Training day

Getting and staying motivated to run is a problem for me at the moment. If I keep running two or three times a week it's easy but let it slip for a week or two and ....

I love to get out and do a few miles but recently I haven't had the time to do it. The house was like a hospital ward over Christmas and the new year as everyone (except me) got this nasty bug that was doing the rounds. As the only one still standing I got left to fetch and carry for them all, mop their fetid brows and so on.

After that I had to spend every spare minute studying for this year's OU course. I got a week's extension for the assignment but I still missed that by four days.

So the Hastings half-marathon came up and I hadn't trained for nigh on three months. Now this course is a real cow, the first 2.5 to 3 miles go up/flat/up/flat etc. then the next 2.5ish miles are a steady climb with no flat breaks. Killer.

I'm not a great runner but, if I'd been training I could have expected to get home in under two hours but this time my left knee started divorce proceedings after about 4.5 miles.

Ordinarily, I would've given it up as a bad job but this year was the first time my little girl was old enough to understand that Daddy was in a race so I couldn't give up and go back to the finish in a St. John's ambulance unless my leg fell off. I mean, who wants their daughter to see Daddy fail, I've got my pride... So I limped the last 8.5 miles.

It started out as a nice sunny day, a bit windy and not too warm in the shade though. By the time I hit the seafront for the last two miles it was cloudy and threatening rain. The wind was blowing in from the sea and I couldn't feel my hands anymore. My forearms had gone a funny colour and I was waiting for the onset of hypothermia. I tried to run a few times but the pain was too much.

Even the two charity runners in inflatable sumo suits were overtaking me. Just when I thought I couldn't get any lower I was overtaken by a woman who had to weigh over 17 stone (240lbs). Fair play to her for making the effort and I wish her all the best for the future but I was way past demoralised after that.

Then I saw my Dad, he'd walked up from the finish to see were I was. The family knew I was quicker than this and were getting a little worried, especially when they heard sirens earlier on after some twunt had tried to jump over a gap in one of the cliffs and dropped down the crevice. Anyway, Dad brought with him items worth more than gold...

...gloves.

So, I limped over the finish line at 3hours. My little girl was waiting and despite most of the spectators having long since given up and gone to the pubs or cafes she still proudly told her Grandma, "My Daddy won the race, Grandma.". It made me want to cry.

So was it worth the pain, cold, humiliation and 30 mins it took me to stop shivering? You must be joking but, it won't stop me doing it again. Darrent Valley 10K here I come.