Three miles can feel as hard as 13
It took me a while to grasp this. There’s a three mile loop around Battersea Park in south London. A pleasant trot along the Thames, taking in Battersea Bridge; lovely, sparkly Albert Bridge; a few trees; some nice green space. I hated it.
Somehow, that loop felt ridiculously hard, and it was made all the harder by a swelling sense of panic that I couldn’t manage a mere five kilometres. And yet eight miles, 15 miles, 20 miles were all possible. Sometimes they were difficult, sometimes they were brilliant. I learned not to berate myself on the shorter runs, and to keep adding too, or switching, the distance. Mentally, it doesn’t seem to make much difference.
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