I am writing this blog following yet another night of “post-race insomnia.” After Folkestone, I didn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep last night either and now I am in a stroppy mood.
Anyway, yesterday I took part in the Royal Parks Half Marathon for the first time and my second half marathon in two weeks. This was a race that I was really looking forward to and had been harbouring dreams of a sub-2 run. Unfortunately, since Brighton, I have been plagued with hayfever and tendonitis and training has been really, really minimal. Following Folkestone, although I was secretly hoping to go sub 2.10, at the back of my mind, I knew that I wasn’t going to run a great time.
I met up with Jimmy on the train at 7.14am and we stopped off for a coffee where we met Captain Jack Sparrow before making our way to the parks. We were starting in blue and managed to get there just in time to start.
I was flying. Yes, not super fast, but when you consider how bad the last few months have been for me, to cruise through 3 miles in just under 27 minutes was flying. I kept telling myself to slow down, that I was going to crash and that I was going to regret it.
I got to 5 miles in just a bit over 45 minutes.
Then I started to slow. And slow. A glance at my watch at the halfway point revealed me to be there in 1.02. Actually, it was just over 1.04, so I obviously can’t read properly. I was happy with this, it meant that the sub 2.10 was potentially still there and that I should be inside 2.15, allowing for things going wrong.
At mile 8, things were still ok, reaching it in 78 minutes but I was starting to feel bad. Really, really, bad. A glance at my hands revealed them to be trembling and my legs felt wobbly and not a bit like my own. I have no idea what’s happening to me in races at the moment, but hydration seems to be an issue. I feel thirsty constantly so I take on water, then I feel sick because I’ve had too much. I stopped for a few minutes just to gather myself and took a gel and some fruit pastels, before picking myself up again and walked for a few minutes.
By 9 miles, thanks to the “8 mile crash” I was behind schedule, having lost the minutes that I’d saved. I started running again but never found my previous pace and started losing time. By 10 miles, I started to feel pretty good again, but never picked up the pace again.
12.5 miles was amusing looking back thanks to a huge chocolate labrador bounding out of nowhere and nearly taking out me and several other runners. I can only imagine how funny it looked to everyone else watching us scream and brace ourselves!
The 800m stretch to the finishing line seemed to go on forever! I didn’t really go for a sprint finish this time, although I did pick up the pace slightly and managed to get over the line in 2.19.55, a little bit faster than Folkestone.
Am I gutted? A little bit, although I know I shouldn’t be. Tendonitis, running once a week with a maximum distance of 9 miles about 8 weeks before the event is not sufficient. I might be fit enough to finish the race in a not-too-terrible time, but until the foot is feeling better and I’m able to run more often, I’m not going to finish any quicker. For this reason, it’s time for a break and build up gradually again. I’m not going to enter any more halves until I feel I can do myself some justice.
That said, it was a lovely day yesterday and it was brilliant to catch up with JogBlog, I Like to Count, Fortnight Flo, Fair Weather Runner and Abradypus. Italian food, cake, alcohol and good people fix everything. As does a good old rant about ridding the world of annoying people.
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