Awoke this morning and prodded a few sensitive areas. Initial impression encouraging. Got up and feasted on bagel and banana and toast and tea.
There followed a farcically disorganised few hours in which I drove round the countryside planting refreshment in ditches – like little prizes in a kiddies’ treasure hunt. Portable oases awaiting the thirsty traveller.
After this act of selfish benevolence, I drove round, trying to work out a route of precisely 18 miles. This meant finding a suitable 3 miles to tack on to the 15 I did a couple of weeks ago. But it kept going wrong.
Eventually, as the clock ticked on past 1 o’clock, I returned home to try getting it right on Autoroute. Another hour of frustration at the computer before M offered the obvious suggestion. Why not run a 6 mile route three times? This would leave me a shorter distance to crawl home if the foot or the guts hoisted the white flag. It also meant I could pass my front door every six miles and hydrate. The only drawback with this good idea was that the refreshment I now planned to drink at my front door was distributed around the South Gloucestershire countryside in 3 different places, 5 miles apart….
So I got back in my car and went and retrieved them all. By the time I got back it was after 3 o’clock and I was getting fed up with the whole idea. Normally these long Sunday runs start full of enthusiasm and determination. Not this one.
But I did set off eventually. It wasn’t the kind of picturesque ordeal I’d originally envisaged. The first mile or two of this circuit takes in the finer aspects of the local housing estates (constructed circa 1995), followed by superb examples of mid-size Tesco, Safeway, and B & Q stores before the route turns into the small, empty High Street, past the closed-up railway station, through the deserted industrial estate and across the main road again, which marks the halfway point of each 6 mile leg.
From hereon it improves. I’m back on the familiar lanes with all their familiar hazards: speeding cars, kids shooting at birds with air rifles, homicidal dogs, grumpy farmers, the muddy puddles and the slippery, mulched leaves. And the less dangerous: the affable horses that lean over the fence, watching and nodding as I pass; the courteous riders and the walkers with their civilising, missionary grins.
I now feel a strong recognition, almost a sense of identity with these things that, until recently, would have seemed badges of a remote and obscure culture. It struck me today that this might be the last long Sunday run to bring us all together. Next week is the Reading Half Marathon. Then the Fleet Half. The week after that is the Worthing 20 mile road race. Then possibly another half marathon in London on April 1st. And then it’s the taper, with much-reduced distances until 2 Sundays later which is the London Marathon itself.
I was feeling pretty knackered after the first circuit but pressed on to the second after stopping for a minute at home to refuel with some sugary sports drink. Enumberade. This made running much harder for a mile or two. I have to learn not to glug back too much of this muck at once. Eventually got back on track though I found myself tiring rapidly as I got beyond 10 miles. I decided I was going to call it a day after this. 12 miles wasn’t bad. In fact it’s the distance I was supposed to be running today. I switched to 18 only because I am fitting in these two half marathons in the next two weeks.
But after I got home for the second time, I realised I couldn’t leave it there. Decided to carry on for a bit. For a mile, perhaps two. But after I’d done two I knew I’d finish the six. As I’ve had to do before, it was a case of having to trick myself into continuing, when my body was nagging my brain to call it a day.
The final 4 miles were hard, but not agonising. My steps got shorter and more rigid. The calf muscles held up well as did the troublesome foot. Around the 16 mile mark I stepped on a kerbstone with my weight on my toes, and felt a very sharp and painful spasm in my right foot. This is it, I thought. But no, the pain drifted away again within seconds. The most pain was, again, at the top of my spine. I might need to get this looked at by a physiotherapist. It doesn’t bother me on shorter runs but over about 5 miles it starts to nag me and gets worse as the miles stack up.
I’m strangely unphased by this run even though it was by far my longest distance. The 3 local circuits made it seem more pedestrian than one large loop through unfamiliar and inhospitable terrain. But it was an important distance for me to do. It makes the half marathons seems much more manageable, and the marathon distance itself is now almost within touching distance. However, I’m certain that the spiritual difference between 18, or even 20, miles and 26.2 miles is immensely disproportionate to the difference in mere numbers.
