One supposedly helpful phrase from a trainer haunted me through much of my marathon training: “After 10 miles you should feel as if you have put in very little effort”, which is to say, ‘if you’re hoping to do 26.2 miles without it killing you, you should still be feeling pretty good after 10, otherwise…yeesh…you don’t wanna know’.
It turns out that American tourists aren’t the only ones who struggle with roundabouts – my dog has no idea what she’s doing either. It may be that both suffer from bewilderment at having to go round something rather than straight over it.
“There were thousands of people lining the route, which was a tremendous lift but had my legs whispering “5K pace, 5K pace” loudly in my ear. I don’t know how my legs were able to whisper in my ear but they did. I told them harshly to get back lower than my butt and do as they were told.”
…1,000 miles, 1.5 million steps and 150 hours in training. An entire swamp of revolting energy gel packs, three pairs of running shoes, half a tub of Vaseline and way too many 4:30am and earlier alarm calls. Not to mention approximately 100 times having a needle stuck into me by my chiropractor.
24. Running a marathon HURTS…
25. …and I can’t wait to do another one.
26. I can run 19 miles after I start feeling tired.
26.2: Finally, and most impor…
Today at a water stop, where I made a “Where’s the hot chocolate?!” wisecrack, he took a cup of the almost-freezing water, shouted “Ice cup challenge!!” and poured it over his own head. Genius.
There’s not a more apt name for this blog entry than the above, and yet I’m reluctant to use it because I’m just waiting for the phantom to become real at any moment. In fact, as I was chatting with a runner friend of mine who’d recently (and by a matter of seconds) qualified for…
I made sure to suck in my stomach, don my mask of supreme confidence and speed up a tad as I passed them…and I just about resisted shouting “I’M KICKING YOUR DAD’S BUTT!” at one of them.
But I don’t WANT an indication of my marathon fitness, Coach, because it might not be very good, and I don’t WANT to use my time in the McMillan Running Calculator because it will tell me that I’m rubbish and that I should run (more) slowly in training which will be discouraging and I don’t need that right now.
I waved to him as I slowly collapsed, hoping that I didn’t look injured, because what would I be doing just lying there. But I was also hoping that I didn’t look like I’d wussed out on a run, because that would be worse. Maybe if I just looked like a guy in very short shorts who liked to lie down in car parks resting his leg up a tree, that would be OK.