What doesn't kill you makes you _______?

A. ….suffer.

B. ….wish it had.

C. …. want to take up stamp collecting instead.

With stiff legs, I joined AIK for Thursday's intervals on the indoor track. I say ”stiff” and not ”paralysed”, because I could, in fact, move them, albeit in a manner that suggested that I had a bullet lodged in each of my calves, or had my butt bitten by a rabid hyena.

I knew. I knew what was on schedule. I knew because a little bird had told me last Monday. 20 fifty second intervals, with 20 seconds jog in between. ”Short intervals, yey!”, I thought, and was completely convinced I loved the idea. 

It wasn't the first time my legs and I weren't in agreement. From the get go, my left thigh complained that I was asking it to work too hard. About half way, my stomach joined the whining chorus, because misery loves company and my thigh was very miserable indeed. I tried to ignore them, but they only whined louder. I gave up the fight slowly and reluctantly, and dropped my speed. Our coach shouted that we had to run at race pace or faster, but I just couldn't. Monday's tough session had taken its toll on me.

You can't say I didn't work hard

When the intervals were over, we had a chance to catch our breath. Then it was time for some relay training. In teams of three, we took turns sprinting 100 metres before handing over an imaginary baton to one of our team mates.

What a difference that made. Was it the knowledge that it was a shorter stretch? Was it the competition element? I don't know. But suddenly I was running tall, with long, controlled strides, and – as far as I could tell at that moment – fast. We each ran 4 such 100 metre intervals. Both I and my legs loved it.

Now I just hope every part of my body has recuperated enough before tomorrow's long run, when new adventures await.