It is a failing of me as a runner that I undervalue my runs in single digit miles. The cumulative stress of those runs really does matter. That is one of the lessons from this spring.
The sun was just clearing the treetops when I arrived at Buddy Attic this morning. Its glare lit up the steam from the lake. The water was smoking in the chill night air. The scene was surreal. No details of lake and tree line were visible. The mist glowed and everything in it was a dark gray shadow. I began my run.
On the fourth lap of the 1.25 mile trail around the lake, I was joined by a young woman introduced by a mutual friend. I'd guess she's in her 30s now, but she retains that light, gliding, stride you see in talented high school and collegiate runners. She slowed significantly to chat with me in a thick Central or South American accent. I seldom run with others on my long runs, but it was truly pleasant to hear of her competitive running past, how she balances being a mother of 3 and running, and how she dislikes doing long runs alone. On the other hand, I was pretty quiet. She taxed me, inadvertently causing me to run just a little faster than I had planned.
Completing the eighth lap, I was done for the day. My slow, gentle, comeback to marathon training continues.
10 miles today; 22 on the week.