It was one of those runs I’ll remember not because I ran fantastically – far from it, nor particularly badly – at times it was half decent. It was the freak weather conditions that brought a sandy smog over Grantham which made the eyes sting, the lungs work a little less efficiently, and the skin feel as if there it was being thinly in something not particularly pleasant. Yes Saharan sand brought in on winds from Africa made this a run in proper smog – thankfully it should all blow away in the next 24 hours or so, because no one will want to race in this air.
I missed out on getting to the club run by about five minutes. Truth be told I wasn’t too disappointed, it allowed me to stop regularly when required, stretch, massage, get miserable, get optimistic, get deluded, get realistic. The first miles were similar to recent runs, the left thigh nagging, the hips not wanting to work, a distinct hobble spoiling the stride. Then after three miles or so the pain eased off somewhat and although there was discomfort it wasn’t hindering the running stride. Suddenly little efforts at marathon pace felt really easy and at a heart rate which suggested I was tapering into good shape.
So all I need is to sort the leg out. I’m still optimistic it will all be all right on the night, but at the same time I’d give so much to be in a position where I was fully fit and raring to go rather than wondering if I’ll even be on the start line and then whether I’ll be able to make it to the finish. This state of affairs is not good for the soul…