Tilting at Windmills

I'm having one of those days where the enormity of the task I have set myself is sinking in. Where it feels like as ridiculous and impossible a task as it's possible to undertake. It's not nice.

Today I decided to face my fears and go running with a social running group. Facebook and the internet has details of millions of them, but one was near my house, seemed very friendly and after I met the guy in charge at XTERRA on Sunday I felt ready to take the plunge and run with that most terrifying of creatures, Other People.

I've been in training now for a shade under two months, so I figured I would slot in with their slow pack. The meet point was a cheeky 2 k or so from my house so I figured a gentle warm up run to the start, introduce myself, 5k tempo run, then a slow jog/walk home. All in keeping with my plan, all good.

I am acutely aware of not possessing a runner's build. I am stocky. I jiggle. I am (thanks to holiday cheese and barbecue) 84kg which puts me firmly in the "Athena" weight class (I love that). At XTERRA there were loads of us Athenas and Clydesdales on the start line and it was great. At the running group, I was the only one. My blistering 6:30 min/km time to the start now seemed a bit pathetic in the face of five or six incredibly fit long-term runners who looked like they had been built for speed not comfort. There was no slow pack.

I lasted about ten minutes at their pace. I'm quite proud of that. I'm not fast at all and to be able to keep pace for a bit was just awesome. Then I found that no matter how hard I tried, the gap kept widening. No biggie, I thought, I'll just run my own pace. Then the group leader saw that I had fallen behind and dropped back to keep me company.

To his eternal credit, he didn't make a big deal out of it at all. He didn't initiate conversation but answered my gasped questions with enthusiasm (given I sounded like I was in the latter stages of labour he probably thought conversation would kill me. He may have been right). Eventually I said that he should go on once we got through the park, that I would run up the infamous Chinaman's Hill and make my way home at my own pace. Again to his credit, he did. No cajoling, no reproach. Thanks dude.

It's all me, I know. The schoolyard fear of being the fat kid in glasses left on the bench. I faced my social/fitness awkwardness fear and had it realised anyway. I walked up the hill and home feeling angry and bitterly frustrated with myself and my slow, heavy body. After all this effort, all the sacrifices I'd made, why is this still so goddamn hard?

I appreciate the gains I have made. I can run 5k in 32 minutes. I can run 10k in just over an hour. Hell, I can run 10k. I know my neighbourhood better than most long term residents. I am sticking to the program (minus the short, cheese-powered trip home). I'm making progress, I have to be.

But the shine has worn off the challenge and the days are short. The weather's grossly uninspiring, the run program is only asking for more time and mileage, and it won't slacken off until the final few weeks before the big day. This is the part of training where marathon runners are decided, not on the start line. This is where I either grit teeth, toughen up and continue to lace up those bloody shoes four days a week, or where I make my excuses and go find something else to do with my time.

So, tomorrow is meant to be a 60 minute pace run, then there's a 40 minute easy run on Thursday before Saturday's ten mile event. I'm dreading all of them, but I'll make every single one.  Hopefully.