Farewell to Distance Running

 No more half marathons for me.  Okay, I know I've said this before but this time I really do mean it.  I have tackled enough of them now to know that I can actually do them in a not too shabby way, and I've done enough to know that regardless of how quick or slow they are, no matter whether I run alone or with other people, whatever the medal is like, however scenic or boring the route is, I just don't enjoy them.  (As for that vague plan I had to tackle a full marathon some day, what the heck was I thinking about?)

Earlier this year I made up my mind that I would train for one last half marathon race, i.e. actually follow a structured training plan.  Recently it's been my habit to just rock up on the day and do my best and although I've always been quite happy with my times, I have often wondered if I could do better if I followed a proper plan.  So, I started one in the New Year.  As expected, there were the usual interruptions for bad weather, but I hadn't expected to be hit by a range of ailments and injuries.  I developed a painful hip which literally stopped me in my tracks.  For a while I struggled to get through even a 5K and there was no way I was in a position to attempt any distance running.  Of course, the discomfort didn't confine itself to my hip. As is often the case, one injury changes your gait and posture and leads to other aches and pains.  I had twinges in my back, my knee, my ankle and my foot. So my half marathon training came to an abrupt standstill at 9 miles and by the time I had rested and healed and was feeling reasonably okay, it was too late to do another long run before race day.  In fact, I didn't run much at all.  I limited myself to parkrun and a couple of midweek 5Ks.  I knew I would be going into this half unprepared but just being in a position to line up on the start line seemed like an achievement in itself.  I knew it was yet again going to have to be a case of just turning up and doing my best, without any expectations of great things.  One thing I was sure about was that I didn't want to put myself through this again. 

When race day arrived I was nervous but also relieved.  Knowing that I would soon be able to draw a line under distance running was very reassuring.   I wanted to go out on a positive note and give it my best shot.  We had a lovely spring morning for it, which helped.  It was nice not to be freezing to death on the start line, none of the wet, windy, miserable weather of just a few weeks ago. My fellow runners were a nice, supportive bunch too and the race had a chilled vibe.  I set off at what I thought was a steady pace.  Well, it would have been a steady pace if I had only been running a 10K, but it proved to be too fast for anything longer.  By the time I reached 10K I was running 6 minute kilometers, which is much slower than my usual pace.  But it wasn't a day for worrying about pace and I had decided very early on that all that mattered today was finishing the race, so I stuck with that 6 minute kilometer pace for the rest of the race.

I tried to be sensible about fueling and made myself eat a jelly baby every 5K.  They tasted utterly revolting and made me feel a bit sick and they didn't exactly give me a burst of energy, but it's possible that they helped me to stave off that tortured feeling for a little bit longer than usual.  The last 2K were hellish as ever though.  My feet felt like they were on fire.  I was terrified that my legs were going to cramp up at any moment.  When the finish line came into view, I began playing the alphabet game in my head, the one where you go from A to Z thinking of a boy's and girl's name.  It's what I always do when I just need to dig deep and hang on for the last minute or so, which feels never-ending.  Then, amazingly, it was over.  My legs felt like jelly but the feeling of relief in my head was instant and exquisite.  I had run a half marathon.  I had found 13.1 (more like 13.2 actually) miles in my ailing legs and I hadn't stopped to walk once.  It was done and dusted.  I didn't need to prove I could do it anymore.  Enough was enough.  It felt liberating and wonderful.

As for my time, let's just say it was the slowest half I've ever done with an official time of 2 hours 10 minutes.  But the funny thing is, I'm probably more proud of this half than I am of any of the others I've done (yes, even the sub-2).  The reason for that is because this half showed me how much I've learned as a runner.  I've learned to adjust my expectations in the light of changing circumstances and to understand my own limitations.  I've learned to be sensible and realistic and not stick to outdated views of what constitutes a 'successful' run. 

So, it feels as if me and the half marathon can now part company with no hard feelings.  We are going out on a high.  I am really looking forward to focusing on 5K and 10K runs from now on.  In the unlikely event of  my resolve weakening in the future (if some staggeringly beautiful finisher's medal were to catch my eye) my husband knows it will take just two little words to bring me to my senses.  Jelly Babies.