I’ve just run the hardest race and it was only a village fun run – all 6K of it. After my disappointing performance last week I entered this little run thinking that things could only get better. They didn’t. I know I’ve only just got back on my feet after injury but why am I struggling so much? Nothing feels right; my legs, breathing – I’m simply flagging right from the start. Yes, there were hills in this one (this is Cyprus) but they weren’t that steep. Why was I so exhausted?
Waiting for the kid’s races to be over I felt fine. Well, fine by my standards; my stomach fluttered with nerves and I made two trips to find the ladies but that’s me every time.
The race turned out to be one of those there and back things so there were the usual bunch of fine young men who streaked off up the hill and were on their way back before I’d even reached halfway. All well and good and high five to them.
We ran past the village church then down…and down which meant there had to be an up somewhere along the line. And as I said, it wasn’t super steep. I was one of the last to start and that’s pretty much where I stayed. I hadn’t a hope in hell of overtaking anyone. Even the old black-garbed Cypriot ladies making their way home from the village were keeping up with me.
I can’t do this running thing
It’s just not getting any easier
I was shattered when I crossed the line:
I’m going to hole myself away now and work this out. Distanced now from the disappointment of the run I’m determined to carry on. I need a plan and a goal and a few gin and tonics to soften my misery.
I’m going to crack 5K in under thirty minutes.
