Trudging through runs each week. Too focussed on the end game. The throbbing achilles have not helped. Yes, it's been a tricky summer. If you have been running for any length of time, you start to notice the peaks in troughs in how you feel about running. The Loch Ness monster herself picked me up by the teeth last Sunday, and I felt a lot better.
As large cuts of England were simply hot hot hot, Inverness was grey, rainy and misty. Ideal conditions then for the 10th anniversary race. It's a smallish field of 4,500 runners, convoyed to the start. A pipe band make their way through us to the start. It's an emotive pipe-off to send us out. There are some opportunities to clatter down hills, but there are also a few grinding ascents. Nothing on the Isle of Wight fell running league, but still testing after you've done 18 miles.
I was never around more than half a dozen other runners, and solo for long periods in brilliant scenery. The conditions seemed so finely tuned that even running with another runner brought a certain cosiness. There are clumps of supporters at small farms and villages, but until the city finish this is not a race for runners relying on mass crowd support to get them through.
I was surprised the way the miles rolled by on the point to point course (no loops), but discovered confirmation that my marathon weakness is the last mile or so. I find it a real nuisance in an odd "can't be bothered" way more than fatigue. I need to practice running final miles of my training runs at a good pace.
So if you are feeling in a bit of a running rut, all it can take is the right race to haul you out, dust you down, and deliver you to the starting line afresh.
