This week I’ve been feeling pretty tired and I place the blame for this squarely in the court of the approaching winter. It doesn’t help, then, that my marathon training plan demands that I run more miles this week than I have ever done in the space of seven days. The fact that I spent last Sunday morning hammering out 32km on some very hilly trails almost certainly also has something to do with my slump in oomph. Still, I keep pointing the finger of blame primarily at winter and its knack for stealing away a little bit of my precious zest with each passing day, especially when each of these days is a little darker, colder and gloomier than the one before.
For the moment I have decided to simply ignore winter and am keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the 10th of November, when the sound of a gun in Marathon shall unleash me upon my first ever 26.2 mile journey. To keep me entertained in the meantime, my emotions accompanying the event have all gathered at a theme park and are hanging out in the creaking carts of the good old rollercoaster. Whenever I think about the race, any sentiment on the long and colourful spectrum from blissful excitement to sheer terror can temporarily possess my heart. The only thing that remains constant is my stubborn determination to see this journey through.
So far, winter hasn’t stopped me from training, but I admit that this week it has been starting to get a little rough. Yesterday, I willingly sacrificed my lunch break to run ten kilometres around a lake, incorporating a few playful strides into the run, which was all good fun. Today I was supposed to do a tempo run, but when I had finished work and other obligations, it was already dark outside. Damn, how did that happen? Winter 1 – me 0. I decided to hit the dreadmill and faithfully complete my 10 kilometre hill run (yes really, I’m that stubborn). At the moment, I’m calling it a 1-1 draw. Tomorrow I’ll rest; on Friday it’ll be proper speedwork and Sunday calls for another 20 miler. Naturally, the forecast for the rest of the week is solid rain. Excuse me for a moment while I go and contemplate my imaginary emigration to Antigua.
However, in a mere three weeks I’ll hop on a plane to Greece, escape the northern winter entirely and embark on 42.2 km Sunday morning stroll in the footsteps of Pheidippides. Right now, I really can’t wait to do just that!
If all of this sounds like a struggle, just wait until Monday when my taper officially begins. That’s also promising to be jolly good fun, in the nail-biting and hair-tearing-out kind of way.
Bring it on!