What a difference a day makes. Yesterday I was almost euphorically eulogising the joys of running. Cool but spring like conditions, fresh legs, good pace, no aches: bliss. Today whilst covering the final day of F1 testing, I watched the weather slowly deteriorate from blue skies and a breeze to heavy cloud and strong winds. Results from the morning’s half marathons and other races began to filter through – the wind was generally wreaking havoc with people’s racing ambitions.
I finally finished work at 5:30pm and headed out for a planned long run – the intent to run between 16-18 miles. Almost within seconds of leaving the house the first drops of rain of the day began to fall. Within a mile the rain was falling steadily and I’d turned into a fierce head wind. With light fading I just about made it to Barrowby (the only unlit section of the run) before total darkness. By now the I was running at or just below seven minute miles when the wind was behind me or a cross wind. I’d tentative plans of running the second half of the run at a quick pace, but the depressing weather put pay to those intentions – today was about getting around in one piece and knocking out the miles.
I ran around the houses and in extravagant loops to make up the distance By twelve miles the rain was hammering down and I was chilled to the bone. My left hamstring was tight and that was sending aches to the knee and the hip. The worst thing about the run was that I was only ever around two miles away from being home – the temptation to call it quits was great as I slowly began to lose feeling in my cheeks and fingers.
At just over 17 miles and with the rain turning into something approaching hail, I sacrificed the 0.8 mile I’d intended to run and called it a day, rushing into my home as quickly as possible. Totally soaked and fairly miserable, that was one of those runs that in the long run will mentally make me stronger and will help in the grand scheme of things fitness wise, but will not rank highly in my list of favourite runs.
