A Wing and a Prayer

26th October 2017. I fly to Nepal in 12 days. I have 10 days of training left. I'm not entirely certain how to convey the excited-anxious-buzzing-dreadfilled-startled-stressed-pinging off the walls feeling I'm having right now...it's a bit confusing. 

Having been focussed on this challenge for precisely two years and the cause it's for, I'm now faced with it imminently. It was never imminent before! It was always a far off idea that any sane only-done-one-marathon runner would have sensibly considered too far out of their reach to achieve. But my addled brain persisted with the far-off idea, determined to prove some sort of point (to myself probably). But that's what it remained - a distant date. So now I'm in the twilight zone I guess.

6 weeks ago training was going well. Then it wasn't; then it almost was; then it really really wasn't; and now it is...I think?

Let me explain:

I had put together a rough training plan which, from past experience, I knew would minimise injury but still keep me fit enough to run marathon distance. And it was working for the first few weeks - I was uninjured and managing everything well. Then, quite suddenly, my shin splints flared up again...badly. A couple of years ago I would have stubbornly run through them and through them until I didn't have shins left but I like to think the two years have beaten a few things into me. 

I stopped running for a full week, spending every training day in the gym instead and took the running back up the following weekend. I then carried on with normal training the following week, planning a 20 miler for that weekend. Now, this all sounds well and dandy when I say it like this but let me give you an insight into how it went in my head (and I'm sure there are an awful lot of folk out there who can empathise with this mindset!). 

The week I got injured I was planning a 23 mile run at the weekend so I hadn't pushed myself very hard all week in an effort to save my legs (haha!). The following week was in the gym, then the following week was my usual training with nothing terribly long before the weekend's long run. So, in my head it had been three weeks without a long run...and that's almost a month!!! What if I'd lost endurance strength?! What if that was it now...I'd completely failed?! What if I found I couldn't even do 15 miles?! What if...what if ...what if?!?!? You getting the picture?

AND THEN the 20 miler was one of the worst I've ever had. In the 4 and a half years I've been running there have been two (now three) occasions where I have sat smack bang in the middle of a tarmac road and openly cried. 

I set off for this one at 4am with a sinking feeling of dread in my stomach - I absolutely hate starting a run like this but I figured I'd shrug it off by mile 4 or so. But no matter what music I put on, what mantra I kept going round my head, or lie I told myself I just couldn't muster the energy or get rid of the horrible dark feeling which seemed to have settled over me. And all the running did was bring me further down...to that point where I sit in the middle of the road at 6am and cry my eyes out. I was shit, I didn't know how to train, I shouldn't be doing this, I'd failed at the whole thing so miserably they shouldn't have even let me on this bloody race. These were the things I couldn't get out of my head. 

Feeling desperate, I phoned my partner (who, as always, was thrilled to be woken up with a phonecall at 6am on a Saturday morning from his neurotic girlfriend). He told me to get a grip of myself, breathe, and get my ass through the rest of the run, even if it was slow, even if I had to stop and rest, just chalk it up to a bad day. And so I did. I tried to be kind to myself for the next two hours, tried to stop giving myself a hard time about everything and you know what...it actually worked. Sometimes you've just got to ease off yourself a bit. 

I should probably mention here a lot of this could probably be put down to those marvellous little things called hormones...then again it's probably 50/50 between those and my usual stress-head-runner-psyche.

The week after that horrible run went to plan at least (if not enthusiastically) and the weekend rolled around pretty quickly. I'd planned a long hill/trail run of about 15 miles for the Saturday but when it came to getting ready and leaving...I just couldn't. I can't really explain it. I've become a master at kicking my own arse and powering through the slumps but every now and then I just...can't. I spent a good 30 minutes trying to tell myself to find my damn compression socks and put them on for fuck sake!! I was sitting on the sofa with one sock on trying not to cry when my partner got home and he convinced me it was a stupid idea to even attempt the run in this sort of mood and there was nothing stopping me curling up, watching a film and doing the run tomorrow. 

I begrudgingly agreed (whilst sniffling). I was feeling so sorry for myself  I needed Bedknobs and Broomsticks to cheer me up. ..I know right, it was that bad. 

In hindsight, it's a good job I decided to do it the following day as I ended up getting completely lost (which would have undoubtedly led to an entire mental breakdown), standing on a very wild hill with nothing but more hills around me, wondering where in the hell I was. My map and general navigation skills must be getting better though as I did manage to get myself to a track (with a cyclist and everything!) which then led on to the part where I was supposed to be! 

And so with those two dodgy long runs back under my belt I started to feel a bit more confident and this week has added to it with the energy which seems to have come back to me. Today's hill run was actually stronger and faster than it's ever been! 

So really it's just a wing and a prayer now. The whole thing is an unknown quantity - running 26 miles after trekking for 2 weeks at -20 with 50% less oxygen, snow, ice and ridiculous drops? I could be magnificently ready or I could be completely fucked...I really have no way of telling.

Over and out, the neurotic runner who shouldn't be allowed to make plans without adult supervision.