My marathon training has not been going according to plan. Actually, it would be closer to say that I have no plan. I started with a loose one (club on Tuesday, club on Thursday, parkrun and long run at the weekend) figuring that even I could stick to something so simple.
But life has a way of getting in the way, and getting to club has been a challenge (translation: I haven’t made it to a training session in over seven weeks), and the plan got revised (run to or from work twice each week, plus parkrun plus long run).
Only then my long runs went off track, too. The 15 mile base that I’d built up in Febraury has been eroded by a pitiful 10 miler and a weekend with no long run at all. Leaving me with just four weekends before marathon day.
Cue panicking. Bigly*, muchly* panicking.
Followed by a plan of a different kind. Panic racing. Worthing 20M Road Race, Hastings Half Marathon and Kingston 8 Mile Breakfast Run to be precise.
The first of which I ran this morning, if not exactly comfortably, at least reassuringly competently. My knees kept quiet, I managed to find a sustainable pace, and the screaming of my feet was bearable up to the point I crossed the finish line.
A full race report may follow, but if not, think Netley Abbey parkrun. Got lapped. Got lapped again. Started lap 3 as super-fast man finished. Fantasised about mugging a faster runner for their race number. Started lap 4 as most of the rest of the field finished. Finished lap 4 and collapsed in a heap.
Lots of work still to do, but the marathon is starting to feel achievable. Result!
*I’m sorry, but if inbox (“inbox me your details and I’ll get back to you”) and podium (“despite that she could still podium”) are now recognised verbs, then I’m declaring bigly and muchly to be valid words too.