The Rule of Thirds

FlameThird run, third week, and by my calculations, that makes me a third of the way through the Couch to 5K! Go me!

Today’s run was unexpectedly hard — harder than Saturday’s, oddly, considering I was quite knackered on Saturday. I suppose I’ve not had a real, proper rest day for my legs: on Friday I walked about ten miles, on Saturday I ran, and yesterday I walked for about six miles.

I suppose it’s not unexpected that I was a bit weary on my feet today, then — especially as I set out running just after I’d walked another couple of miles home from work, including up Park Street, which you’ll know is Really Quite Steep, if you’ve ever been to Bristol!

Luckily, my Tangerine-generated playlist saved me. While I’ve not quite got the hang of the right tempo to ask it to generate for my running — today’s playlist was a bit on the slow side — it did serve me up with The Violent Femme’s I’m Bad at exactly the right moment, which powered me through the last run, even though a chunk of it was uphill.

I’m definitely going to take it easy for the next couple of days, and let everything recover. I’ll be taking the boat to work, and generally chilling out in the evenings. Hopefully I’ll be prepared for the start of week four, then, on Thursday. And hopefully the weather will hold!

Today’s picture is from Friday morning’s dawn launch at the Balloon Fiesta (which was the main reason for the majority of my walking over the weekend.) You can see the other photos from Friday morning here.

2 thoughts on “The Rule of Thirds”

  1. That’s a big flame!

    Would you put a flame like that in to a fabulously inconsequential silken bag that’s all that stands between you and a (fire enhanced) plunge to death?

    I suppose I would too, but it looks really unlikely to work!

  2. No kidding. I can see why that guy was wearing gloves. On the other hand, I can’t see why he wasn’t wearing an asbestos suit and preferably standing in a different field.

    And you forgot about the bit where the only _other_ thing standing in the way between you and a fiery plunge to certain death is… a laundry hamper.

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