I am feeling zero motivation to write anything today, so I thought maybe a chatty post was called for instead. Brace yourself…I’ve no idea where this is going.
For a number of reasons (time, weather, etc), Mr Mess and I decided to go for our weekly run on Saturday afternoon, rather than our usual early Sunday morning. We left the girls with his mum, strapped on our running shoes and set off.
It was a killer. The aches and pains that hadn’t quite recovered from the last run got worse and worse. I had crippling stitch in my right hand side. My bra rubbed an open wound in my…well…you know. I spent the entire time (approximately 1 hour 17 minutes), moaning, groaning, yelping and practically crying.
Usually about 2-3 miles in I get to a very dark place. Not literally, obviously, but metaphorically speaking. I just want to sit down on the ground and sob. It starts to feel more like controlled falling than actual running. It’s a monumental effort just to put one foot in front of the other.
Somehow though, through a mixture of stubborn pride and sheer insanity I actually managed to keep going. As we neared the end of our route, Mr Mess asked f I wanted to try and add on a little extra. It seemed like madness but I realised I’d been in pain for at least 30 minutes, I could manage at least 10 mins more.
I also figured that a bad run was the best opportunity to try and push myself a little further. If I couldn’t do it, then I’d understand why. If I could run further than ever before, that would redeem myself for all the moaning that had taken place.
The final leg of our route included the very streets the I had run around when I originally started training. Back then I couldn’t run once around the block, so I couldn’t help but feel a slight hint of smugness that I could now run this final mile, even after running 5 before it!
By the time we reached the end of our run, I was pretty much at the limit of what I could take. I collapsed ( in a controlled manner) on to the bed, feeling ever-so-slightly woozy!
I couldn’t help feeing pretty smug about running an extra lap, even before I checked my stats on Strava (an app I use to track our runs.) Not only had we run almost a mile further than ever before, we’d done it A LOT faster. My average pace per mile had reduced by almost a minute. No wonder I was feeling a little worse for wear!
Our final distance for the day had been 6.2 miles. That means I’m halfway up to the distance that I’ll need to be able to do in order to complete my half-marathon in September. I know it won’t be easy and I’ve still got a long way to go, but I’m finally starting to believe I can do it. I’m running a little further each time, I’m picking up the speed – this is all looking very positive.
Keep checking back here to find out how I get on.