Half-Half Marathon…

As a qualified personal trainer, I fully understand the progression of physical fitness. The concept of gradual, progressive overload is so engrained into my psyche that I do it just about everywhere in my life. Every week, I get to work 10 seconds faster than the week before. Every time I go drinking, I make sure I match my last binge, then go that one pint further that maketh a real man… You get the idea.

When it comes to running, however, the rulebook goes out the window.

Having struggled my way through 5km a few days ago, I decided to do a longer run today. The wise thing to do would have been add a couple of kilometres on and see how I got on.

Instead, I pulled on my £10 Patrick trainers, recruited my dad…and ran 10km.

Double the distance with no practise…what could possibly go wrong?

Though 10km may not seem particularly far to many of you, it was something of a milestone for me, as I have never run any considerable distance before in my life.

My dad led the way, showed me the route…and put me to shame. The man was barely out of breath by the time I was finished! It is much more enjoyable running with somebody else, however, and I have no problem being out-run by my father.

In equally good news, I managed to do it in about an hour – which means I’m managing to run at the pace that I need to get through the half marathon in a good time.

I must admit to stopping a couple of times; once for a quick breather at 5km and once more at around 7.5km, to have a drink from a gardening tap in a graveyard… It was attached to the outside of a church wall… What??

I must also admit that, at around 6km, everything was hurting. There were cramps in my stomach and shoulders, my legs felt wooden and my breath was coming in harsh, gutteral rasps. My lower back, as ever, gave me a bit of grief, but luckily everything else was hurting too much for it to matter!

So, it’s certainly not easy yet. Hopefully, within a month’s time, I’ll be in a position to run twice that distance…

About the Author
Ed Gamester is a silly man who lives in the United Kingdom. He is the harbinger of Ghost Squad, singer of Gay Bum and author of A Rum Run Awry. He fights, kills and dies for TV and films, and gallivants around the place wrestling, drinking and lifting things for glory and profit. Where Ed treads, there stamp the boots of the Guild. Ed does not wear glasses, but feels this photograph makes him look more intelligent and artistically talented than he is. Feel free to contact him: he is disappointingly affable.

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