I set a new personal best at the half marathon. How did I get here, and where do I go next?
At Mile 3 of my half marathon this weekend I had a little conversation with myself: “Am I really going to try to keep running this fast? Screw it, why not.”
And I kept going as hard as I possibly could.
Net time: 1:28.26
Splits: 6:36.4 / 6:44.1 / 6:45.5 / 6:50.4 / 6:46.5 / 6:40.1 / 6:40.9 / 6:33.8 / 6:37.0 / 6:37.3 / 6:45.6 / 6:45.7 / 6:56.1
Average pace: 6:43/mile
Place: 2nd overall
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During a typical run I like
to doze off, look at the birds in the sky and wave to the passers-by, but today I was laser-focused on churning out mile after mile at muscle-tearing pace.
I’ve run this fast before – but not at such a distance for such a sustained period of time. My previous personal best at the half marathon was 1:35.06 this time last year. In my 14-mile run two weeks before this, I ran 13 miles in 1:33.xx.
Perhaps a week’s buildup of anxiety helped me to attack this race with such ferocity. I don’t know. I’m glad I went to bed early on Friday night instead of seeing Wet Leg (but, boy, I hated selling that ticket).
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This also wasn’t the running calendar I had envisioned this year. I was supposed to run the Avenue of the Giants in May, but then a hamstring injury sidelined me. And that, like some cruel pokemon, evolved into a hip injury.
I have been going to physical therapy since early March. I have one more appointment next week and, with luck, it’ll be the last one.
And so here I am. My attempt to hit a new personal best at the marathon was derailed early on. My hopes of running one in the fall were similarly destroyed. And I put everything into this race on Sunday.
I needed to test my hip. I needed to put it through immense pressure to give myself the confidence I need to carry on with my amateurish running ambitions. I endured the biting cold of January and February during my ill-fated marathon training, and suffered through the suffocating humidity of July and August just to get back to where I think I should be.
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Should – Should – Should. A word that fear latches on to you during the most difficult parts of a run.
Should I continue running this fast? What if I’m not good enough? What if I can’t do anymore? I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to run a marathon again.
And, I think, in circumstances hyper-tailored like this one, repression can be a good thing. And I shoved it down. Pushed it away. Shut down my anxiety, my doubts, my fears. Everything.
I stared at the path before me and I attacked it with mindless ferocity.
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I collapsed at the finish line. My quadriceps were on fire. My hamstrings were screaming. My breathing was laboured.
I looked at the heart rate on my watch: 181 average / 198 max (omg !!!!!!).
And then I slumped back onto the grass and threw my hands on my face, and then lay prostrate.
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It felt unbelievable, truly. I still don’t know if I can do that again, but of course I’m going to try.
Now it’s time to map out the remainder of the calendar year. And then soon, 2026.
Next stop: Brighton?
Fitzie’s track of the day: Walk of Life, by Dire Straits
And now for your links:
Football London: “Spurs star claims he ‘suffered broken bone’ before scoring first goal of season”
BBC: “Tearful Dembele wins Ballon d’Or as PSG dominate”
ESPN: “Barcelona, Spain star Aitana Bonmatí wins third straight Ballon d’Or”
