So, I got this idea in my head, right? About doing some proper distance racing. Not just the usual jog around the block, but something long. Felt like I needed to push myself, see what happened.
Getting started was the worst bit, honestly. Dragging myself out of bed when it was still dark. First few runs? Terrible. Legs felt like lead, lungs burning. Thought about quitting pretty much every five minutes. It wasn’t fun, not at the beginning anyway. Just pure grind.
Hitting the Pavement, Again and Again
Then things sort of clicked into place. Got into a rhythm. Started actually looking forward to it, sometimes. Weird, right? The whole process became this routine:
- Wake up stupidly early.
- Force down some toast.
- Lace up the shoes.
- Just… run.
Had good days and bad days, obviously. Some runs felt amazing, like I could go forever. Others were just a slog from start to finish. You get rained on, you get crazy headwinds, your knee starts acting up. Had this one week where work was just nuts, totally draining, and finding the energy to run felt almost impossible. Almost packed it in then, nearly did. But I kept thinking about that finish line.
Prepping wasn’t just running either. Had to think about what I was eating. More carbs, less junk. Trying to sleep properly, which isn’t easy when you’re juggling other stuff. It takes over your life a bit, this kind of thing. People don’t always get it. “Why you doing that?” they ask. Hard to explain sometimes.
Race Day Stuff
Then the actual race day came. Nerves were shot. Standing there with hundreds, maybe thousands of other people, all waiting. It’s a strange feeling, that shared energy. The start is chaos, everyone jostling. Took a while to find my own space, my own pace.
The middle part is just long. You settle in, watch the miles tick by. Scenery changes, people cheer, you grab water. Then comes the hard part. Everyone talks about ‘the wall’, and yeah, it’s real. Suddenly everything hurts, your brain is screaming at you to stop. You just have to grit your teeth and push through somehow. Saw a few people just stop, sit down on the curb. Felt bad for them, but also thought, that’s not gonna be me.
Finally, seeing that finish line… best feeling ever. Doesn’t even matter what the clock says, really. Just getting there felt like a massive win. Total exhaustion, but also this huge sense of relief, of accomplishment. Took me days to recover properly, walking like an old man. But yeah, I did it. Went the distance. Worth it? I think so. Probably won’t do another one for a while though!
