It's been over a month since I've been here sharing my horror stories and triumphs of running. I feel ashamed for not keeping it up regularly, but life got a little crazy and something had to give and the blog lost. But running training prevailed, luckily as my first half marathon is tomorrow.
The last month has seen training ramp up, for what will be my first half marathon. Saturday or Sunday started early with 9 mile, 10 mile, 11 mile runs, the night before spent chaste with only minimal imbibing of alcohol, well apart from one...and I still ran 9 miles the following morning.
One longer run was awful, I'd had a bad back earlier in the week and so ran with a sort of back support wrapped around my middle. About 6 -7 miles in, my hip started to complain, quietly to start with, swiftly moving on to SHOUTING. Feeling like a bag of rusty nine inch nails were writhing around my hip joint, I, of course carried on, virtually dragging my left foot. There was no dribbling and no talk of 'The Bells, The Bells' but I imagine I could have easily auditioned for that part. Run complete. Confidence knocked. Completely exhausted.
And so the next planned long run was filled with trepidation. Would my body let me down. Would it tell me in no uncertain terms to 'bloody stop running, you crazy woman', would my resolve to run be beaten? No, no and no. My resolve never gets broken, I keep on going like a dog with a bone. The run was great, no pain at all, thankfully and another milestone achieved.
Surprise and Sadness
A lone run out one afternoon saw one of those moments every runner dreads. The slow motion, surprise movement from upright to prone. In the road, in the gutter, in broad daylight and people saw me. Picking myself up, I put weight back on my foot and sharp pain shot through my ankle. Tears sprang to my eyes, and the only thing running was the blood down my hand as I limped back home. The ankle swelled and hurt (add lots of profanities) three weeks before the half marathon. More profanities.
I rested a week and then tested my ankle on short runs, all good. Then a long run, still all good. A fabulous result, my ankle was fine and I would still be running the Bournemouth Half Marathon.
Excitement and Trepidation
So it is tomorrow, 13.1 miles. I am excited and nervous but know that unless my bones break, or my joints fail I will be crossing the finish line. Looking dishevelled but ecstatic.
There are a few people who have been hugely instrumental in helping me achieve my running goals and they are Clare Horan, Gemma Kirkland and Emma Obrien. And a thank you (I think) to Adam Eason for being my running inspiration and getting me going.