin' heck, it felt like twenty. I am sadly far from my best. I know things have been improving, but I still have a long way to go. Still, it's been a goods weeks training all in all. Not ready for the Hogweed Half Marathon next Sunday but I'll do my best...
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