So this Sunday I was meant to run a half marathon in Henfield. Now, I already was a bit worried about running this, as I had heard word that it was ‘off road’. ‘Off road’. Yes, sounds wonderful, doesn’t it. But not to me, oh no. I do all my running on the pavement – nice hard, unforgiving pavement. ‘Off road’ sends me quaking in my overly clean trainers. Although I I had gotten used to the idea, and was ready to embrace the mud. And yet for a number of reasons – mainly not having space in a car – I didn’t run, so ended up running a half marathon distance myself along the nice clean seafront, clear of mud and puddles. Hurray! But not hurray…
So Sunday morning turned out to be scorchio. Haaaaat. I love the sun, but this was really quite horrible. Nevertheless, I wore as few clothes as were possible to wear without being improper (not that some of the gentlemen folk of Brighton attempted this – put. on. your. shirts) and headed out. I thought I wouldn’t mind taking it easy and taking advantage of the fact I didn’t have to run a race but I can’t really do this. 10 miles completed and boyfriend left me. 3 miles, I thought. That’s nothing. Let’s go. And off I sped. And how I regretted it… It was kind of OK as I was going along. Legs hurt, yes, but I’m mentally pretty tough and just kept telling myself it’ll all be over sooner that faster I go; that it won’t hurt once I stop. However. Once I did stop I don’t think I have ever felt so awful in my whole life. Shaky, exhausted, sweat on sweat, couldn’t talk – that kind of thing. Pretty dreadful. I couldn’t even eat. That’s when you know it’s bad.
So I clocked a 1:52 half yesterday, with a very negative split, but also a very negative outcome. Lesson learnt, and there is such a thing as being too determined and it can turn you into a bit of an idiot.
This week I am going to be sensible: I owe it to myself! 6 weeks to go until the Chester Marathon and I am not going to mess it up!