“Don’t Cry for the ghosts of days gone by”
Yesterday I ran the Bath Half marathon. I suspect that this blog will be a bit fragmented. So much happened over the weekend that I am not quite sure how to cram it all in without boring you.
Bath was familiar and yet different. I wandered to the start village and suddenly it felt very real. I entered Bath Half on a complete whim whilst recovering from my broken collarbone.
I met up with my friend Kate who was also running her first half. We met through weight watchers and she is awesome. She understands many of my crazy thoughts. She has a tattoo with a quote that I really like “Don’t cry for the ghosts of days gone by”. Bath was full of my ghosts that I was trying to lay to rest.
That night I had a mini freak out, I felt like a fraud, all the gear no idea, I hadn’t done enough training, I should have run more, should have eaten less, lost a few more pounds. I knew that I had done the distance but that was a fluke. I have a tendency towards being a glass-half-full kind of girl. I know somewhere I must be optimistic deep inside otherwise I wouldn’t have undertaken a half marathon or losing the weight.
That night I didn’t sleep too well, for possibly the first time ever I dreamt that threw up. The Bath Half started at 11am, my alarm was set for 8.30am but I woke at 7am. I was restless and I just couldn’t stay in bed. All my previous long runs I had got up and gone. I really didn’t enjoy the waiting, my thoughts to go around and around. I could feel my heart pounding and I hadn’t even started running.
My lovely (slightly mad) cousin Katie rang. She has run several halves. Katie was a calming and stabilising influence. She reminded me that I could do it, that I had done the training and I just needed to get on with it. She also said that there were people less prepared than me running in new kit and I saw someone with a bleeding heel after a couple of miles.
The run passed both slowly and quickly. I remember moments but I am not quite sure what order they happened it. Once I crossed the start line I just ran, I occasionally looked at my pace but didn’t concern myself too much about it. I was trying to run in the moment, the kilometer that I was running not the next one, or the one after that.
At one point I saw about 8 army guys walking carrying packs. Another runner asked them how much their packs weighed and they replied 40lb. My initial reaction was “that is a lot of weight” then I realised that I used to carry two of those packs around all the time. There were kids along the route waiting for high fives. The route in Bath is supposed to be a “flat and fast” course – I would like to say that this is false advertising, I can think of at least 4 cheeky hills.
Turning onto Great Pultney Street I saw the clock reading 2.14. The clock is the gun time ie starts when the fasty fasty runners cross the line. The clock was already at 9ish minutes when I crossed the line. Seeing the 2.14 spurred me on to sprint with all that I had left. After crossing the line I just couldn’t believe it and almost broke down in tears but there was nothing left to cry with. Below are my official results:
When I got back to my hotel room I took off my trainers sat on the bed looked down at my pulsating feet and couldn’t believe that I had done it.