Day 108 Tuesday 17th April 4.3 miles : miles to date 724.4 This running lark can hurt sometimes. I am trying to find a balance between training for around a 78-80 mile fun run next month (its not a race and I'm doing it with my mates for a laugh), with retaining some speed in the legs, speed being a relative term of course. Training for the last two hundred mile races, has seen me develop buckets loads of endurance with my miles per minute pace dropping to a dawdle. Given my sixteen week fast marathon plan starts 3 weeks after the JB run, I am trying to build in some pre training schedule speed work so that I am not starting from a point too far behind where I need to be. That's why I now find myself tagging onto the back of the fast group on Tuesday club speed sessions as I did tonight, despite the coach Richard Jones clearly wanting to point out that I was in the wrong group. Luckily for me, he asked Jeremy Lewis to lead the middle group and when he said he was going with the faster one, then asked him if he would like a map to find his way back. I tried to avoid his eye at this point for fear of a similar put down. Quite frankly, I have decided to go for more of the I am going to throw up feeling. For most ultra-teers, that is not a normal experience. Tiredness, lethargy, blisters, lost toenails and a difficulty in standing after checkpoints are the norm, not watch out its chunder time. I have had a major attitude transplant. To be able to run fast, you have to train fast, albeit I gather you tend to keep more toenails so there is a hidden benefit. Tonight's session was run hard for three minutes, 90 seconds recovery and then back again. After another brief break, repeat two more times on what was a hilly cross country course. The legs were burning by the fifth outward effort, by which time I was around the middle of the group at the final rest point. We turned and came back for the final lung burning uphill leg, where I caught and passed a few of the lads. I then found myself leading the fast group back for what seemed like an eternity but what was probably thirty seconds. The pressure was immense as I strode on knowing the whippets would soon be shooting past, having started their effort further away. I tired to ignore the gagging feeling rising from the depths of my stomach and the screams in my head to stop, telling myself I was having fun and I wanted to get faster. Sure enough, a number did go past but that's not the point. I ran as hard as I could for those final few efforts and the reality is I just would not have done that if I had not been at a running club speed session. Unless I am racing a rower or a bus, neither of which were on hand in Ampthill Park. Go figure?