I wasn’t going to write about this – but I have a need to confess – I bombed another long run.

Now I know I can be prone to slight exaggerations on occasions but this time I thought my world was ending… my running world at any rate … it just felt awful – after only 7 miles. I was nearly in tears. I’m supposed to be a marathon runner (with an actual 26.2 to run in 6 weeks) – who’s shuffling after 7 miles. And this was the second time – (see previous post). However, after some wise words and a bit of reflection, it was agreed there were some changes needed to be made…

a) in trying to drop some pounds, I wasn’t eating enough, or properly, to fuel my runs. It was pointed out to me in all reasonableness that I couldn’t expect to do a day’s work then come home and run a long run on the calories I was presently consuming.

b) my style had gone to pot following the prolonged period of running in snow before Christmas – I was still doing a snow shuffle long after the thaw and was not lifting my knees properly.

c) my stretching regime (or lack of it) required revisiting

So I have reorganised my diet and am concentrating on my running form and increasing stretching. My last couple of runs have certainly felt better and my head has felt more positive with it. There is still hope for Lochaber and I’m certainly not giving up yet.

What I found interesting in reflection was the awful sense of panic at the thought of not being able to run or being such a rubbish runner that I had to give it up. I realised in that moment how much of my identity and who I am is now tied up inextricably with running.

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