Friday, 1 April 2016

Of rice and men.


Mini Coach is out cold in bed, gifting us a 7:30 surrender after leaving the witching hour until just before midnight yesterday. He's usually stellar at the bedtime routine so this was particularly inconvenient, being placed on that special and important day called 'two days before long ass run when you CAN sleep because the night before said run you CANNOT.' Some coach. I want a refund.

He even made off with my resistance band round his ankle (he's probably doing more reps than I am these days) so I had to go back in after Daddy put him to bed.

Yes, BACK IN the toddler's room after he'd been put to bed. (Don't do it! Turn back! Turn baaaaaack!!)

This could have led to disaster but lookielou here, it got my band back and bubba into the land of nod. So that midnight rambling may have paid off in the end.

And now here I sit, happily digesting a plate full of what I'm calling 'deconstructed stuffed peppers' which involves lots of vegetables and tomato sauce and a Cho Oyu sized mountain of rice. Carbs is carbs and unfortunately pasta just doesn't crank up my engine. There I tested this same meal last Friday and lo and behold broke my 1 km, 1 mile and half marathon records on the next day's long run. The long run that was supposed to be 'only' 10 miles (oh my actual God did I just say that?) but I felt I had 14 in my legs (or that?!) These legs which got that unexpected February Fizzle but as I live and breathe, I think that was a total blessing in disguise. To hell with illness, this was niggles-be-gone! Fresh legs that got me through 104 miles during the month of March. That hundred another record. I'm on FIRE, and long may I burn.

And here we are at long last looking down the barrel of 20. There is a two in that number! Hello you beauty, where have you been all my life? On 2 April 2016 as it happens.

I got a most excruciating 18 in a few weeks ago some way, some how, my innards having been full of some weird quick bug that made the previous night's sleep non-existent. Tossing and turning and waking up feeling hungover does not a good quality 18 miler make. But I programmed that sucker on to a Sunday and wouldn't you know it - there were no other days left in the weekend to make up for it. I had to go. No backing out. I went. It hurt like a bastard.

As it happens, that bug turned that run from 'some walking' into 'if I don't lay down in a minute I will dissolve into a pool of half digested gels and they will have to chisel my sorry iron arse off this path'. I actually felt so rubbish at one point after I'd just finished walking up the 'big climb' in the middle that I had to sit down on a bench and rest my leaden legs. I still had 5 miles to go. So I turned on the mental psychobabble and pretended it was that last 6 miles on the day. Plus I couldn't stop at the top of a hill in the middle of a cycle path, I had to get home. So I got up. I got moving. And I got home... find hubby napping on the sofa with Mini Coach sat beside him, starkers but for a nappy. I opened the door and immediately knew said nappy was FULL and thank all that is good and holy that's where it stayed. Later discovered young son's top in the bin and a box of cotton buds in his potty. Had I been out longer he may have been ordering pizzas and we'd have reinstated our subscription to Sky Sports. So hubby jumped up, scowling at the fumes, and attended to Sir Stinky Bottom while I keeled over on the floor, not to move for a solid 10 minutes. I'm not sure if I was even breathing - not due to the stench, mind you, but because I had zero in the tank going out so was firmly in triple digit deficit when all was said and done. It was all so collectively un-pretty. But damn it all, I covered those 18 miles. And there wasn't carnage all over the living room. Result. And result.

So that 18 was the longest I've ever gone. Til tomorrow, that is. Tomorrow has a 2. What comes after that 2 will be decided at the junction to my road. Turn left for the 20. Keep going for just that little confidence boost and another half or so. Earlier this week I mapped out a route consisting of three familiar legs - approximately 13.5, 5.5, 1+. I've rehearsed and know my fueling regime. I know my pacing. I know the music I need for impetus. I've had a good loosening up massage today. Riced up. Kid sleeping. Kit washed and just about laid out.

I tell you, if I still had any lingering doubt as to whether I have the resolve to get 'er done, this is no longer going to be a problem. Come hell or high water or stomach bug or niggle I will start and I will finish. My February setback firmly in the past, my confidence building each day. I didn't expect to feel like this going in, but man alive I am so glad I do. I'm not scared, just excited. I couldn't ask for more...

But there actually IS more!

A while back I'd sent in the story of why I'm running VMLM and they've only gone and selected us as one of their 'runner's stories'! So a huge place of pride in the PDF of the same name (sitting on the 'media resources' page of the marathon website) and if you have a copy of the race mag, we are first listed in the story starting on page 184. There is a photo of me and my boy grinning next to Dame Kelly Holmes. Honored is not the word. What a grand adventure this has all been!

And there we have it.

15 minutes of fame!
5 - 6 hours of pain!
A lifetime of gain!

I wouldn't trade any of this experience for the world. T minus 22 days.

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