The final countdown...

So the countdown is on. 5 days till race day, one work day till holidays, 2 runs till the big run. Too late to make any difference?

After a low motivation week last week, where I was almost entirely stationary (staying still, not pencils and rubbers...) I'm back on the wagon. Yesterday I did my Sunday big run, it was Monday, I know, but it was a cracking night so I'm glad I waited, it felt mostly fine.

I ran down my arch enemy (sounds a bit like a superhero criminal confession...). There is one road near me that I hate running up.  I don't hate it in itself, it's an ok road, plenty to look at, fairly quiet, peerie coos and lambs to look at, but I really find it difficult to run up. It's not the biggest hill I've run up by any stretch, or the steepest. I think it's because it used to always be the end of my route when I was just starting out, and in my head it's shorter and flatter, and I always used to stop some of the way up. Psycho-barrier...the Toab triangle of doom...so I ran down it instead of up it. Whatever you run down you have to run back up somewhere...but the up at the other end didn't seem so bad, so long, so soul destroying...the Toab road has the added bonus of farm-poo smells. Which all at once makes you run further, but practice slooow, relaxed, shallow breathing. The kind of smell that's almost solid, where you can almost feel the cow-poo particles flying into your mouth...yeeuugh. Great training tool. After running down it yesterday, I ran up it today.

Psychological barrier, conquered.

A less than psychological long run barrier I encountered last night, which could prove problematic, is what I'm going to call the bingo-wing burn. Like chub-rub on your arm. Just one arm, bizzarely...so if you happen to look up that half-marathon action pic, which is sure to be a beaut, note the quasimodo, riding tiny invisible horse, whipped in the eye, sweating, maybe drooling mutlicoloured jelly baby blood, with my right arm on fire from a friction burn. Or maybe my arms waving out to the side to avoid said friction burn. Or maybe with protective armbands. Or dripping lubricating grease from my upper arms, a pat of lard under each oxter. I haven't worked out how to solve the bingo-burn yet, and am running out of runs to solve it on...

I think I really need to work around it, accommodate it, not eliminate it. Maybe you have one big boob, or one big arm, or both...they said. Too late to change that. And the boobs must be contained. The hardware required to contain them is substantial. It cannot be minimalised, for health and safety reasons. The stitching may well be causing the bingo-burn, but the structural support...it'd be like taking the wires off a suspension bridge. Better come up with a plan before Sunday. Maybe a plaster...?

While I'm getting my excuses in, I'm still deliberating about pants. I'm sure you've all been gripped by the ongoing saga. I've narrowed it down to two. Big and little. I'm veering towards big. Maybe because that's what I know. I wonder if little gets the same kind of brain response as knowing I'm running a really long way. If I know I have a long way to go, I don't get tired early on because I know there are still many miles to plod, I am resigned to the fact, and comfortable with it. Little pants are an automatic wedgie. They're made for it. They're meant to be like that, so it's less distressing. Is it comfortable...or am I just resigned to the fact...I'm not sure yet. I am not contemplating commando...though I've heard it's the done thing in some running circles. I'm fairly sure your first half marathon is not the time to try it out.

And the new shoes. I love my new shoes. But they don't have a space in the sole for my little pedometer sensor thing, which is a bit annoying, so I got it a little pouch that threads through my laces, but the little pouch is a bit too big. I have an ongoing debate, me, myself and Nike, God of Running Shoes. Nike, I say, I like your sensor, I like what it tells me, but I'm beginnign to think it's holding me back. 20g on the end of my stumpy leg? That must add up to something. How about the extra 20kg of Lucy your lugging around? The extra big boob/arm you're contending with? Even by all the laws of physics, 20g on the end of the shortest legs in the running business does not slow a slow thing down. It's like a sparrow perching on a monster truck.

Whatever, Nike.

So if I manage to pick the right pants, find somewhere to store my jelly babies (another disadvantage to small pants...?), solve the bingo-burn problem, get over the gait altering 20g sensor, work out what to do with the whip hair, not over-heat, not carb-load to the point of runner belly (I was so sure carb-loading was going to be my thing, the bit of running I'd excel at, what I lack in running ability I am going to make up for in carb-loading excellence, I thought I was going to nail it. Now I'm worried I'm not even going to be good at that. Imagine failing at eating. Carbs, of all things. I love carbs. Oh the disappointment), I'll be sorted, right? Wrong. I know where I'll fall down. I know why I'm better running on my own, and why the idea of running in a huge ginormous crowd scares me.

Today, at work, a real life worry came to light. Not mine, a colleague's.

"I think I might be too ginger for jigsaws."

I don't know if this thought has ever been thought before, but now it's in my head...I'm starting to worry. Do you like jigsaws, she asked. Yes, well, I like competitive jigsawing. Which we did at Christmas, Dad having got K, F and I similair but different jigsaws, pretty, but maybe they're not really my thing. What if you had a race to finish them, Dad suggested. Oh, they are so my thing now.

I love a bit of pointless competition. I do like to win, but I'm happy with trying hard, the less important the better. I'm not too fussed on exams, or work competition, I don't want to be smarter, or the fastest over 100m, but an obstacle race, or highest tower of sweeties, pub quiz, hopping race, standing long jump, hula-hoop (I can't even do one revolution, not much of a competitor), fastest jigsawing. I am in. If noone else is doing it, I'm not all that interested, I don't jigsaw for the sake of jigsawing, I jigsaw for the sake of competition. Fiery...competitive...redhead? Am I too ginger for jigsaws...?

My running pace profiles (which my lovely, but oh so heavy, sensor gives me) could be annotated with fast spikes representing who rode/drove past me. The joys of neighbourhood running - forces me to regular bursts of quick, trying to look effortless, between that and farm-poo, recovery runs become interval sessions. I want to look like I can run, I don't want to look slow and steady. I want to be the luminous pink gazelle I see in my head (strangely I don't see her reflected in windows I run past...must be a trick of the light). I'm competitive, a little bit with myself, a big bit with other people.

So running in a crowd...will I be able to stay slow, warm up, do it like I've done in training? Or will I pick out people I think I should be faster than (entirely judgementally...) and canter past, with my effortless face on. When I meet one car, bike, person, rack up a toot and wave or two per mile the bursts are manageable, but I can't maintain it for 13 miles worth of tooting, whooping, waving, watching...I'll maybe need to make sure and win at something on Saturday, feed the competition beast before the run.

I'm scared. I think I'll have to be an anti-social runner. I don't want a run buddy. I'll stick to my sensor, and come up with a plan.

Who knew running was so complicated...

I'll check in again, but in case I'm slower on Sunday than you hoped I'd be, take note of all the barriers above, One of them is sure to have held me back...

Any final donations more than welcome here if you can't donate, take some time to yourself for your mental 'elf (could write a bit of poetry like that), or ask someone else how they are. Ask it like you want to know the answer. Ideally actually do want to know the answer...