It's been almost two years since I began this blog; and in that time I think it's safe to say that I have written and acted in a positive manner throughout. Whatever negatives have come along have usually resulted in a positive answer (net gain), but today I have to confess to being pretty cheesed off, angry and upset. In sincerely hope this is not the 'tune' of the next four weeks, as that is exactly how long there is to go. That's four weeks, 28 days!!
The last twenty-four hours have been far from something to write home about (unless the letter reads 'Dear Home, I've had a rubbish day'. It all kicked off last night with back to back phone calls from two people. Don't get me wrong, they are great, good people, and they say what they say because they care an worry about me; but it was a classic case of not having a clue what effect their words have on me. First there was the 'I'm trying to show you all my support, but I'm really worried about you, I don't think you know what you're doing, I don't even think you are going to finish the run without stopping, and I really don't have enough of a poker voice for you not to notice' (there is more than one person like this - the type when talking about the training, or my 'chances' in the marathon the first thing that comes out of their mouth is entirely negative an critical in nature - but usually I'm ready for them, this one caught me off guard).
Call number two was strength-sapping, and the person on the other end of the phone - who really ought to know better - does not seem to realise how nervous I am at the thought of the oncoming weeks; and in particular falling short of the mark. It was just a weird phone call, and I hung up the phone feeling anything but energised; just tired. It doesn't take a genius (it can't really if I can think of it) to know that this is not a good way to feel the evening before a seventeen-mile run.
At the time I couldn't understand why, but this morning I just didn't feel 'right'. My mind wasn't in the right place; in actual, simple and honest fact I felt defeated before I made it out of the front door. It was a brutal morning, snow dotting the ground; strong, sub-zero winds, and a resolve which did not carry much resolution. It wasn't long before my mind started to drift to the conversations of the previous night, and if there was ever any doubt as to the physical effects of negative thought, let me put your mind at rest; I have proved it.
I felt terrible, physically and mentally. It was hope that kept me going as long as I did; that and the fact that the longer I ran for before stopping, the less distance I would have to walk the rest of the way in the freezing cold! On reflection it was a miracle that I made it almost sixteen miles, but everything was hurting (forgot to take my painkillers before leaving; think that might have made all the difference for the last mile and a bit), and although I might have been able to go the distance it was the fear of doing myself an injury that forced me to stop just over a mile before home.
It's not easy to write about a failed run; especially one that comes less than a calendar month from start date. I'm worried; worried that I might not be ready, and worried that the next long run might be just as much of a disaster as today. I know that it's not unusual (to be loved by anyone, da-nananana-naaaaa) to have these last minute problems, but right now I am anything but confident.
So what am I going to do now? Firstly, not panic; secondly, go for the seventeen miler next weekend; thirdly, make sure I get some weight off this week (upping the mileage after putting on weight is not going to help); and fourthly, I'm not going to answer the phone on a Saturday night!!
Sounds like a plan, and a plan means hope, and hope is positive........
.....now that's more like it!!
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