I don’t know about you, but when my gut decides it’s not my day to run, it really means it.
This morning I was out predawn (3.14am to be precise), racking up miles I should have done on Sunday…
Pacing was good, conditions were cool (advantages of running at 3am) and I felt comfortable resting in for a long one.
At 6 miles, a little wind. It happens to all of us, it’s annoying but nothing to construct a blog about.
At 6.75 miles, my guts erupted, physically moving and sounding like a half filled hot water bottle being manipulated. ***t! Or rather that’s what was about to happen.
I can be grateful for the gym membership I so rarely now use. Being open 24 hours every day was going to play into my hands one day and this was it. I frantically found the website and reset my password, before entering this empty catherdral to fitness.
7 miles in, 21 to go. Let’s hope that’s the last of it.
Back in my stride, easy pace, with a tempo session planned for after 12 miles.
Not again! This time, I’ve a 2.5 mile run to home and the nearest place to squat. The next painful minutes are a fine balance of pace and keeping internal stress levels low enough not to cause a unsalvagable motion.
14 miles left.
I take my time. Refill my soft flask. Think. Assess. Ponder.
Will this happen again? Why is it happening? What’s the risk?
I take off my vest, kick off my shoes and console myself to calling it a day. Physically my muscles feel relatively fresh, my feet fine and my energy levels good. But my internal system is clearly struggling, is if worth pushing on, only to have to stop in 15 minutes time?
I decide there’s always after work.
And anyway, the bigger story is I wouldn’t be in this situation had I got my run in yesterday.