I’m not quite sure how, but perhaps — just perhaps — Boston really has been dragged from the jaws of failure.
I set off yesterday morning, knowing that the following few hours would reveal all. Strangely, it all felt beyond my control. I knew I had to try hard, and stay focused. But I could do that and still fail if my calf or general fitness let me down. I had 18 italicised miles on my training spreadsheet, but started out with no good idea of how many of them I’d be crossing off.
The weather forecast was for a hot and sunny spring day, but when I poked my head out the back door at 6.45 a.m., I could see little through the thick curtain of freezing fog. The bucket of water by the door, where a family of frogs reside, had a lid of ice. I chomped a banana while deciding what to do.
The lingering frost turned out to be a good thing. I swapped my natty new RC vest for a long-sleeved shirt, and headed off for a preliminary 3½ miles around the block. By the time I returned, the mist had dispersed enough to let the sun poke through. The morning was warming up, as was I. I had a quick stretch, then swapped the shirt for the vest, loaded up with fluid, and went off again.
I won’t detail the run as it was disappointingly uneventful. No weasels or other wildlife to report; the ugly side of nature came in the form of two unhinged Jack Russells, and a couple of grimacing car drivers affronted by my decision to run down the same narrow lane that they wanted to use.
The bizarre fact is this: I ended up running 21.26 miles, a distance not covered since the Zurich Marathon, almost 3 years ago. Apart from last week’s wearying 15, I’m not sure I’ve tackled any distance over a half marathon since Zurich.
How did I manage it? Good question. Three differences from normal. One was hydration. I ran two loops, or three if I include the initial 3½ miles. As I passed my house each time, I was able to nip into the front garden and take a deep slug of Gatorade, and take another bottle with me from the stash under the hedge. As a result, I didn’t feel dehydrated at any point. This was a new experience.
A second difference was that I had no breakfast, apart from the contemplative banana alluded to. I tend to eat bagels or porridge, then have to wait about 4 hours until they squeeze themselves into my intestines, at which point I finally feel able to move. And third, I stopped for a minute or two of stretching every 3 or 4 miles.
The pace was deliberately stately. The important thing was distance and endurance, not speed. That said, the pace would have got me round a marathon in around the same time as I managed Zurich — perhaps a shade slower, so I was happy with that.
I arrived back home at just below the aimed-for 18 miles, so I continued up the road in order to hit the target. And as I did so, I thought what the hell, I may as well finish off with my usual 3.5 mile circuit. Which is how the 18 ended up as 21.26 miles. It’s a great number to hit. We all know if you can run 20, you can run 26 on the day. The miles were gratifying, but the best outcome was the way my legs felt. No new calf strain, and no hint of one. And no walking until the final mile or so, when, after a final stretch, I found it hard to get going again until I’d walked for 3 minutes or so.
This should be a more effervescent entry than it is. I’m not sure why, but hyperbole seems off the menu just now. Perhaps I’m nervously incredulous about it. Or still mentally exhausted. Two weeks ago, I was in despair about my chances of getting round Boston. Now I’m feeling confident and really quite relaxed about it. But i need to stay businesslike and focused on the task. Tonight I had an hour of cross-training in the gym to gauge my recovery, and I felt great. No significant aches.
So that’s 35 miles chalked up for last week. In the week ahead I need to maintain that, or push it up to 37 or so. I have the Reading Half Marathon next Sunday, leaving me 24 to find. Perhaps 7 tomorrow, 10 on Wednesday, and 7 on Friday, with some gym in between.
I’m so pleased that Boston is suddenly looking not just more possible, but not quite so traumatic and painful as I was fearing. It’s vital that I don’t get complacent, but I need to be confident too. These two weeks of ’emergency measures’ have paid off. I need to maintain this approach and self-discipline for another four weeks. If I can do that, I will be plodding into Boylston Street on April 20 after all.
P.S. The snap was taken just after returning from the 21. The RC vest did a fine job. Also pictured is the slightly awkward Finchley tee (see entry before last). I’m glad the "20" is shown in inverted commas. It’s as if they were winking at me when they handed it over.
