Here's a weird one for you. It's Friday night and I'm sat in the van having a brew. I'm in the van because I'm running in the morning. Nothing special, or out of the ordinary, just a 50K that I've had on my radar for a while. But, you know what, I'm as nervous about this one as I was the first race I ever entered. What's that all about, then? I've run a marathon or ultra, every month for nearly 2 years now, so this isn't anything unusual. In fact, normally, I'd be thinking about having a beer and what I was going to do on Sunday, not worrying about a little 50K. So, why is this one playing on my mind then? Well, it's all about self doubt, fear and trepidation. As I mentioned the other week, I've not run for a few weeks as my right foots been playing up. I suspect it's a bit of the old tendentious in the tendons that run under the arch, probably caused by a bit of over use where I've put in some big miles over the summer. Any one with any sense will tell you that there's only one fix for any of these things and that's rest, and I suspect that a Physio will probably tell you six weeks minimum recovery time and then a gradual build up from there. So that's exactly what I've been doing, and well, you know, 4 weeks is close to 6 and it is feeling better, so surely a cheeky 50K can't hurt, can it? And when I say rest, well, obviously I've still been doing the cycle commute to work, been out on my bike at the weekends, and I've swapped the running days for extra weights and stretching sessions, but I've not been running. So, that's OK isn't it? The not running seems to have paid off though, as this week things are feeling a lot better. The soreness has gone and I feel that it should be up to a bit of running, and there in lies the problem. Not only am I now paranoid that I'm going to make it worse again and be back to square one. But, what if I've forgotten how to run? What if it hurts straight away and what if it's OK for the first few miles and then goes bang when I'm out in the middle of nowhere? It's not supposed to be like this. Surely, I can't have forgotten how to run in 4 weeks? Whilst I might have lost a bit of pace and running form in that time, I've certainly not lost much general fitness. For pity's sake, my daily commute to work is more training than the “average Joe” does in a week, so what am I worried about? I'm going to have a good nights sleep, a slow easy start in the morning and if I don't feel like running I don't have too. But there in lies the other issue, I miss it like crazy and want to run. There's a million things that could be worse, and not being able to run for a few weeks is hardly a major disaster. But, in my mind, going from fit, fast and fearless, to side-lined, injured, and paranoid that your never going to run again, is right up there. Arrrggghhh, maybe I will have that beer. You never know, it might be raining tomorrow and it'll be cancelled, then all my worries will have been in vein. Yeah, right, like that's going to happen! Well, There's some good news and some bad news on the running front. Firstly, despite my wishes, Saturday morning didn't start with biblical floods, plagues of frogs or anything else that was likely to lead to the cancellation of the Run With No Witty Name. Instead it dawned still, misty and fine, with everything pointing to the early morning mist burning off at some point and leaving a nice day. Oh well, I guess we're going to find out how good (or not) this foot of mine actually is then! A short walk down to the start, at my allocated start time, gave me the opportunity to start stretching legs that hadn't done anything for a number of weeks, and with everything feeling Ok, I was soon going through the familiar routine of pinning on my number whilst trying to avoid safety pinning it to parts of my body and stretching off ready to go. A Covid friendly start, (or should that be unfriendly?) saw us being set off at 30 minute intervals, in groups of 30 or so, and as 10 O'clock rolled along, so my group moved forward to the start line A quick pre race brief, and on the stroke of 10 we were off, straight up hill, the grass still wet underfoot from the early morning dew and mist, millions of spiders web's highlighted by the damp moist air giving the ground an almost frozen like patina and the sheep in the fields alongside the route looking on quizzically as we panted our way up. Taking it slow from the start my foot didn't feel too bad, but my leg muscles, unused for all that time, didn't seem to appreciate the awakening, feeling heavy, stiff and unwilling, from the off. “Well, lets just see how we go, I can always turn round”! As my watch indicated the first mile, the time didn't seem too bad, in fact it was about what I'd have predicted, and to be honest my legs were starting to free up a bit, so I might as well keep going now I've got this far. By the time miles 3 and 4 came along, I was starting to feel a bit better, my legs had started to remember what running actually was, and although my foot still didn't feel right, there was no pain, (which could only be a good thing), and I was actually starting to enjoy myself. The route was great, following little paths and tracks, cutting along the edges of freshly harvested and ploughed fields, whilst constantly undulating through the steep countryside that this part of the country seems to be renowned for. By mile 7 the sun had come out, and I'd started catching up with the back markers of the group that set off at 09:30, maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all, maybe all my fears and worries had been pointless? You know what they say about counting your chickens though, as after after having turned right, onto what seemed like a long road section with no route marking, I suddenly found myself back at a point I'd been at before! That's not right. Stop! No, I've definitely been here before. Bugger! A quick check of the route map showed that I'd missed a turn some way back, but looking at the map there was a road option that would spit me out at the first aid station and bring me back on track. By the time I got there, my little detour had added over a mile to the days planned efforts, not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but at least I was now going the right way again! Oh well, not much I can do about that except push on and learn from my mistakes. A few more uneventful miles in the morning sunshine took me through the half marathon mark, before another missed turn saw me stood staring at the map again. Frustrating? Yes. The end of the world? No, and a quick bit of back tracking soon saw me back on route again. Something wasn't right though, although my foot wasn't painful it wasn't right, and my legs just didn't seem to want to play. At mile 16 I found myself off route again, having followed what appeared to be the marked path down to a road junction, only to find that I was now a fair way off track! Working out how to get back on route I pushed on, but arriving at the next junction I just couldn't figure out which way I was supposed to be going. The way I thought it was didn't look right, but neither did the other way?
Getting the map out again, I soon realised that something wasn't right, from the look of the route on the map it only looked like I was about a ¼ of the way round, yet my watch said I'd already done over 16 miles! Looking a bit closer it also showed that I was now at the closest point to the start that I was going to be at all day, and once I'd seen that snippet of information I knew my day was done. I wasn't enjoying myself, my head and heart just weren't in it, and whilst my foot wasn't painful at the moment, it wasn't right either. That's it then, day done and a slow walk back to the start to let the Race Director know that I'd given up! Giving up's not in my nature. If nothing else, I'm a stubborn, persistent old fool, and that's the first race that I've ever started and not finished. But somehow I know deep down that I made the right decision today, even if it wasn't an easy one to make. I wasn't enjoying myself, and my head and body just weren't in it. More importantly though I would hope that I haven't done any more damage to my foot. In fact, hopefully the opposite will be true and if I give it another couple of days rest, I'll be able to resume a more gradual return to distance, building it back up a bit more gradually and sensibly. At the end of the day, it's better to stop and live to fight another day, than push on and spend the next 6 months out injured (or words to that effect) and anyway, this will give me a reason to come back and have another go next year. Onwards and upwards, as they say!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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