This is it. In two weeks it will all be over. Time for taper. 5 months of training, 570+ Miles this year, countless hours of yoga, mobility and strength work. To say I am nervous, scared and excited all in one is definitely an under statement.
Countless people keep commenting on how well I’ve been running or how much. Blah blah blah. They then say oh you will PB no problem. Whilst all these comments are beyond appreciated they do add to the pressure. Pressure that I’m putting onto myself. I know I’ve worked hard. I know I’ve put in the hours. I’ve ran in some horrific conditions, endless sleet, snow, rain and wind. I know I deserve a PB said in the least millennial way possible.
I will admit to being the first person to reassure others who have races. Tell them they will be fine. Remind them how much they have trained. It’s odd being in their shoes and having mixed feelings towards it all.
Beyond a few missed training sessions and some that just did not go well, I couldn’t have asked for a better marathon training cycle. No injuries, no real niggles.
Taper. A terrifying word with a capital T. The next two weeks is all a bit of a mind game. Two weeks of reduced load to try and get the legs feeling fresh again. As currently they are definitely fatigued. But the reduction in hours spent running leads to your brain playing wonderful tricks on you. Will I loose fitness during taper. What if I haven’t trained enough. Oh one extra run won’t hurt.
Here’s my promise. To do exactly as Matt says. To the letter. Do all my mobility and yoga work. Stretch whenever I can. Drink more water. Wear my compression tights.
My biggest battle. Believing in myself. It’s lame but I am going to start to visualise the run itself. Especially running along The Mall. The last time I can remember being there was with my Dad having had a lobster burger in a pub nearby. This time will be totally different. I remember loving and hating the finish at Stirling. The series of photos my Mum and a stranger took forever etched in my mind. London, I want to love the finish. I want to (no promises) throw my hands in the air over the finish line and not reach to stop the Garmin.
London Marathon – I’m coming for you.