So I’m getting to terms with the weather, the cold, the morning rather than the night run but today I faced a new foe.
After months of pride, track, speed, distance increase and general good stuff I was hit today with a whole new ball game. There were kids playing football on the track so instead of risking being hit in the face with a speeding orb I decided ‘bugger it! To the pavements!’
How wrong I was. So. So. Wrong.
I wasn’t used to slight hills or dips. What was this mud track? Weaving puddles? No! This was a very different course. In my head I mapped out a fairly flat route but even then there was increased elevations. It was murder.
In my head I became sad and angry. Who did I think I was calling myself a ‘runner’ when I could barely cope with this simple route. This was the real outdoors, away from the fakeness of the track, and I was struggling. I wasn’t sure if it was the physical change or the mental change of having to map a route and think distance rather than time, but even while running I was acutely aware than in a race you won’t always have the grace of track. I’m not bloody Dame Kelly Holmes.
In the end I died at 20 minutes, my shortest run for a long time. In truth I’m disappointed in myself, I feel like I should have kept pushing. In reality I was close to throwing up and it was raining, so I should probably cut myself some slack. My true feelings lie a little in the middle.
Keep at it. It always gets easier.
That said, real running still sucks.