Tuesday was amazing. I was only supposed to run for 35 minutes, so I decided to go out and run a fast 5k, which I haven't done since all this marathon training started. And it was bloody joyous, not just for the river at sunset and the ducks and the actual real live utterly random pheasant (which looked far too glossy to be wild - I suspect an escape in the manner of Chicken Run or similar), but because I had forgotten what it was like to feel fast and strong and finish with a joyful sprint that leaves you with a giant face splitting grin that lasts for hours afterwards. Granted, I'm five minutes slower than my 5k PB, coming in at 33 minutes, but that's only to be expected, and when running makes you feel this good, who cares?
Thursday was supposed to be an hour's run, but there was Life Stuff going on which meant cutting back to 45 minutes was the only sensible option. It was fine, steady enough, fast enough, etc etc. No pheasants though.
And so we come to Saturday, and the 18 mile run. Or, more accurately, the 13 mile run followed by 5 miles of pathetic run-walk awfulness. Yes, reader - I bonked. Or hit the wall. Or fucked it all up. However you prefer to describe it really. On the plus side, I know what happened - I started off too fast, running my fastest ever half marathon, but then had absolutely nothing left in the tank. I've never felt so exhausted. I simply hadn't the energy to put one foot in front of the other any more. It wasn't a mental block - I was trying very hard to give myself a pep talk - it was a physical one.
Research tells me that bonking happens when the body has consumed its supply of glycogen from the muscles, and can't convert the carbohydrates you're taking on during the run (sport beans etc) fast enough to replenish the reserves. There's also an element of dehydration slowing the absorption of those carbohydrates in the first place. And the best way to encourage this disastrous state of affairs? Start off at too high an intensity.
I'm hoping this is lesson learned. After all, 16 miles last weekend was fine, and I started struggling a lot earlier than that yesterday, so it wasn't about the distance. But however much logic you apply, it doesn't quite stop it being scary. I managed to limp through those last 7km through sheer force of will, but could I have limped through 21km (i.e. to a full marathon)? No, not a chance.
Next weekend is the last long run, 20 miles, before scaling back to 13 and then 8 in the couple of weeks before the big day, which is 4 weeks today. I simultaneously want longer to prepare, and for it to be here so I can get it over with. I'm already starting to think about life on the other side of it.
Don't forget, my suffering is in aid of Crisis, who support those suffering far worse. Please donate a few quid here: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/nikidjlondon2015
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