I had a terrible week for running.

It started with a twinge in my right knee and hip. Nothing painful, nothing I could specifically point to and go “there, that is what is bothering me”. Just a twinge, just a feeling that something was off.  I blame myself entirely for not warming up before the Clacton-on-Sea Half, for being a bit slack with swimming lately, for something, something, blah, blah I am sure I have done wrongly.  That is always my first instinct – to pick fault in myself.  Still, no point in dwelling on it, best to decide what to do better next time – and also to decide what I am going to do about this worrying twinge.

The most common bit of advice I receive about training is “Listen to your body”.  Honestly, originally this sounded like some hippy, airy fairy, fortune cookie advice.  “Listen to my body?” I thought.  That is hardily conductive.  If I listened to my body I would still be sat on a comfortable sofa chomping down fast food at an alarming rate and watching reality TV shows on MTV. Of course, I had also ignored the many other signs of how that sedentary lifestyle was not healthy so it’s probably not entirely fair to blame it on my body.  Maybe I am just not that good at listening to it?  The truth remains though, that it was mental determination that propelled me to run.  Which means what, that I should listen to my mind?  To run or not to run, that is the question.

Okay, I miss one run.  No big deal, it was just 3.2 K.  I have a twinge and I don’t want to aggravate it or escalate it to a proper injury and ruin my chances for the marathon.  Then Thursday comes around and I am supposed to run 10 K.  I say supposed to because fate seemed to have conspired to make running impossible.  First a late train, then a forgotten key, then rain, too hungry, too late… and that twinge is still there… fine, I can take a hint. I skip the second run of the week.

The missing miles are like a guilty cloud coming to hover above my sunny happy running bubble.  I feel guilty but there is not much I can do about it now – I vow to complete the long run on Saturday as originally planned.  This comforts me, as the long runs are really what will get me through the marathon so, so long as I stick to that this week will still be a success.  I really put too much hope on that.

The run felt hexed.  Dead ends.  Overgrown paths full of bracken, stinging nettles and spiky ball plants (scientific name – Plantas spikiatisannoyance). Low hanging tree branches which did not mix well with my face.  Uneven grass paths. Potholes. Tree roots. Fence pins. Not enough water.  No shade.  Disaster.

I stopped at 18.6 K (still miles from home) because it felt like I was a footfall away from getting cramps in my calves.  We were supposed to run an idyllic 26 K along the Thames.  I would have cried except I didn’t want to waste the fluid or salt.  How can I possibly explain it – I set a running target and I reach it – only I didn’t.  Will I even be able to run the marathon?  What if we go all that way only to fail?  Why do my calves hurt so much?

Andreas, to his credit, listened sympathetically and then, once I had finished explaining what a terrible excuse of a human being I was, asked incredulously “Are you kidding?”  I was not.  But it is difficult to remain sullen and piteous when the person you’ve just run 18.6 K with points out that you have just run 18.6 K.

Touché Andreas touché.

I’ll have to adjust my running schedule but the twinge is gone and I have great support to get through the tough runs.  Running is hard enough, I don’t need to beat myself up mentally too.

Week 7: Total mileage for the week was 18.6 K (11.5 miles), total running time was 2:33.