In line with the whole ethos of MCKEP, ‘ writing in a manner which is egotistical, selfish and full of relentless self loving’, the following post is highly offensive to all new mothers who find themselves sleep deprived and exhausted, yet this is all about me.
VLM Day: I no longer know..or care.
The white flag is up, the good fight had been fought and has been valiantly lost with mileage of 23, 37 and then 22 in only the last 2 days, which coincidently broke me. My training from Christmas through to Zac’s due date was phenomenal, with a few days of January still to come I had clocked over 330 miles for the month, won the NTRIX, confirmed my County XC selection (after a stinker admittedly) and felt that I was fitter, leaner and for once coping with the marathon mileage with ease. Come the middle of January I am normally crocked following a hasty uplift in mileage through December. I hadn’t even had a beer all month…before I go on, that behaviour alone has regressed quite rapidly.
On the 31st January ‘things changed’ when Zac finally arrived, ten days overdue (how kind of him to hold on and give me one last race win at Stratford…) Through the first two weeks I battled on chucking in the runs on alternate days, the odd 5 here and there and even a couple of 10s as the time went on. In my head I knew that this week (w/c 17/02) would see a return to a more stable mileage where I could get at least 10 a day in at work, conscious coming home from work and fecking off for 90 minutes to pursue my obcessive hobby may not go down too well. Three days in though and I have had a massive reality check, no warning could prepare me for how knackered I felt. The combination of a terrible night and two consecutive runs over 10 miles at a decent pace have knocked me for six and I really feel like I will never bother to run again.* People who have ‘done anything’ whilst having a newborn baby have my utmost respect, be it baking a cake or completing a marathon (obviously the latter at a decent pace, I am not that sleep deprived just yet that I will start to ackownledge 4:00 marathons as an achievement, ParkRun as a ‘positive movement’ or George Osborne as meaning that we are ‘in it together’).
It’s funny though that at a time when you are experiencing something as fantastic as the birth of your fist child, things like this even enter your head. Why the hell would you even want to go out in the 50mph winds and harsh rain? Surely I should see this as a luxury, I have the most perfect reason to not want to go out. Why is there still a desire to become that ‘slightly better than average’ runner? It’s been hard seeing Simkiss go from being behind me in the training schedule to past me and now into fantastic form, not through envy, but it’s been like watching my fitness disappear doubly quick before my eyes. The daft thing is we probably shouldn’t even be doing London, we both only really want to run sub 2:30 and we entered the training block thinking that was unrealistic and that we could plod around in a PB sub 2:40, quite comfortably if I am honest…but one thing leads to another and before you know it, it’s the most important race in the world. Even though I have managed to keep ticking over suddenly after two weeks it’s like all fitness will have gone by the wayside, my ability to challenge PB’s is dead. Luckily my wife isn’t one of the five people who read this blog, me moaning that I can’t go for a run because I feel tired off 5 hours sleep, whilst she is struggling to speak coherently due to 2 hours sleep, probably wouldn’t go down too well – but we all know how important it is that I continue to inflate my own ego through the pretence that I am a fantastic amateur runner on the cusp of greatness.
Simkiss and I received our first ‘Elite’ entries for Reading Half, the full works, in the tent with the Kenyans, names on numbers, the b*llocks…I won’t be starting though, this is breaking news even for Simkiss. I have to look after Project Z whilst Mrs McCarthy goes to a Michael Buble concert the night before and I will not be back in time the next day. I owe her something I guess….
I am the Walcott that never made a World Cup, the Pickering that never made his Bobsleigh, Gazza in 1990. I am the distinctly average runner that somehow got an elite entry to the UK Half Marathon Championships but had it ruined by Michael Buble. Cry me a river. I will now turn up at Birmingham League fixtures and tell anyone that will listen how I used to finish in the top 100 and how it was tougher, better, wetter in my day..‘did I tell you I used to be a runner?’.
I suppose what’s most important to acknowledge, is that if I was to bring this blog into disrepurte and dare to hint at something serious…..none of this actually matters and pales into insignificance when you look at this little dude.
Let’s be honest, I was shit anyway.
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*I can maybe squeeze an easy 5 in later.**