It was such a beautiful day, perfect weather, and everything was going incredibly smoothly, no delays, no queues, I was feeling relaxed and positive about the race. I had told myself that I wasn't going for a PB, with my injury, I really just needed to get round. So no pressure.
But once I was there absorbing the atmosphere, all the buzz in the air, the anticipation, part of me really thought the universe may just conspire to deliver me a 2:15. It was sunny after all. In October. Crazier things have happened. Right?
Emily and I set off at a good pace and I honestly felt pretty awesome up until about mile 4 - so technically the very start of the race. Emily's very uplifting chatter of, 'we're nearly a third of the way there!' helped, for about another mile or so, and then I had to drop two more Nurofen to counteract the now, very painful ITB. And I stopped being able to keep to our pace.
Come mile 6, and my sunny disposition was starting to darken. I was already tired, how can this be? Well I can tell you, three weeks with just cross training is a very poor substitute for the real thing. I kind of knew this in the back of my head, but again my over positive mind frame pre-race, let me conveniently forget it.
Between miles 8 and 9 I thought it may just be over. Or at best I'd have to make peace with the fact I was going to hate every inch of the course left to run and may just cry my way through it. Nurofen helped a tad, but then the other ITB started to strain which threw me off my game plan completely. Both sides? Are YOU SERIOUS!?
At this point I felt a tap on my shoulder, 'you alright love?' says a woman wearing the same charity shirt as me. And for once I didn't try and front it out. I'm not sure if it was the implicit camaraderie as we were running for the same charity, or the fact that at this point I thought I may vomit, but instead I said; 'Not really, having a pretty tough time, I'm injured blah erg, blah URG, blah *sob*' And Julie just got it.
And by some minor miracle, Julie was in a pretty similar state to me, and more than happy to keep me company while I just got myself back together. Having torn her calf muscle running the London Marathon earlier this year (at mile 16, with another 10 miles to go - and she still finished!), she was looking at walk/ running the last 4 miles. Which sounded like a good Plan B to try and salvage the rest of the race, and possibly my ITB (and sanity).
And from that point my race improved dramatically. Julie's fantastic demeanour and inspirational story helped distract from the pain, and well, we just had a laugh. I stopped taking it so seriously. I gave up the idea of getting anywhere near a PB. We talked to other runners. I managed to jump up and down enthusiastically when I saw my friends and family who came to support (ouch, but worth it). We helped first time half marathon runner Katie, manage a particularly nasty stitch. We waved at everyone. We made faces at the cameras. We finished with a spectacular 800 metre dash (er, hobble really), in just over 2 hours 39 minutes, actually smiling. Plan B.
Now that's nine minutes slower than my PB, but I'll take that. Those nine minutes reminded me of something pretty core, that I had forgotten to have fun when training. It was all splits and miles logged and comparing schedules with other colleagues, desperately trying to achieve perfect form, and ultimately finding myself in a lot of pain on physio tables. Not fun really. At all.
So I'm going to take some time out to recover, sort out the injury slowly and properly and then take to the street again, when its healed, without the expectation, or added pressure of an impending race. And just run, for fun. To feel good, and have a laugh.
Until Paris next year that is!
|DONE. Badge to prove it|
|Amazing to have my Mom here to see me run all the way from Sunny South Africa|