Running is one of those things. I often hate it while getting going, then love as the kilometres tick by. On a good run the feeling is amazing. On a bad day, it’s all I can do to press save on run keeper. It’s also something that comes with war wounds of glory and a need to talk about the last great run.
So here I go.
I have just completed my second half marathon. It felt good. I ran it in 2 hours, 8 minutes. I would have liked it to have been 2 hours 5. But there’s always next time. I read a lot about running while training. I spoke with my rheumatoid specialist, and knew to listen to my body. I made sure I was still able to chat at the 10km mark, and knew that stopping was not an option. Walking, or going slower makes it hurt all the more. I felt good at the end. A little sore, but that’s to be expected.
My main war story is the blister on one of my big toes. It’s actually beginning to rival the toe itself in size. A week with no running will hopefully see it begin to disappear. I also have quite an impressive graze where my sports bra sits. Actually there are four grazes. I knew it would happen. I tried to prevent it, clearly unsuccessfully. Bra burn, the nemesis of many a female runner.
Like all things that take time, effort and a fair amount of sweat, running war wound stories are all part of the game. At least this time I managed to avoid underarm chaffing. I spotted more than one male with the telltale signs of bleeding nipples, and one of my running buddies has more than one black toenail waiting to drop off.
Yet we go back to run time after time.
I love big run events. There is something in the atmosphere, the willingness to cheer others on and be part of something big. I love the sound of thousands of feet pounding the road at once. I love seeing the people on the roadsides with personalised signs for their mum, dad, friend. My personal favourite this race, the sign telling someone, this race is your bitch!
I love that kids waiting on the sidelines put their hands out and runners high-five them as they pass. Having the chance to see the race leaders running at an incredible pace, heading back to the finish as most of us have not even made it half way – that’s a sight to behold. As is the clapping and cheering that goes up through the throng of runners as the race leaders approach from the opposite direction.
It’s a great leveller. None of us look our most glamorous after 21.1 kilometres. There is sweat, blood, and weird looking official photos. There is also an amazing sense of achievement. It’s addictive to say the least.
So now, I recover. This week I’ll walk, use rollers and take things easy. Next week I begin training for an upcoming 10k event. I’ll reset my training guide, and punch in a new faster time to aim for. Along the way I’ll also run two 5k fun events. One, for Movember, a run very close to my heart.
Next year I may even aim for two half marathons. There is nothing like upping the stakes. But if I ever start talking about a full marathon, hold me down and stop me. Some things are best left to other people!
Thanks to Mrs CeeeCeee for the photo.