This morning Rhiannon and I stepped out for a run in Salcombe. If you know Salcombe, you'll know that it's on the side of a hill, leading down to a natural harbour - we're staying in a newly built holiday cottage at the top of that hill.
One of the rules of barefoot running, as a newbie, is that you avoid hills for as long as possible. The whole activity puts enough stress on your calves without the added burden of a steep incline. So you stay flat, and soft if you can manage it. But this morning that option wasn't really open to us. So, instead, we had to find the flattest looking stretch of road that we could, running back and forth on it in 400m sections. We'd run one together, Rhiannon would rest while I did another, and then we'd run again. That way she completed 0.75miles and I was able (with a little extra) to get my 2.15miles in.
I supposed it's not unlike what we do on club nights sometimes, finding a flat bit of road and doing 400m reps on it. But, once again, it feels like training, not running. I miss running.
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