This week was a bit of a mess, to be honest. I had a two day 'retreat' with work midweek, which meant in theory I should have run on Monday, but on Monday I had a killer sore throat and so decided to rest to stave off a full on cold, then went off on retreat and found myself so exhausted and sneezy by the time I was heading back home that I cancelled my pilates class for the first time ever (and I LOVE my pilates class) to head to bed early, only to wake up with a full on streaming cold.
I did drag myself out on a miserable 45 minute run, and consoled myself with the thought that maybe this process is more about pushing through the runs you don't want to do, the ones that are hard, than it is about the lovely ones that you glide through... but mostly I just grumped in my head and tried not to become irrationally angry about having a stupid cold and a stupid retreat in the same stupid week.
So to say I wasn't in the best frame of mind for yesterday's long run would be an understatement. Especially as I was about to attempt the longest run I have ever done, i.e. breaking past my 10k comfort zone. And did I mention I have a cold? So before I even had my trainers on, I was priming my husband to deal with the fallout from my inevitable failure. There was no way I was going to be able to run for 75 minutes, more than 10k. It wasn't going to happen.
Except, of course, that in the end it did. It happened more slowly, and with a lot more snotting and coughing than usual, but I still covered 10.5 and a bit km, which is a quarter of a marathon. And while in the immediate aftermath the thought of doing that three more times in succession made me want to cry, in the light of day, and with 13 weeks of training still to go, it feels alright.
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