Features and blogging

Two days after Sunday’s half marathon, my longest ever running event, I’m taking the stairs gingerly, wincing. I’ve found muscles I never knew I had (back of the legs from glute to knee). This condition is charmingly known as ‘toilet legs’ because it means you can’t sit down. My heart rate’s only just back to normal. This can’t be good for me, surely?
The last time I had such a tough time running was, non-coincidentally, my first ever 10k. Those 10ks have got better as time’s gone on, and now I fold them smoothly into my longer training schedules. For a half-mazza everything’s just a bit… more. Longer training, more cash to raise for charidy (thank you thank you, givers), harder on the knees and possibly a more drawn-out recovery.
Just to remind myself why I’d better not sign up for another, here’s how it went:
9:30: We’re down at the traps. I’m with Mr L and our good friend Mrs H, the ones who persuaded me to start running in the first place. A fitting trio, then. There’s a huge crowd today and plenty of cheerers – the start line is always the best bit of a run (apart from the end, obvs). It’s positively festive.
9:45: Honk goes the horn and we’re off! The announcer calls my name from my T-shirt (that never happens, whoop!) and I can’t stop smiling at the cheering onlookers. Crank up my headphones and set a pace.
1K: Mr L separates, a bit like when a satellite pings off on its own. Despite having a wonky knee he’ll always be faster than us so it makes sense. We wave him off.
3K: Mrs H splits off too, entirely planned and fine by me. She’s keeping up a good steady pace, slightly faster than me, and I don’t want to try and match it. I keep an eye on her white hat for a while, until all the hats and heads are a sea of strangers bobbing about beside, in front and behind me.
5K: This is the spot where Mrs H says she always starts feeling better during long runs so why am I already exhausted? And thirsty! And it’s unseasonably warm for October, which is good, but…
9K: Keep checking my watch to see if it’s working, sadly it is. Time is on go-slow.
11K: I’ve eaten three out of five jellybabies (for sugar, great running tip) and refilled the water bottle once. Whenever the path widens it is gloriously airy, but as soon as the track narrows it is JUST SO HOT! How the hell did I ever run in Singapore!? Now is not the time for a hot flush.
15K: Really? Only 15? Now struggling to smile back at clappers and drummers. Slow my stride and hope the 2:30 pacers don’t pass me by just yet.
16K: Rain! Lovely and cooling but I feel sorry for the damp onlookers.
17K: I might be in trouble. Loving the route and the scenery but OMG my legs…
18K: 2.30 pacers pass me by, dammit.
19K: Tiny uphill slope through Hyde Park is a mountain. Could I just lie down for a bit? Mr L messages, and the cheery buzz on my watch perks me up. But my legs…
20K: Can’t smile, breathe, or run. Strange hobbling gait. A leg muscle I never knew has taken over and is physically hauling my feet up, one-two-one-two-oh-god.
800m to go: There’s Mr L! Can’t utter anything but swearwords, but the pic he later circulates shows me smiling, phew.
400m to go: Think I can see the finish but there’s a lot of sweat in my eyes.
200m to go: People are shouting but there’s sweat in my ears.
DONE!: Medal | banana | water | find Mr L | find Mrs H | photos | hobble to tube

Finish time 2:33 – better than my expected 2:45 but so so hard.

Later that day, after a Snickers bar on the tube, a posh sandwich from a posh Hampstead sandwich shop and several pints of water, we sprawl on the couch for an afternoon film. Amadeus is a trippy, retro choice that I can’t stay awake for. My nap is peppered with weird choppy dreams full of snapshots from the run: bits of black fencing, avenues of trees through a park, bonkers drumming sounds. I wake up to my phone pinging, sister is popping over with some lovely foot treats. Crack open the fizz.

Two days on and I’ve already signed up to my next one, at Battersea Park in January of all arse-cold-freezing months. Why? Because a cool run will suit me better. Because the training will help me say NO to third helpings at Christmas. And because it’s the only thing right now – bar the odd challenge at work – that currently pushes me.
I let myself off all sorts of things these days, using age as an excuse. I can’t do heights, don’t like fast car rides, hate bumpy boat trips and over-adventurous travel. I love working from home, I dictate what I do and when I do it and I love it. I can say NO with no pressure and I’m privileged. So I need to find something that pushes me, otherwise I’ll simply morph into a sofa cushion.

Anyway, 10k was tricky once but now it’s a[n almost] walk in the park.