Monday, 9 September 2013

Last week a magpie dropped a stick on my head

It was just before I went for a run and, as portents go, it was up there with Duncan's horses eating each other.

And so it was that I ran my second Regent's Park 10k of the summer - only to achieve a PERSONAL WORST.

The first lap I was flying. With two more to go, the announcer bellowed we were on for a 52-minute finish. Given my 10k PB is 54.33, this was a considerable improvement. I was feeling good. Fleet of foot. Forward landing. Hands clasped gently - as if they're holding a crisp or a butterfly.

And then I wasn't feeling good anymore.

With just three kilometres left, I remember thinking I might give up. The last time I'd felt this rotten was mile 23 of the Brighton marathon. I don't think I've ever felt this bad over a distance this short. I'm assuming it was due to my initial over-enthusiasm.

Suffice to say, I did not finish in 52 minutes, I finished in 56.01. Not a PB. And a week on, my shins still hurt. I tried a run yesterday, which turned into a shuffle, which turned into a walk to the pond. Ah... the pond. A cold dip makes everything better.

13 days to the Richmond half. 13 days.

(Stats: 6.2 miles; 56.01; 9.02 minute/mile)

Pic: Do you think this swan cares about a PB?

Addendum: Having just worked out that a 56-minute 10k works out at a 9-minute mile, I feel less cross with myself and that magpie.

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