Another day, another 4 miles — this one at an 8:21 pace.
It felt okay, but my max heart rate crept above my target zone, and my average HR was several beats higher than it was on a similar run last Friday.
I’m probably still carrying some fatigue from the weekend, but I’m also slipping back into a pattern I know too well: running my easy days too fast. Just a few weeks ago, my target pace for base runs was around 9:20, and I was usually landing somewhere between 8:45–8:55. Now, with some recent fitness gains, that target pace has shifted to 8:55 — yet I'm cruising in the 8:20s.
Sure, it still feels relatively easy, but I can feel the fatigue accumulating. My watch keeps pushing recovery suggestions, which leads to shorter runs — when what I should be doing is slowing down, staying patient, and gradually building mileage. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow’s scheduled workout ends up downgraded to a short base run.
I keep letting my ego and self-doubt creep in.
Deep down, I know that slowing down and focusing on volume is what my body needs right now. I proved that to myself back in July when I finally committed to easy effort running — and the gains were real and tangible. But when I’m out there in the moment, it’s hard not to chase that lower pace. Sometimes I think I’m just trying to prove to myself that the progress I’ve made lately isn’t a fluke.
And then there’s the monthly average pace. It’s a silly number, objectively meaningless in the bigger picture of training — but watching it drop still gives me a weird sense of achievement... Especially right now, when I don’t have any short-term race goals on the calendar.
Still, I know better.
If I want to keep improving — sustainably, without injury or burnout — I have to trust the process. I have to run slower, even when I don’t want to. Because in the end, it’s not the daily pace that defines progress — it’s the consistency, the mileage, and the willingness to play the long game.
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