Listening to my body

After a fantastic January I was pumped for a good February. On the first day I managed 4 miles after leading the C25K session. I was looking forward to a nice long run on the Saturday.

The day dawned and John and I headed up into the hills. It had rained pretty constantly for days and the ground was saturated. We were soon ankle deep in mud and squelched our way to Peene about 4 miles outside Folkestone. By the time we arrived back for parkrun we had covered 9.5 miles.

Ten minutes later I set off with 217 other runners for our weekly 5k. I started steady but by the end of the first mile was struggling badly. As I entered the second mile my body just gave up - or bonked - as the running terminology calls it.

Being opposite the start line I made my way over to my drinks bottle, picked it up and began to walk and sip. People passed me and I didn't care. I considered stopping and going home. "What's happening to me?" I thought. "I've run 233 of these and never felt like this before." I was thoroughly drained.

Forcing myself to jog I slowly made my way to the top of the Leas without being overtaken again. Then it was a case of pushing myself to the end. I crossed the line feeling like I had run a marathon. I scanned my barcode to register 53rd place and a time of 23:20, 4 minutes slower than last week.

Once I stopped running the sweat in my compression top began to make me shiver with cold. I went home immediately and changed into some dry clothes and changed my trainers before joining John and his son for coffee.

I sat at the table feeling pathetic and weak. We had planned to run to Dover after parkrun and I really wanted to but John was concerned about me. I ordered a bowl of porridge to go with my coffee and began to feel a bit better. I insisted we still ran to Dover.

Half an hour later we set off, back up the hills overlooking Folkestone and then up and down for 10 miles across the clifftop trails. Thankfully some strength had returned and I consumed homemade flapjack at regular intervals. A mile out a sharp stabbing pain appeared in my right ankle. It grew worse and I limped into the town just about making it to the train station. I'd made it but I wasn't in a good way.

Once home (by train) I changed and took it easy the rest of the day. That night I went to bed at the same time as my daughter - 7pm. I slept all night and most of the next morning. My ankle felt ok but my head was not good. I could feel a migraine coming on and knew I had pushed myself too hard. I was out of action on Monday too and returned to work on Tuesday feeling better but still not 100%. I postponed my Tuesday hill session until Thursday.

Looking back I should have listened to my body on Saturday and stopped after parkrun. Yes, I managed to complete the 10 miles and it was good to know I can still run when I feel so tired. But was it worth it? Probably not.

On the other hand I have learnt over the years the importance of rest and have not run since then. I am allowing myself 4 days to recover and build up my strength again. I am tempted to go out, and a few years ago I would have, but I'm getting wiser albeit slowly.

There are positives I can take from the experience:

1. My running buddy is there for me. John saw the signs and was honest with me. He was prepared to alter his plans for my well being. 
2. It was a good reminder that you can 'bonk' at anytime. You are never too good or too experienced to hit the wall.
3. When the poo hits the fan I have the mental toughness to see it through.
4. My body demanded rest and I have learnt to listen (eventually).
5. Running hard takes its toll and good fuelling and resting is as important as getting the miles in.