Twelve But Barely

I'm fighting my way back to longer and longer running distances now that my cough from hell is almost, but still not quite, gone. I haven't yet signed up but I'm still working towards running the Boxing Day Ten Miler. Which means I need to get my body used to running more than 60 minutes again.

Two weeks ago I ran 10k for the first time in over a month. That was tough but ok.

Two days ago I ran 12k for the first time in about 6 weeks. That was tougher. A lot tougher.

I set out planning for 12k but willing to settle for 10k if things derailed. Based on the route I was taking, I needed to decide at 5k if I was going to head home for a total of 10k or do the extra distance to add up to 12k.

At 4k, I felt good.

At 5k, I still felt good so I headed down one more country road to add kilometres 6 and 7.

At 6k I felt ok.

At 7k I felt not so ok.

Dammit.

I faded quickly after that and my run became more of a run with walk breaks. Run 2k, walk 2 minutes. Run one more k, walk a minute. Run 500m, stop at red light (thank goodness for red lights), run 500 more metres. Breathing was laboured. I was a bit lightheaded. My ears started plugging up. Bleh.

My blood sugar behaved through the run so I couldn't blame the diabetes gods. I was 5.0 before I started. I had eaten two dates and I was 8.5 when I finished. Nothing wrong with that.

Looks like I'm still not quite back in fighting form after being real people sick.

Did I mention that being real people sick sucks?