I must confess that I haven’t looked at this blog since I wrote the week 8 recap. The second half of my marathon training was a bit of a rollercoaster, to say the least. This post is just a quickie just so that the record is complete before I post about London itself.
Week 9 started out really well, with a couple of shorter, speedier runs. On Friday evening, I started to feel a pain on the front of my left leg, just below the knee. It seemed to improve through Saturday so I set out with Matt on Sunday morning with the intention of running 16 miles. The first 6 miles of our route were almost all uphill, and there was a decidedly unpleasant drizzle that kept things feeling just the wrong side of okay. Just as I started to settle in and look more positively at the remaining 10 miles, the pain in my knee became unbearable and I felt like the joint could collapse at any moment. I stopped, stretched, paced back and forth, tried to jog, gave up. The only slight problem was that we were at least 3 miles from home (although, thank god we’d planned a figure-of-eight route and weren’t 10 miles from home) and I could hardly walk without stabbing pain. But with me half riding Matt’s bike and him walking/jogging alongside we made it. There were more than a few tears from me.
I rested my knee for the rest of the week, and hoped furiously that it would recover. I was desperate to run the Bath Half at the end of week 10 as I was craving the race day high and a new bit of bling to add to my collection! Unfortunately it was not to be, I couldn’t risk damaging the knee more when London was the race I was really aiming for.
I saw a sports therapist during week 11, and to my surprise he concluded that my pain was caused not by a knee problem, but by hamstring tendonitis, likely brought about by tight hamstrings and poor core stability. The therapist threw every treatment he could at me for the next few weeks, and I did the prescribed strengthening exercises religiously.
I was, as you might imagine, extremely emotional about the whole experience. I felt like I had been robbed of the opportunity to find out what I was capable of, and what was worse was that I felt like the robber as well as the victim. My head was full of weasels screaming at me, and they were loving all the down time. It really gave them a chance to sharpen their claws. And oh, the words they were saying: I shouldn’t have ran those 6 miles that Sunday morning. I should have built up my mileage more gradually. I should have worked harder on my core. I should be a better person. I shouldn’t be so useless… It was almost impossible to keep anxiety at bay, and I couldn’t face posting here or on social media about my lack of running. I felt like a failure, especially as I watched everyone on Instagram do their longest runs and start to taper. I almost felt like I had done no training at all.
All in all I managed a couple of 4-5 mile runs during the 3 weeks before London.
My goal – to finish the London Marathon – was still (I believed) within my reach, but I had given up on the idea of a time to be proud of! I told my friends and family that I was going to do my damnedest to complete the course, hobbling if I had to, and that I was going to smile while doing it.
Ready or not, it was marathon day.