It's the day after the Finchley20 and I don't think I'll ever be the same again. I was going to write an update last night, but feared it would have been too depressing.
What's really scary is I usually feel euphoric when I cross a finish line. Not this time. This time, all I felt was terror. I just kept wondering where on earth I was going to find the extra six miles for the marathon?!
And then I started crying.
I surmised maybe my sugar levels were a bit low. Luckily, I'd stored some jelly babies in my socks. Unfortunately, after their 20-mile trip, they were really sweaty and fluffy, and looked absolutely disgusting. But they tasted fine.
It was weird. All was well until mile 16. Then the wheels (and my legs) fell off. Even walking the last half a mile didn't help because my muscles wanted to keep on running. I must have looked a bit sketchy because a marshal came over to see if I needed a medic. I said no, so he said it was only 200 yards to the end and I could probably run. I agreed, summoned up all my remaining strength and trickled across the finish line.
And then I started crying.
They say feel the fear and do it anyway. Well, I plan to. But I may need to tuck some tissues in my socks alongside the hairy jelly babies.
(Stats: 20 miles; 3:25:33; 10.16 minute/mile: 469th/501)
(Pic: My feet deserved it more than me.)
(P.S. I'd also like to add that the Finchley20 is a lovely, well-organised, friendly race and a good 'warm-up' for a spring marathon. Plus they have the loveliest loos and shower room - with candles and flowers and everything.)
