The bank holiday 30km run

When I started this journaling here I was looking forward to a post somewhere in the future where'd I'd be feeling super bionic and remember and describe my first longest run ever, over 25 km or so. That distance looked impressive, next-level, and I imagined I'd feel soooo proud (smug? ) about it.

But a 25km done and gone, and no time to post- although been thinking about that run and made a Mental.note to log it.

Then, a 30km done and gone, and forgot completely about logging it here. Life - summer hols, kids, heat, guests etc got in the way.

Then, another 30km done and gone, and felt I should log it really, if only to remember I did it- but immediately thought it was so slow  and weird, and actually not that enjoyable in the last quarter of it, that I'd rather shelf it and think of pretty things.

Then the stars aligned and I've got some head space and I'm wondering actually, when else I'd run such a long way (apart from the marathon,  hopefully), so the *me-a-few-months-ago* might want to be honoured by the *me-now*, or else, some regret. So I'm gonna go through the last 30km, because f^£%k, that was long and hard. 

As I'd enrolled on a 10km race the week before, skipped an 11 miles (16ish km?)  easy run cos of life and compensated with a short and sweet speed workout, and panicked at that weekend and did my first ever 30km, I didn't respect my training plan for that week which told me Slow Long EASY Runs this week, you mighty wannabe, even the long run at the weekend where you can speed up a little if you want to. You do short-speed next week, and finish off that week with an 18miler 30km. What I did was faffed about much faster, and made the long weekend run 30km, and faffed about the next week, and debated wether I should do a shorter speedier plod, as if I'd swapped the training weeks.

I've picked the brains of a running coach (thank you friend!!!!!!!!), and after he looked at my training log, he advised I could push for a 30km again  if the gladioli felt fine. (He didn't say gladioli, he said legs). As we were going to countryside for the weekend (small town, but anything out of London is picturesque countryside), I'd decided to take advantage of the new surroundings and fresh air and FLATNESS of that area, and go for 30km. The flatness is great at this point, as I have now to emulate the flat course of Berlin as much as I can.

And on the beautiful bank holiday Monday, off I went, folkowing my Strava route!

Km 1-10 : 

Started nicely, picturesque countryside roads, fields and not many trees, could see far and wide. The only inconvenience was having to stop here and there to not frighten the drivers going both ways. Tried to jog along the road On the gravel or grass, but it was uneven and my ankles didn't like the instability in my new fancy illegal for professional runners shoes Adios Pro 3 (they're illegal because they're stacked higher than guidance, and have an extra something-something in the sole, which can shave off minutes in professionals' races). The shoes chose me as I'm a sucker for the Adidas brand, plus my cheeky offer on ebay was accepted, so got them at an absolute bargain. They also have muuuuuch more foam on the front foot, which sounded like a great idea to me, coming from burning front feet in my usual running shoes after km 20 onwards. Fantastic shoes when you run on flat cement, at a high tempo- they literally push you forward. Not so great [for my feet] when you hop around at easy slow pace, they felt  like balancing on ice-skates somewhat. Was disappointed but not badly. I made sure to have my chocolate buttons/gel/biscuits every 30mins, kept log of electrolites going in me, all was merry. Did not have any music/podcast as new surroundings and cars around. 

Km 10-15 

I pass Skegness, the little sea town, geared at tourists spending dosh, but fun. Out of Skegness, I headed to some apparently beautiful viewpoint which would mark about halfway of this ting. The way to there was along some mansions that became more cool and ostentatious the further away from the town, then through a natural reserve, incredibly beautiful. And also on a slight incline, which I barely felt, being on a high with the space around me. I helloed middle class (yes ofcourse , white) older people promenading around or playing golf. In truth,  I'd figured if I hello them, they'd remember me if I went missing and they'd tell police -if they didn't remember my electric orange top and loopy wobble. I'm starting to get a bit bored, uneasy, and regret speeding up through the unpopulated areas. I remember my music and start my playlist. It helped a lot! I reach this cafe and viewpoint on this natural reserve, thankfully the toilet was still open, so I decide to use it.  I couldn't have been in more than 2 mins, but stepping out I noticed just how COLD and WINDY it was, how wet and sweaty my top was, and how uncomfortable my right Achiles tendon and both ankles were. I stretched a bit, but felt freezing. So I decide to resume the run, which mercifully was downhill now, and my body warmed up. 

Km 15-20 

I run out of water in my backpack. I'm surprised,  as I felt I've only sipped occasionally, but 1.5 litres gone bye-bye. I'm not liking the shoes much. The right foot (my strong one) has a painful arch now and the Achiles tendon reminds me it's there with every step. I'm surprised, as I'd expected my flat left foot to start yelling first. I notice MUUUUCH more tiredness in my calves, compared to same distance in my other running shoes. I'm thirsty,  but I hit a rhythm and decide not to stop at the lonely shops here and there to get water. The hardest bit is resuming running after stopping for a bit. 

