I was that prick

WELL. I ran my half marathon. And I wasn’t ready. But I did it. And I freaking smashed it.
I know. I was that prick.

I honestly don’t know how I did it, and I’m not gonna lie it wasn’t easy. I did not enjoy that. In fact, after I passed 14km, I hated every minute of it. But being there, surrounded by all those other runners, being cheered by strangers along the way, I guess that’s what pushed me.

I started way too fast. But I’d decided not to check my watch for a while because that’s how I trick my mind to run past the first 2 or 3km, so when I do check I can tell myself that I’ve already gone past the 1km mark (I don’t know). So I couldn’t tell how fast I was going.
After about 2km I bumped into the 1h 50min pace team, who were going pretty much at my same pace, so I orbited around them until about 8km, when I thought I could go a bit faster and so I did. That was obviously a mistake, because on the way back my legs started to hurt and I had to slow down, and the pace team caught up with me and took over.
From 14km to 17km it was pure pain. My chest hurt (see: costochondritis) and I could feel blisters forming on my feet. 18km lasted forever. But once I hit 19km, I told myself I’d basically made it. So I pushed it. I forced myself to ignore the pain and to keep on going. I sped up until I realised even if I started walking at that point I would have still made it under two hours. But being the competitive fuckhead that I am, I thought maybe I could even break my PR. So I literally ran as fast as I could (which wasn’t very fast at all at that point), and I crossed the finish line at 1h 49mins.

When I finished my first half marathon, I was tired but I remember thinking I could have run another few kms. When I finished this half marathon, I thought I was going to pass out. I was knackered and when I got home I took a 2 hour nap and then went to bed at 10pm and slept for 13 hours. This was two days ago and I did absolutely nothing since. I pulled a muscle in my thigh, and I have two black nails and a blister on every toe.
I really don’t know how I did it. But I did it. And yes, I am that prick. But I don’t remember ever being as happy as when I finally saw the finish line two days ago, and I’m totally happy about being that prick.

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I’m running a half marathon tomorrow

I’m running a half marathon tomorrow, and I’m not ready for it. I try not to talk about it because I’m afraid I’ll keep on telling people I’m not ready and then I’ll somehow manage to finish it in under two hours and I would have sounded like that prick in school who says they haven’t studied before an exam and they still get top marks. You know who I’m talking about.

But this time, I really am not ready. When I started training, I was super motivated. I’d go running three times a week, two short runs (5 or 6km) and a longer one (10 or 12 km, 14 even a couple of times), plus I’d go for a long run over the weekend (I got up to 18km).
But then I caught a virus called costochondritis, which is an inflammation of the cartilage in your rib cage. This made me feel very tired and groggy, but mostly it meant that it hurt every time I took a deep breath. (Sometimes it hurt randomly. I would just be sitting there and suddenly feel like a needle was being pushed through my ribcage.) I played a couple of basketball games before I found out about the virus, and I would run out of breath immediately, panting like the wolf on top of the hill in The Sword in the Stone, and my chest would hurt like fuck.

When you have costochondritis there’s nothing you can do about it except taking Ibuprofen and resting. My doctor urged me to avoid any kind of exercise until I felt like the pain had disappeared. I obviously didn’t, as I got diagnosed right before setting off for a basketball tournament where I played seven games in two days (and almost died).
But after that, I did rest for two whole weeks, meaning I didn’t run at all and pretty much reset all my training up to that point.

In the past couple of weeks I (sort of) managed to get back on track and the longest I run was 16km. But I still feel terrified about tomorrow.

Last time I run a half marathon, I remember feeling extremely fit and good. You could have told me to go and run around the park at any given time and I would have been able to do it without batting an eyelid. I trained so much for that race, and was very careful about getting enough sleep and eating properly, and I remember having such a great time during the race itself.

Now, I feel shit. I can picture myself at the race tomorrow hating every single minute of it. My diet has changed drastically since moving to New Zealand because I simply can’t afford the amount of smoothies and fruit and veggies that I’d normally eat (thank you, island economy), so I’m basically living on cereals, bread and peanut butter, which I know is not what works best for my body.

So given the circumstances, I’ve been trying to embrace the Kiwi spirit and telling myself that I probably deserve a medal just for trying. After all, I don’t have to win this race. I just have to survive it. It’s not my fault if I got a stupid cartilage inflammation. I should be happy that I’m back on my feet and even if I’ll have to walk (possible) or if I struggle with the weather (likely) of if I don’t have fun (certain), it doesn’t matter, as long as I somehow make it to the finish line.

I’m still hoping I can be that prick, though.