Well... almost. After all, last week I only managed two tuns. This week I turned in... well... erm... two runs.
Blush.
Wigwam at Strathfillan |
However, at least this time I did manage my Tuesday run. This was a slightly extended version of my normal run from my office to Aberdour and back, where I went for a detour through Dalgety Bay when I got back to the village. It turned out that it was a little more of a detour than I had planned, too, as I managed to get lost on the way back!
West Highland Way view |
If I ever learn to walk again.
We arrived back from Strathfillan fairly late on Saturday. A frantic evening of unpacking and feeding the washing machine followed, with very little thought from me about what the following day - Sunday - was to bring.
What it was to bring was of course a long, slow run (LSR). Except - arrogant fool that I was - I thought that that wasn't quite good enough for me. I wanted to give myself confidence that I was going to be able to sustain a sub 9 minutes/mile pace for a marathon, and my plan was that I would do that by doing 20 miles at that pace today. So I would run to the canal as a warm-up, then run ten miles eastwards to Winchburgh. I would turn round and run ten miles back, then I would ask the long-suffering Mrs Ham to collect me from the canal.
Hmm... so, I was careful about what I ate last night, and drank lots to ensure I was well hydrated?
Sadly, no.
The LSR started okay, and I even put my GPS tracker on for the warm-up mile to the canal. I ran at a sub-nine minute pace to Winchburgh, except for a mile where I stopped twice, once to remove some leaves that had gotten into my sock and once to take a photograph.
I reached the bridge at Winchburgh, and turned round. Still I felt okay, and kept running, though the weather was becoming very warm. I drank from the little hand-carry bottle I had, and started wondering if I should have had more to drink before leaving the house this morning (I had had very little because I didn't want to have to stop to pee on the route!)
Saltface |
Miles twenty and twenty-one were hellish. I was knackered, I was walking as much as running and wondering why the hell I was trying to do a marathon. At least I managed to get back to running for the final half mile or so, but I was knackered.
When I got home, I did keep wondering why my daughter was looking at me so strangely. It was only when I got to the bathroom for a post-race bath that I realised I had acquired a "salt face", from the sweat evaporating from my cheeks.
So... lessons?
- I'm not smarter than the training plan. I should just have faith in it, and not try to measure my abilities before the race itself
- I should be properly hydrated and properly nutrited, erm nutritioned, erm... fed before I go out
- This is my first marathon; I should not be aiming for a time. Completion will be enough!
Unfortunately, now is when things go horribly wrong. I shall be travelling for work at the end of this week, and will miss two full weekends of training. This is going to be damned inconvenient, but all I can do is make the best of it...
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