An epiphany

In an hour’s time I will find out from my physio exactly how bad the damage is that I caused during my (sadly 7 miles short of) 20 miles at the weekend. I’m three weeks away from the Dublin Marathon, or in runners’ terms, already in the taper, although I have no peak to taper from. It’s not looking good.

I have been convinced of something for a long time, and since the day I booked myself into Cork, I have been struggling to discover whether it is possible to spontaneously run a marathon. (Those of you who have been following my blog will observe that I have hardly gone about this in a logical, planned fashion, but this is possibly because my search for practised spontaneity was too spontaneous). I have held the notion that it should be possible for a runner – me – to attain a level of strength and endurance that enables them to suddenly run an unplanned marathon at any given stage. It’s only a marathon, I would be telling myself. People (who?!) run back-to-back, double booked marathons every weekend!

However, I had an epiphany today. I don’t want to attain that level of strength and endurance. I don’t want to run a marathon every weekend. I don’t want to ever actually believe myself when I say “it’s only a marathon”. I don’t want to be able to take it lightly. I want it to hurt – when I’m training, when I’m struggling through the last 6 miles, when I cross the finish line disorientated, emotional and smelly. I want it to hurt for as long as possible afterwards, because I have the signature “I just shat myself” shuffle that makes me a marathon runner, and that makes me more proud of myself than anything I’ve ever done.

And so, my shambles of a Dublin marathon training plan is over. I will not run Dublin. I will not take my shoes to Dublin. I will (have to ask my fellow runners to ensure that I will) not pick up my race pack. And I will absolutely not, under any circumstances, spontaneously decide to run on the day.