my legs hurt

In a moment of complete denseness I thought that the pace of 4.5ish I had seen on my GPS meant I was running at a pace of around four and half minutes per kilometre when, of course, it meant I was running at 4min 50ish. Not to worry, my last long training run was a little over 39km and was completed in a little under 3hr 08. And I had spotted the error of my ways (aka my stupidity) last night. My last long run was completed in far cooler conditions than today. Summer decided to arrive last week, with a sodding great 31 degree crescendo yesterday that sapped all energy. This morning was cooler, my legs felt niggle light, if not niggle free, and I reckoned on being able to acquit myself reasonably well.



And for the first half things went very well. The morning was mild, and when the gun went at 07:15 conditions were good. Clear, no breeze. Nice. I managed to maintain a consistent 4min 21 pace for the first 20km, but by the mid twenties things were not looking good. My legs were heavy and my pace was dropping alarmingly quickly; not massive drops but a second, then another...By 25k the two people I'd been chatting with had both opened a gap on me. She was aiming for 3:10 (she got 3:09) and he had a PB of 3:16. I had set myself a wildly optimistic 3:15 goal that was already looking shakey. But, I'd gone through the first third (14km) in around 1:02 and at 28km I looked down to see a little under 2:07. Yes, I was slowing, but maybe, just maybe I'd have enough in the tank?

By now it was warm and the few relatively small hills were taking their toll. The second half has long sections where there is little shade and I was starting to feel very slow indeed. I managed to summon up enough energy as I ran through the CBD to windmill my arms and gee the crowd up. They whooped and cheered and I felt great about that...but didn't speed up. No option but to finish; my mind had been playing games, trying to make me stop. And once or twice I thought it had a point. I told myself I was strong, that this is the last race of a year I'd dedicated (in my mind) the old man, and no, I would not be stopping.

A little after 35km the 3:15 pace maker passed me, one woman at his side. I had nothing other than my grinding pace and could not kick to stay with them. My thoughts turned to my own personal best...I didn't want to finish any slower than before. The climb up and over Pyrmont was a slog, but once up on the flyover above Darling Harbour I knew it was all downhill or flat - literally. Along the hungry mile I had a brief chat with a first timer...a couple of km out from the finish and a bit over three hours! What a first time effort.

I did pull away from him, or maybe he slowed. Whatever, I could not muster a strong finish. As I came up on the Opera House Niall, who had done the Bridge Run, shouted from the crowd that I may be on for 3:20. I picked my pace up as much as I could but it was not to be, and I came over the line in 3:20:31 (I think), a new PB.

As soon as I stopped running I could hardly walk. Much as that sucks, it made me feel good. The weather had conspired against me, I've not trained at all in the heat for this race and I still managed a PB. So OK, I still have my 3:15 to look forward to, but for today I'm happy. Reasonably.