Went for an hour or so's run yesterday, over the hilly hills of South Devon, where my conveniently placed parents live. It was beautiful down by the river Avon, babbling water, green fields, the possibility of otters (the merest possibility is enough for me: they hide well you know). Dragonflies as big as your arm. All of this served as some distraction from the horrible discomfort of running, which as an owner of a wonky pelvis and tight Ilio-tibeal band is somewhat of a trial. But really it is the best get-fit-quick way of helping that top end of zone fitness bit (I could almost be a coach me, if I had only listened in physiology.)
I have a tendency when cycling to be the fitness equivalent of a trusty diesel 4 by 4 rather than a race-tuned hot hatch (as it were). I can truck on quite happily with my pulse jammed on 135 all day long, but deathly slowly. I want to get me some of them fast legs, and I'm afraid that that involves if not a brush with the Hurt Locker, then at least the Substantial Discomfort Locker. This is not a particular problem with the comedy Postman Pat style hills around Kingsbridge. There is no down without an up (and a down, and another up, and a down: and repeat).
Anyhoo. My leggies hurt today- inner thighs believe it or not, as opposed to knees, which I take to be a good thing, and I shall be bringing it up with @markjohnpilates. Who is an actual minor deity of musculoskeletal advice and chicken anecdotes.
More cycling later this week, hopefully with some other girlies. If not, I shall be hitting the road (hopefully just metaphorically) on Thursday.