Walking – nay, hobbling – home from my run (more on that in a moment) I was lamenting my fitness. Or, more accurately, my lack of fitness. Oh, how the goal posts move without you even realising it. Twelve months ago I would have been over the moon with today’s run, I would have been celebrating – I would have come home and screamed it from the rooftops ‘I am superfit!’ Today, not so much.
I went out intending to run 21.1km. I was even feeling so good about it that I thought I might be able to run a PB. I quickly decided not to try because it was hotter than I am used to running in (I’m sorry, fellow Australians! I feel like I have betrayed you!) and really just wanted to have a nice, cruisy, easy run. At about 8km I decided to cut it to 18km. I stopped just after 9km and sat on a bench fighting with my Clif Shot Blocs (which I eventually opened!) and having just spent the last three km inadvertently running though the pack up of a regatta on the Thames.
Oh gosh, it just went down hill from there. A long, long, long way down hill. I power walked for 500m between 12.5 and 13km. I convinced myself that I could stop at 15km, but by the time I hit the distance I wasn’t even off the Thames Path yet, meaning I was more than three kms from home, and at least one km from the bus. Then I decided to struggle though, then I decided to give up, then I decided to keep running – you get the picture.
In the end I ran a pretty awful 17km, with a shocking time, and walked about 1.5km home.
Long runs just ain’t what they used to be (and I am feeling very unfit, and like I have heaps of work to do before TR24, and to get in shape for RPF Ultra and RRR in October.)