Yesterday was Day Two – a 3 mile run in the rain with a strained calf. At least that is only 98 days to go. Today, I swim.
The elation of the London marathon was followed by the pain of Copenhagen. It was a horrible run. I let myself down and, more significantly, I let Karen down.
I felt I had done a reasonable amount for London, (though I think that might be only partially true), however, it is an undeniable fact that I didn’t even run a bath, let alone an inch, in the four weeks between London and Copenhagen. And, boy, did I pay. There were circumstances that made it tough – the loops, the lack of other fun runners, the heat etc. but they only contributed to, for me, Probably The Worst Marathon In The World. The heated exchanges Karen and I swapped at eleven miles still make me cringe and the last fifteen were hard, hard miles.
In April 2008, Karen, Adele and I ran the Balfron 10K. We came back to my house for a baked potato (why do I remember such trivial details yet I can’t remember to take my medication?) and watched the fun runners finish the London marathon. It was then Karen said “why don’t we run London next year?”.
We all agreed and inwardly I have the following chain of thoughts:
- A lot of people have run a marathon
- I want to run more than one marathon
Seven was the first number that popped into my mind. Not two, seven. Copenhagen was number seven and for, the first time, when I crossed the line, the words “never again” crossed my lips and I hadn’t crossed my fingers.
The problem with number eight is it is only two short of number ten, which is a mighty number to have run. So if I do one more I will do three more.
But Karen’s kick up the @**e, and a desire to put Copenhagen to bed, means there will be number eight, the Loch Ness marathon in September. Followed by nine etc.
The graveyard is full of people who would love to endure a marathon.