I'm currently doing some soul searching. I really can't remember having the feelings and emotions I experienced following Sunday's Brass Monkey half marathon. Setting goals I now realise can be a little precarious. Whilst I think on the whole aiming for goals can only be a good thing I now realise if things don't go to plan it can also have a detrimental effect. All part of learning I suppose. However, at around mile 11 on Sunday I never wanted to run again!
I had wrestled with my thoughts on running with Lyndon and by and large came to the conclusion that it could be my salvation in terms of getting me the time I had set my sights on, 1 hr 50 minutes. That wonderful thing 'hindsight' has popped up again and I wish I had some of it at the right time sometimes. With it, I might well have done one of two things, pulled out of the race or at least given myself a break and lowered my goal to take into account my health and the horrendous weather bestowed on us over the weekend.
Instead I took the decision to run with Lyndon and agreed if I couldn't keep up he should keep going. Hmm, 2 miles in and he pulled away, never looking back, gasping as I fought to catch my breath, I kept him in my sights up until about mile 5 and then I didn't see him again. I plodded on trying to fight against the wind, at times being blown off the path and into ditches, once even having another runner blown into me! The further into the race I got, the weaker I got, I hadn't anything at all in the tank. I told my self at mile ten I only had a parkrun to go. By mile 11 I was in pain across the bottom of my back and chest, I felt sick and I truly considered giving in. I have never, ever done that before. Coming back into the village of Bishopsthorpe, the cheery marshals kept telling runners that they had only a mile to go, what seemed like an age later I came upon the 12 mile marker. eventually I struggled back into York race course, the relief was immense. Not having once looked at my watch, I stopped it and glanced down, just as I expected I was way off the mark - way off my previous time for the same race even. How had I got it so wrong? I hadn't a clue, my head was fuzzy and I couldn't think straight. I joined the queue for drinks and was thrust a plastic bag, 'one size fits all' said the man. When I finally was able to comprehend what he had given me I realised it was a 'large' gilet displaying the race logo! Wonderful, the darn thing doesn't even fit so I don't even get a reward for my efforts. I do wish that race organisers would take into account that smaller people finish near the back of the field too!
A few hours later I was able to look back on the race, nobody likes making excuses and it's difficult to accept that there are going to be days when your race or run don't go according to plan, c'est la vie! I've now cut myself some slack but my pride is still a little dented and it might take me a while to think about chasing goals in the future!