Running has broken me and the only way I can think to fix myself is to go running. Somewhere there has to be a village hall with people like me all satin a circle telling about how they first became addicted and applauding each other about how many days they have managed to go without a run. I've managed a day and a half. Cold turkey just isn't working. I need my fix, I tried walking earlier today but it just didn't give me a strong enough hit.
Today’s stats, sponsored by Garmin, Berocca and the pizza I really shouldn’t have eaten just before I went out, show that I dragged myself around the block for 2.54 miles of self induced torture. That I can safely say was one of the worst runs I've ever had. And the training had been going so well.
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| With my sister Clare (right) and my wife Bernie. The smiles hide the pre race nerves |
I always knew it was going to be like this, no matter how many times I told myself the race at the weekend was just another run, another training session, it was all self delusion.
Come on, along with 12 000 others I was able to race against Mo Farah, a whole host of Kenyans and a field of elite athletes in a world championship race. How could I not give it my all? No matter how many times I told myself it was another training run, another step towards the marathon, I was always going to destroy myself and go for that PB.
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| I got to race this man....well I got to start in the same race. |
In the week leading up to the race I hadn’t felt great. I was feeling tired and struggling to get enough sleep. To top it off I had another of those annoying winter colds, the ones that do the rounds of the office every few weeks. The night before I had passed out on the sofa and then gone to bed early. It made me think twice about how hard I should run.
Adrenaline though is a wonderful thing. Gradually throughout the morning it worked its magic and by the time I was herded into the start pen I didn’t feel too bad. Actually I felt quite up for it. Who cared if it was windy and raining, I was going for it. For (hopefully a little under) an hour and a half nothing else mattered. It was just me and the run. Screw the Marathon and the idea of taking it easy. Who cares if this race means I will struggle to walk for half a week after.
Adrenaline though is a wonderful thing. Gradually throughout the morning it worked its magic and by the time I was herded into the start pen I didn’t feel too bad. Actually I felt quite up for it. Who cared if it was windy and raining, I was going for it. For (hopefully a little under) an hour and a half nothing else mattered. It was just me and the run. Screw the Marathon and the idea of taking it easy. Who cares if this race means I will struggle to walk for half a week after.
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| Just a couple of people from my running club CDF Runners |
The gun went and even though the first few miles were into the wind I still felt good. The nerves, the tension, the tiredness and the cold disappeared. I found my place in the pack and slipped into the hypnotic rhythm that a long run can bring. The competitive instinct took over. There was no way I was losing the group ahead, I would constantly glance at my watch to check I was on pace. That pace had suddenly been upgraded, from the 1.25 I told everyone to 1.24, a 1.23 or maybe even 1.22. This was the time I had written down on my entry to give myself a challenge. The time I had in mind before the Marathon had taken over.
Apart from keeping to my time I’m not sure what I thought about during the run. I love racing like this, the days when you feel almost detached from the world around you. To race feels like walking a tightrope, too fast and you will loose control and blow up before the end, too slow and that time, the all important time will slip away from you. It’s a constant challenge to walk this tightrope, to keep your balance. Running like this is when I feel most alive, my senses are heightened telling me every little thing my body is going through. The smallest changes in pace make a difference, occasionally I can feel my breath getting out of control and I have to back off slightly. Every now and then I see a familiar face beside the course cheering me on, bringing me back from my daze into the real world for a few seconds.
It had been going well. I hadn’t really noticed the weather people had been talking about. That all changed at mile nine when we were hit by the mother of all rain storms. If you were watching on T.V this was the one that knocked out the BBC for a few seconds. I could deal with the rain, a winter of training in Cardiff had prepared me for it. If anything the rain gave me a home advantage. Nothing could stop me….apart from the head wind when I turned the next corner. For the next mile, my Garmin didn’t like me and no matter what I tried my pace slowed. It had all been going so well.
Apart from keeping to my time I’m not sure what I thought about during the run. I love racing like this, the days when you feel almost detached from the world around you. To race feels like walking a tightrope, too fast and you will loose control and blow up before the end, too slow and that time, the all important time will slip away from you. It’s a constant challenge to walk this tightrope, to keep your balance. Running like this is when I feel most alive, my senses are heightened telling me every little thing my body is going through. The smallest changes in pace make a difference, occasionally I can feel my breath getting out of control and I have to back off slightly. Every now and then I see a familiar face beside the course cheering me on, bringing me back from my daze into the real world for a few seconds.
It had been going well. I hadn’t really noticed the weather people had been talking about. That all changed at mile nine when we were hit by the mother of all rain storms. If you were watching on T.V this was the one that knocked out the BBC for a few seconds. I could deal with the rain, a winter of training in Cardiff had prepared me for it. If anything the rain gave me a home advantage. Nothing could stop me….apart from the head wind when I turned the next corner. For the next mile, my Garmin didn’t like me and no matter what I tried my pace slowed. It had all been going so well.
In every half I have run those last few miles just have to be got through. From ten miles on its just not fun not matter how well the rest of the run had gone. After what seemed like a soggy eternity I came round the final corner and saw those huge neon numbers ticking over, taunting me and forcing me into a sprint.
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| I did enjoy it, honest! Thanks to Rhys Heal and www.hokumdeadfallphotography.co.uk for the pic |
In the end 1 hour 23 minutes 04 seconds was everything I had and more. The adrenaline high of a new PB was worth the pain.
A few days later and the adrenaline high has worn off. The legs though are still aching and I am starting to wonder whether the race was a good idea. I knew that I would question why I had to run so hard but I also realise that I needed to give into that competitive instinct. I wanted to race, to see where I was in my training and if it was doing the right thing. The next stage of the addiction/recovery is a sports massage and yet more self induced pain. Maybe I need to wait a few days before I say if the race really was worth it.
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| So maybe I enjoyed it a bit more once the race was actually finished! |
Here is a link to my just giving page, raising money for Action for M.E.
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