It’s the day after, and time to consider what to do next. As usual after a hard race, I’m walking a little strangely and feeling rough. What’s less usual is that I actually feel sick – drained and completely out of sorts. It’s tempting to link the way that I feel today with the bad run yesterday, but I don’t know for sure if that’s fair. All I can do is press ahead and hope that I feel better and run better the next time.
What my next race will be, I’m not completely sure, although there are a couple of obvious candidates. During the decidedly rough middle laps of the 50km yesterday I thanked my lucky stars, over and over again, that I wasn’t doing the 100km as I had originally planned. I’m hoping that, as usually happens, I’ll have forgotten the bad bits in a week or so and will have regained the enthusiasm and stupidity necessary to contemplate another long one. Perhaps that’s what childbirth and ultrarunning have in common – my wife always says that if men had babies there’d be a lot of one-child-families around.
What I think I need to do now is to get back on the road tomorrow and get back in a groove and let the future sort itself out slowly.
Onwards through the fog.
Believe it or not, andI know it doesn’t score me many ‘macho points’, but this is the song that I had blaring on the car cd player on the way to Portumna on Saturday. Scootinhg through pre-dawn Galway listening to Andrea Bccelli made for a weird, but cool, combination – try it sometime. Why I don’t have better taste, I don’t know. Shoot me!