But thirst wins, so I stop in the first available place: a golf club looking very neat and posh with a bar/pub on the main road. I go in the small room and the group of elderly nicely groomed people around the bar turn and look me up and down. I'm sweaty, dishelved, out of place, and want to drink. So, as they're looking at me with wondering eyes, I do a curtsy- I figure it would make a good impression on this fancy lot. It helped, we had a quick chat, was offered a beer but graciously refused as a proper lady, got some water, filled my bag and off I went.

I ran the length of the town sea shore (am I allowed to still call it "run" when it was like a rhythmical plodding forward with discomfort in calves and ankles  punctuated, yes, rhythmically ). I remembered to keep up with fueling every 30mins, I drank water (pardon me, I hydrated) which after 3ish km made me want to pee - badly. So I found a pub, decided not to curtsy to this loud and merry crowd, and again when I came out I felt cold and stiff and on low battery.

Km 20-25

By now I passed Butlins and ran along busy traffic, then busier pavements. I wanted to stop, hip flexors were very sore and I regreted not doing more strenght training. I remembered the things I'd learnt about economical running posture, and tried to correct myself for each stride, and it helps a bit - either the focus on posture or the lack of focus on bits that hurt. What have I been doing wrong that this is not that enjoyable? It's not hell, but it's not bionic by any means. I had envisaged the happy hormones would be abundant, the rhythm soothing, and my legs going going going round the planet. But my legs were very 'mate, are you crazy, a sensible person would give us a rest, f you'. I up the gels, every 20mins now, thinking I'm gonna hit the wall perhaps and last thing I want is no sugar available to keep me going. My mind was going on the negative slope-  indulging in "this is sh_/t" wordless sulks. I questioned wether I actually really wanted to run a marathon, why do this nonsensical thing when I'm so meh about it. I talk with Tara, tell her I don't want to die, she encourages me to go forward.

Km 25-30

I'm along this massive fare with rides and tings and noise and colours, and I get excited . I realise I'm hungry (how is that possible, I've eaten on the clock regularly during the run). I pass a candy stand , cuss the people in the queue for not making space, then turn back to it with finally a constructive brainwave: buy some full-fat coke and some candyfloss! I'm genuinely delirious with happiness for that coke and bucket of candy.  I sip through the coke for the next half km and instantly my mood lifts up. Probably the caffeine and sugar straight to the source! So I limp along for the last kms to the caravan. I try to open the candy bucket without stopping but struggle, and decide to leave it for now- better to keep moving. I realise that now it's really a mind over body struggle but not in the way I had experienced in the past with the volleyball (where the intensity bursts were about speed+power+coordination+ spatial awareness+prediction,  clustered together, but shorter, much shorter, with periods of respite). The running gait is monotonous, so there isn't much to distract the mind with from discomfort and its friends. I felt like grasping at straws to keep encouraging myself to keep going. I pass some people, who moved out of the way for me way before necessary, and I thought I may look like I'm doing something serious. That little show of etiquette and respect from them gave me some energy. (For the people standing in the middle of the way unaware of their surroundings that you wNna whack them in the back of their head, another post. For the male thing (because it is only males) of not moving an inch of their trajectory, when youre in eye contact with them for 30metres or so, not even a teeny weeny courtesy side-step, until they realise that you're not gonna indulge them and move yourself, another post). I reach the holiday place, but watch says 29 and something km. Sh#t! I wanna stop, I feel like going to the toilet AGAIN, since it's so close as well, I feel like jumping in the hot tub. I want to see 30 on my watch. So I go back and forth on the 100m drive to the compound, until watch says 30. I must have looked a picture to the cars coming in and out- this tall person bumbling up and down with almost no dignity, and a bucket of bubblegum candyfloss dangling from her arm. Fook dem, lazy b^^&^starts. I wanna stop but I've come so far, I'm gonna loop this driveway till it's needed. Watch says 30km. I stop the run, stop the app, and walk to the caravan. The walk felt very long.  I go in, kids jump on me excited to tell me about their day, I have a shower, food, and jump into hottub. I'm disappointed with my pace, but I'm proud that I've completed it. Apparently, it's time on the legs that's important, and the purpose of these extra long runs is to foresee difficulties during the race. For that purpose, both of the 30km runs have been very informative. 

Next week there another long run, then tapering.

I must make sure to do the little runs and strenght training during the week, so there's something to taper from...

And photos