I sweet talked Henri into a run today. It was 84 degrees. I didn't want to go either, but I knew we both needed it. He tried to lay down and refuse to go. That's where the promises start. "You can stop when you need to." "We'll eat dinner when we get home." "We'll just run a mile." Then we ran three miles.
It was fine. Honestly, I have been sore since I ran my one mile streak run on Sunday. I don't know if it's half-marathon soreness that didn't get activated until that one mile. I don't know if it was the new strength training that I started on Monday. The point is, I was perfectly fine taking it a little slower in the heat to be able to run with my boy and shake out my muscles. Of course I kept an eye on Henri and would have stopped if he seemed to be struggling. We stopped frequently enough and he rolled in the grass to cool off. He didn't want to stay there though. Must have been the promise of dinner waiting at home!
I was doing a little math - because running is all about the math - and I ran 110 miles in April. Only 44 of them were with Henri due to the rising temperatures, half-marathon training and my little one mile warm-up runs that I don't always take him on. That's a lot of miles though. I know a lot of people run many many more, but that's a record for me. I ran 34 miles last week alone. Yeah, that probably explains the way I felt running the half-marathon. And maybe my soreness now. Maybe.
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