I did it.
In 2 hours, 22 minutes.
I totally smashed my target.
And I have no idea where it came from or how I did it.
On the morning of the race, when I woke up, I was a nervous wreck. Completely and utterly. And I had reason to be.
You see, on Friday morning, I woke up with a familiar tickle in the back of my throat. But surely nobody is unlucky enough to get the lurgie THREE times in a row? Except, apparently, I was.
As soon as I felt something was up, I ran to the nearest chemist and bought myself a packet of Soothers, a bottle of Vicks 'First Defence' and some Lemsip Cold and Flu capsules. I had a race in two days. There was no way I was letting this virus get the better of me.
So for the next day or so I took the First Defence and the Soothers religiously. Don't get me wrong, the First Defence stuff was good at keeping the virus out of my nose, but it couldn't stop it from sliding down into my throat. And while the Soothers were good at easing the steadily growing pain, they didn't do anything to fight the sore throat off.
On Saturday, I flew to Paris. My throat was stilling niggling me and I was praying it wouldn't get any worse. Unfortunately, by Saturday night I was feeling weak and shaky. My big 'carb loading' meal turned out to be a massive dud, because I could only stomach a little bit of it.
I was screwed.
I went back to my hotel room and got into bed as quickly as I could, armed with my cold and flu meds, and prayed I would feel better in the morning.
That night, I had an awful night's sleep. The worst I've had in a while. I woke up one hour before my alarm was due to go off, and I couldn't get back to sleep. My throat was still sore and my chest felt a little tight.
Now this is why I have that medical disclaimer to the side there - because a sensible person would have let it go and rested up.
But I'm not a sensible person, I'm a runner. I had worked so hard over the past few months and I wasn't going to let a couple of wee germs get in the way.
So I ran.
I took a packet of Soothers with me, and promised myself to eat one every four kilometres. But after the fifth kilometre or so, my chest loosened up and I felt much better.
I had also promised myself to take it easy- but that promise was quickly broken. I know I was aiming for a race time of 2.30 - 2.40, but when I saw the 2.10 pacer drift by, I couldn't help myself but try and tag along for as long as I could. I think I did quite well, and I managed to cling on to him for around 15 kilometres before he drifted away.
However, I wasn't alone. Far from it.
When I realised how slow a runner I was, I imagined that in Paris, I would be the one hobbling in at the end alone and barely quick enough to avoid getting scooped up by the sweeper.
But the reality was far from that - as I crossed the finish line, I looked at the people around me. Some were old, some where young. Some were male, others were female. But they all had one thing in common: they all looked pretty fit. And I managed to keep up with them!
Even though the sore throat chest thing made me a nervous wreck before the race, I am kind of grateful for it in a weird kind of way, because it gave me an excuse to go at my own pace. I was terrified of comparing myself to others, but the sore throat meant that because I wasn't at the top of my game, I couldn't.
Yeah, lots of people overtook me. But whenever they did, I just thought to myself "it doesn't matter, they're not ill like I am".
But hey, I also overtook some people as well. And when I did, I felt as smug as hell :) You could definitely tell that I had trained in a hilly city, because any time the gradient changed slightly, I was able to power onwards while others flagged. I knew how to take advantage of the downhills, and had the leg power to drive myself on the uphills. It was nice to gain ground back on people that had overtaken me on the flat.
I think the moment I realised I was definitely going to finish was when I hit the 19th kilometre at around 2 hours in. I take around 12 minutes to walk a kilometre, and the sweeper was taking 3 hours to complete the course. It was then I realised that even if I walked the rest of the way, I wouldn't get picked up by the sweeper. Then I knew I was definitely going to finish,the pressure was off and was able to enjoy the whole experience a lot more.
But I totally felt like I was going to pay for my run, and after I finished I was nervously waiting for my chest to spontaneously implode.
But the implosion never came. I still have a little bit of a tickly throat, but I'm starting to believe that the tight chest was purely psychosomatic.
Isn't it funny how ill you can make yourself just by worrying?! The mind is certainly a powerful thing.
So yeah, in a nutshell, I did it. This time last year, I couldn't even run a bath. So I'm really chuffed. Onwards to the next adventure!
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