Yesterday I ran my furthest distance since the Death Race. 29.2 km. It was a bit of a learning experience.
It was in the mountains, and my father greatly enjoys driving slowly in the park, so he offered to support my run. It was a fairly gloomy day; very overcast, chilly, and occasional sprinkles. Not great for enjoying summer, but fairly good for a run. This was a similar route to every previous run I’ve done in the mountains, but was going to be shorter; initially only planned to be 30 km. We started just off Bragg Creek and went west.
I had walkie-talkies from the Death Race and they allowed me to communicate with my father instead of yelling across the highway. So I had conversation most of the way. We also had Harry the dog in the car, and he went fairly berserk on seeing me running next to the car. After half an hour, we put him on a leash and made him run with me for ten minutes. That quieted him down for awhile. It took another ten minute run later to truly shut him up.
Actually he was pulling me for most of the run. I kept having to tell him to slow down. I think this dog finds it easier to run than walk; he seems more tired after a long walk than a hard run.
Anyway, because this run was shorter than the usual ones into the mountains, I didn’t do the usual training option. In other words, I ran up hills instead of walking. Did I say hills? I meant mountains. I ran through clouds. (They’re cold.)
The learning experience though was in the recovery. I didn’t respect the distance. So after the run, I didn’t do much special. I forgot that I had burned way too many calories and I needed food. But I just ate a regular amount. It took 24 hours for me to eventually figure out that the reason I was feeling under the weather was not because I had caught pneumonia, but that I was hungry. I don’t really notice hunger anymore. That’s probably not safe.