Even by my extremely low standards, last week was not a great week in my world of quinquagenarian, repetitive, borderline autistic, outdoor fitness micro-adventures. Between multiple days of extreme cold and one day of bad luck trying to get to the trails, I found myself on the treadmill in the basement three times last week, including before the football started on Saturday morning. That’s three more times than I wanted.
With that said, my winter beer belly recently informed me that I needed to get back to running and high-intensity heart rate Zone 3 and 4-type shit, so I guess it wasn’t all bad. After a month or so of slow, wintry slogs, it felt good to see my heart rate hitting 160 or more during my intervals. And I didn’t stroke out and get shot off the back of the treadmill like a belt-propelled fatty turd, so that’s a bonus.
