Half Marathon
#I’m a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva#
Tomorrow is a very good day for running. But next Wednesday is even better. Procrastination – the first stage of running.
Months ago Mark asked me if I wanted to do a half marathon with him. The obvious answer was ‘no, not really’, but he explained that a group of his friends were doing the Lady Godiva Half Marathon in Coventry for a good cause. Presuming it to be a passing fancy that he’d quickly forget about I said ‘yes’.
Unfortunately he didn’t, but with 10 weeks to go there was still plenty of time to fit in the majority of the 12 week training program I had Googled.
Week 1. My mood was relaxed.
Weeks 2 to 8. Injury – with Mark’s right and my left knee taking it in turns to go, I was in denial; we’re not running, we’ve not signed up, and we’re probably not going to do it. Not unless we enter the wheel chair race.
Week 9. Worry – bugger, we’ve got to run 13 miles.
Week 10. Rationalisation – I imagine I’ve got up to go to work and found my bike has a flat tyre. The bus doesn’t go that way and I can’t afford a taxi, so I have to run. So it’s as if I have to run to work. But then when I get to work I find out it’s a Sunday and I don’t work Sundays so I have to run straight home again, and then once home I find there’s no milk so I have to run to the shop and back. That’s about 13 miles I thought. Oh not too bad…
1 day to go. Restlessness. Especially when the twin room you’ve booked in Coventry turns out to be a double. Snuggle time Mark-larr!
Race day. Acceptance. We’re here and we’re going to run. Europe’s The Final Countdown is on a permanent loop in my head as I wolf down bananas and energy drinks.
Go! Excitement. I am running. So are lot’s of people. Hey, this isn’t too bad. Mark disappears within moments.
Mile 4. Anger. Why are these people overtaking me? Less fit looking people? What was the point of those 3 weeks of training if these old looking people are faster and fitter?
Mile 7. Delusion. I glance at my watch. 1.30! Woah, I’ve been running an hour and 30 minutes. A minute later I glance again. 02.30. Balls, I’ve been running 1 hour 2 minutes and 30 seconds, my trusty Casio resets after an hour.
Mile 8. Rememberance. “What you need to do is get behind some hot girl and you’ll be able to follow her all the way to the finish”.
Mile 9 through 13. Pain. Damn calves!
Finish. Exhaustion. W00t! I did it.
Post race. Then anger again, when I see Mark at the finish, having been there 10 minutes. Damnations.
Here are lots of people. I don’t know them, but they seemed nice. They raised maximum dollar for the Iain Rennie Hospice at Home Foundation, plus my couple of quid.
And my time? 1:54:03. Could’ve done it faster on a bike.
