Another hard, hilly six miles in the West Berkshire countryside at lunchtime today. Bright sunshine, more dead foxes, and a crow eating a pheasant in the middle of the road.
This run has become a weekly habit, and it does me good. It begins with a flat mile, followed by four sizeable hills, and a few other undulations, before looping round and finishing with the same flat mile. There are numerous opportunities to extend the run, but the unchanging heart is this four mile stretch of hills.
Yesterday I bought a local 1:25000 Ordnance Survey map which has presented me with a hundred new routes, many on footpaths and other vehicle-less rights of way. It’s the one problem with today’s hilly run. Much of it takes place on a well-used road with no pavements, and there’s a constant need to look over my shoulder, and move from one side of the road to the other. It seems only a matter of time before it’s me lying squashed in the road, being picked at by a great fat crow.
Only three or four more days till the Silverstone Half. It’s going to be hard. What is it about races that makes them so appealing when they are months away, and so frightening when they happen? It’s like walking towards some aggressive enemy. While they are still far away, you can poke fun at them, practise your bravado, and dream them into any shape you want. But once they’re only a short distance away, you can no longer fool yourself. They’re big, they’re ugly, they’re going to fight you and they’re going to hurt you.
I keep thinking that I just have to get my attitude right, and all will be well. I’m trying to learn from the Hyde Park 10K on New Year’s Day, when I was far too blasé, and struggled. So I’m telling myself: Don’t be blasé. But how do I not be blasé? What’s the opposite of being blasé? Being anxious? Thinking about nothing else? Phoning the organisers and telling them: I’m taking your event very seriously, you know. Oh yes. Let no one tell you otherwise. Blasé? Me? Huh!. No, no, no. Not me.
So I’ve established what I shouldn’t be doing, but not what I should.
As I finished my six miler today, feeling knackered, I realised that on Sunday we’ll be running more than twice this distance, and at a much faster pace.
Erk.
