Just one of those days

The week of race day (always a sunday) is strange. Any physical problem, any health inconvenience - a simple cold, a twisted ankle, a minor infectious disease - may spoil your participation. You're past the point of no return. There just wouldn't be enough time for recovery before the race. And as it couldn't be otherwise you start suddenly feeling all kind of funny issues in your calves and knees and ankles. As I write I am certainly aware of a localized stab in my left knee. It is not preventing me to run, but I swear is now there and wasn't there just yesterday.

I trained fairly well today. But still, I'm a bit worried about this year's race. My three-month training period has been quite a failure. I clearly overtrained, if such a verb exists. The few long runs I did just left me exhausted and bored. This time around I don't know whether I will be able to reach the finish line. I may even have to quit. In a few days I'll face again those last 10 kilometers. I'll be once again at km 32 when my stamina is over. My mind will send me uninterrupted signals to stop and walk. I know what to expect. Been there, done that. Only this time around I may not have the willpower to keep going, I may actually call it quits.

Colleagues at work often ask me about my preparation for the race. There's one guy particularly nosy, asking about distances and marks and expecting conversation on the matter. I try not to speak much about it. It just doesn't make me happy.

I'm not a great runner. I know I'm slow. That used to bother me a bit, but not anymore. I know there's thousands of faster runners as much as I know there's thousands of slower runners.  There's nothing you can do about it. I only mean to run for the sake of pleasure, for the joy of running.  Sometimes, however, that pleasure and joy are nowhere to be found.

And here is the funny thing - I can still picture myself today as a long-distance runner for the years to come.