Seeing as I’m without a pedometer, I have been guessing my mileage by time. I’ve been assuming a slow pace to be 12 minutes a mile. Guess not. Today, when I was done running, I went to the car and traced out the route. Instead of 3.5 miles, I’d done 3.1 in just under 40 minutes. Whoopsy. That’s a little slow, even for slow me.
I think I’ll give the treadmill a whirl at lunchtime and get a better feel for a 12 or 11 minute pace.
Not that I’m complaining. I ran down by the Merrimack River, where all the wooden sailboats are in the water, where loons dive like calligraphy to find fish. I ran through the tiniest little park called Deer Island, which was more like woods where kids can go drink, if I used my amateur archaeology skills correctly.
But as I say every morning, I came out here and did it. I moved forward. I threw a few more miles on the woodpile towards my overall training goals. And, I felt just as good at 40 minutes as I did at 20 minutes, and definitely better than the first 18 or so. Distance runner? Me? Looking that way.