This morning I did my first ten mile run, just a couple of days short of the five month anniversary of my starting C25k in June. It seemed more difficult than any of my other longer runs, right from the very start. I used a combination of routes that I was familiar with and mapped it out, fortunately, last night to check the total length of the course.
I started from where I normally finish and ran up a hill that I had previously only ran down. This was not a good start. A kilometre of uphill running before the breathing had got sorted was not pleasant, especially in the cold air of the morning. I was tempted to take a cut back home to pick up some gloves, because the sun, which had briefly shown itself, disappeared into the mirk and the day looked to be pretty grim and uninspiring and not nearly as exciting as my head torch illuminated morning runs through the mud have been over the past couple of weeks. Macho me made mistake number one……I didn’t go back for gloves. I was carrying a water bottle of cold water and within the first mile frostbite seemed inevitable, but on I went. I hadn’t even said to Madame Truffe that “ I may be some time” and yet here I was about to suffer the inevitable fate of an Antarctic explorer.
Gwendolen Runkeeper has not been very reliable recently, I think that she is sulking after I went for a run with my wife, but this morning she seemed as happy as ever (which is not very happy at all!) to be setting me off on a run. She dutifully informed me of my time, distance and pace up to the 2k mark and then……….nothing. She ought to grow up!!
Most of the first 4k was on my regular 5k route and I have to admit thinking about just doing that and going home. Nothing was really wrong, but nothing was really right, however, I’ve been planning this run for quite some time and couldn’t really see when I could fit it in over the next few weekends, so I scolded myself for negative thinking, at least it wasn’t raining, and plodded on…..with my fingers just about to drop off, one by one.
Heading onto pavements, (yeah we do have a few, it’s just that I choose to avoid them) meant that my slow pace picked up just as the grey of the day got more oppressive, but hey, I was running. With Gwendolen still keeping up a tense silence, I was glad of my pre-planning. I knew roughly how far I had run, but would have welcomed darling Gwenny’s terse affirmation of my exertions, none came.
The whole run was hard work, exemplified by the incredible efforts required by my numb fingers to open the water bottle, at about 10k, for a quick slurp. You would never believe how hard that was. As I headed back into town, a couple with two spaniels were coming along the footpath towards me. They urged the dogs to keep out of my way, but made no effort to physically control the excitable hounds, who were intent on looking at their keepers, expecting a ball to be thrown. Mistake number two…….yes I know you can see it coming…. I continued to run, hoping for a gap to dive through, but no, one dog ran sideways into me and over I went. A brief, if unconvincing apology from the owner and I was on my way, with blood streaming down my leg, I later discovered.
My route meant that I had to trudge up Long Slog Hill, up which I run on my home 5k runs and surprisingly it was not a lot harder than usual. My legs had served me well and only started to ache on this last climb. And then I had done it. Ten miles. Sixteen point two four kilometres in one hour forty seven minutes. Who would have thought I could do that, five months ago. Not me.
It was a tough run, sixty percent off road, I was bloodied and frostbitten and I will ache tomorrow, for sure, but I did it. Maybe it wasn’t the gods against me at all, but just the dyslexic in me. It was the dogs that were against me.
Have you heard the one about the insomniac, agnostic dyslexic…………
He used to lie awake all night, wondering if there really was a dog.
Enjoy your running.
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