Paddock Wood Half Marathon

1 hour 50 minutes 51 secs

Hot, horrid, horrible. Hot feet, hot head, looking hot in my custom-made red tutu? I think not, but it was at least a mild success in the midst of a confidence-sapping run.

I was tired to start with- yawning on my way to the race was a bad sign. Actually, there were lots of bad signs: we got lost (matt's fault for lack of thorough planning), we ran out of petrol (matt's fault for gung ho attitude and previous reason), we couldn't find a parking space (matt's fault for delaying arrival time by getting lost and running out of petrol).

A race that starts at 11 am sounded very reasonable when I wrote the cheque, I had not considered it might be a HOT day, and that running in the midday sun might be HELL! I do not even like being still in the sun, why on earth would I choose to run in it?

I sound so uncharacteristically negative, but it was...I am afraid I must continue in such a vein...

My aims for the run had been both practical - testing out tutu, diluted lucozade drink and nutrigrain bar; and also a bit affirming- proof of the progress I had made by knocking out 8 minute miles (it is only a Half after all) and blowing my Dover time over the cliffs never to be met again.

If I didn't know it then, I am damn sure now; 8 minute miles over 13.1 miles is completely deluded. How had I bigged myself up to this degree? It was a long fall to reality...

I tried to lean forward and be positive, but I had such little control over my body, my muscles could not hold me in the right place and so I had to lean back or risk gravity taking over and a face-plummet. I got to mile 4 in 33 minutes and miserable discomfort. Hot, tired, it all felt like Very Hard Work. 

Mile 4, that's 22.2 miles fewer than I will be apparently be running in 4 weeks' time.

For the first time since this adventure began I thought, What the hell am I doing? And why? Why don't I just stop! I want to stop!

The only redeeming factor of the first half of the Half, was a rather diverting lovers' tiff. They both had ear phones in so were projecting for all our pleasure, 'You're speeding up for the marker!', 'I'm not. I'm trying to get passed you!' and 'You need to walk', 'I don't need you! Go away! Keep running!'. Finally, between sprinting and gagging, 'For God's sake, just RUN!'

That did make me giggle. But only for a millisecond. Or whatever the minimum giggle-time is.

As the miles went on, I resisted the evil urge to stop, but I couldn't shift my head out of it's negative gear, I had disappointed myself, it got hotter and hotter, and the shade more elusive. The scenery was pretty though, and there was a wet sponge point which brought temporary relief. The nutrigrain, however, stuck like cement in my thirsty mouth. 

And the bottle of diluted well-known brand of sports drink did not quench my thirst, it made me crave cool water, as well as filling my bladder, crushed under a sweaty bouncing belt.

The cheering teams from Macmillan Cancer Relief were yet another irritation. They only held out jelly babies and made a decent level of noise for runners wearing their green vests. Well, favouritism won't do. It's hardly sporting. I don't recall this race being affiliated with Macmillan. And anyway, I was wearing my charity vest AND a tutu, surely that deserves a spin of the clicker clacker thing?

When I got to mile 10, I took the double figures as a sign to double in strength. Clouds came in to view. There must be something positive to come out of this race. I can still beat the Dover time, take it steady and then put in maximum effort for the last 2 miles.

I employed my speed training tactic of counting through the pain (in 44s, or 88s) all the way to the finish. In fact I sprinted to the line, and then nearly vomited across it. The sweet relief of the portaloo, and that it was all over.

But I am scared now.