As my last couple of blogs have described, things have been going well and I've been feeling as positive and confident as one can about their first ever half marathon.
My first week of tapering hasn't been exactly as planned, at some point in the middle of the week germs descended on me and I became somewhat of a coughing, sniffing and spluttering lurgi-filled mess. This meant I decided to give myself a break after four days of spending a good 14 hours out of the house and give Thursday's planned treadmill 5k a miss.
Not too deterred from my missed session and with the worst of my cold behind me, I woke up this morning feeling quite confident and looking forward to the gentle 10k I had planned as my last long run before next weekend. I followed my normal pre-run routine of breakfast etc and set out in the sunshine, looking forward to having an hour to myself away from the chaos that has been the preceding week.
The first couple of kilometres were fine, I was going at my normal 10k pace and really enjoying it. Then something weird that hasn't really happened before came across me as I broke into the third kilometre. My legs went heavier than normal, my eyes went all spekeldy and everything was just weird. I slowed to a stop and as soon as I stopped moving I went scarily dizzy. I quickly clutched onto the nearest lamp-post and tried to get some blood to go back to my head (having a really annoying squeamish complex which often sends me into these weird spells means that luckily I know exactly what to do!)
As I stood (well, leaned) there, trying not to panic I had to decide what my next move was going to be. I was close to phoning my Dad to come and get me, but as the dizziness passed I went for the "eat a couple of magic beans and walk it off" plan. Either way I knew I'd have to walk a bit to somewhere my Dad could get me from so it seemed the best option.
A bit shaky at first, I slowly got into my stride and made my way around the seemingly never-ending Bypass and eventually felt like I was up to a little jog. I came up with the plan that I'd jog back home to try and remind myself I could, but I'd go for the direct route rather than adding in the extra 4km loop I'd planned to take the run up to 10k.
The rest of the run is quite uneventful really. I got home, had a long soak in the bath, did lots of thinking and, if I'm honest, had a bit of a cry. I felt quite sad and deflated, after all these great months of training I felt a bit like I'd fell at the final hurdle and the confidence I'd spent months building up was faltering fast.
Fortunately, I'm a member of an absolutely fantastic running club. I explained my ordeal to my lovely purple ladies and ever since I've been inundated with advice, encouragement and, most importantly, reassurance. I'm still not feeling as confident as I was this time last week, but I'm feeling a hundred times better than I did as I plodded up the path this morning.
This all leads quite nicely into my plea for sponsorship. Because really, by sponsoring me, you're not just showing your support for the 13.1 mile challenge that lies ahead of me next Sunday. You'll be sponsoring me to recognise the hours, the sweat, the determination and the tears I've put in over the last few months to get me to this stage. I'm raising money for a truly great charity and I'm so keen to get to my £200 target. Head over to my fundraising page and help me to get there.
Thanks for reading!
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