A few weeks ago I packed my trainers and running vest and hopped on the train to Cardiff where I would be taking part in the 2014 half marathon.
If you would have told me a year ago that I would run
13.1 miles, all in one go, I would have laughed and quickly corrected your
mistake at believing that I could run that far. In a moment of heightened
confidence or boredom, I am not quite sure, I signed up to run the half marathon
on behalf of the mental health charity MIND. I committed to this challenge amidst
revising for my second year end of year exams. I think at that point anything
sounded better than sitting at my desk all day attempting to memorise the
histories of the Tudors, Stuarts and Victorians – even running a hell of a long
way.
Once Easter was over and I was back at university (still
revising) I got into the spirit of running. I had a fitness programme set up
that would gear me towards half marathon fitness and I soon found myself
looking forward to getting up early to head out for a run around the local
gardens. Within a blink of an eye I went from struggling to run 2 miles to
running 6 almost five days a week. Even the rain couldn’t stop me.
The thought of heading back into the gym and to the weights
room was enough to make me tense up with anxiety. After five months of being
inside the four walls of the gym six days a week I fell out of love with the
place. Even the thought of walking the relatively short distance down to
the university gym felt like a struggle. I much preferred my morning runs where
it was only me, my music and some fresh air (and the occasional dog). No walls,
no crappy radio music and no people – the perfect way to start the day in a
relaxed manner.
With University finishing for the summer I found myself back
in the wilds of West Wales where every corner presented a hill of some sort –
not the easiest terrain for a running novice.
Three miles would feel like ten in comparison to the relatively flat
routes I was used to back in Surrey. However, in my head despite feeling like
giving up on more than one occasion, I knew that this would only benefit my
training and come race day I would be fitter than I would if I stuck to the
flat.
A nine mile run would consist of at least three miles of
constant steep uphill with little respite. The odd five miler would knock you
out for the rest of the week and the occasional downpour would leave you
shivering under a tree thinking ‘what the hell am I doing’.
With my lower back having been operated on only two years
ago I knew that running would not be the best in terms of recovery. However, I
possess this very annoying and occasionally destructive desire to push myself
to my limits – to see how far I can go. This has often led to both mental and
physical break downs with anxiety engulfing my body and energy being sapped
right out of my core due to exhaustion. I am also not good at recognizing pain
and dealing with it right there and then. I tend to just push on and deal with
the consequences later which I am now realising is not the best thing to do.
These are all things that I am working on.
Over the summer my training increased in intensity and it
took a turn for the worst. I was grossly overtraining without refuelling
properly and I deprived my body the time it needed to recover. To cut a long
story short it was not good and I soon found myself on strong antibiotics
dealing with a virus that I know was not help with my unhealthy routine. As a
result I took a break from running despite the increasingly nearing race date.
I had a week of no training and a week of yoga and surfing
before once more heading back to uni and back to the road. With only managing a relatively low amount of mileage during the last three weeks of training I
felt a bit apprehensive taking to the start line near Cardiff’s city hall.
Would my ankles hurt, would I have enough energy and stamina? After all, the longest
run I had completed was 9.6 miles.
Once I crossed the start line these fears seemed to disappear.
Admittedly the first three miles were the hardest of them all but once I passed
the first hydration point I was loving life. I was not running to secure a good
time or anything, I was running simply to have fun and finish. Being surrounded
by tens of thousands of other runners made the miles sail by and before I knew
it I was at mile ten with only three to go. With what felt like a sprint finish
but what was probably more of a normal run, I crossed the line, picked up my
medal, t-shirt and goody bag and hobbled my way over to Wagamama’s for lunch
with the parents before heading off to watch Jake Bugg at the Motorpoint later
that evening with Nicola.
My body didn’t feel that tired straight afterwards and after
walking a bit my feet began to ease. I was on a high and as I had a busy
evening that night and an even busier day following it took until late Tuesday
evening for the effects of the race to finally hit my body. I was shattered but
I felt accomplished. I had my medal. I had run 13.1 miles – that’s a long way!
Despite wanting to run another half it might not be the best
idea as during the later stages of my training I began to experience debilitating
pain in my lower back that prevented me from moving let alone running or
walking for at least 30 seconds. Not a great sign and I don’t want to have to
go through more operations and months of pain. Maybe in a few years I’ll take
to the road again but for now I’ll stick with cycling and walking for my weekly
cardio sessions!
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