Today was 40 minutes non-stop. It was a strange experience; just a slog. No ‘wow I’ve done something amazing’, I just felt flat.
Have been thinking about it all day and realised that I’m in the grief cycle.
There’s definately been tons of SHOCK & DENIAL. The shock took the form of retreating into a la-la land of ‘oh yes I can run a half marathon’ without really thinking through what might be involved. The denial has been mainly on Neil’s side (HOW much money for 2 pairs of trainers and what about all these socks you’ve been buying? Well? Well?).
Moving on into the ANGRY phase: ooooh, lots of denial here: ‘I’m sure that if I keep trying it’ll get better soon’, ‘this will help me lose 10kg’, ‘I need more socks’ and ‘ice cream is the breakfast of champions’ (I can explain that one).
DEPRESSED: been there. The loneliness and self-pity (I’m all on my own; nobody understaaaands etc etc – there’s a lavish production of Half Marathon – the Opera going on in my head). The ocasional panic (‘I’m going to make a complete fool of myself’ and ‘I really have no idea how far 21kms is, do I??’) . No guilt whatsoever. I am completely at ease with my shoe and sock buying decisions.
DETACHED: spending lots of time in here resigned and apathetic. It’s crap. I ran 40 minutes non-stop this morning (I may have already mentioned this) and felt completely fed up. It wasn’t until later in the day when I’d cheered up a bit and realised what I’d actually achieved: 4 weeks ago I could barely run for 3 minutes, now I can do 40 minutes. That’s amazing.
I’ll probably wallow around in depressed and detached for a while longer but I can feel it starting to lift already.
Going out for a run tonight to see how far I can get round Iron Cove in 40 minutes.