Last night I decided to do the shorter run of the week, a 50 minute one. I went over the bridge and back to get some additional practice with the incline. The bridge was part of our route on Sunday morning, and it went OK so I hoped I could do it again.
As I set out, I felt butterflies. The last time I ran the bridge on my own, it was a disaster. I got about a quarter of the way up the incline, then had to walk to the middle. It was exhausting and frustrating and demoralizing. This run, though, was a huge improvement. I ran over, along Brunswick, and back without needing intervals and without having to slow down on the uphills.
It seems impossible that I am a person who can run 7km as “the short run” of the week. 5km has always been my upper limit, but that self-imposed ceiling seems to be gone for good now.