Despite the fact that I could only get an embarrassing 1.2km before seizing up in cardiac and respiratory pain, I kept going out, and trying again. It didn't get any better and the sudden onset stitch was a bit of a nightmare too. I beefed up my personal training to two sessions a week and kept spending time on my feet walking and run-wheeze-gasping.
One sticky afternoon, I had enough. I found inspiration, insight and intelligence: I read blogs about fat people who finished marathons, ordered a gadget called a metronome and hit the streets for another failed attempt. I ran six kilometres - my furthest in a long time, finished with a negative split and a smile on my face. Woo hoo... only 36 more to go.
Since then, I've been out to repeat the distance, risen to eight km and will do ten tomorrow. Whereas I had been slowly inching up ten percent at a time, after this week, I drop in a number of mid week ten-km runs so I can plateau to being able to do a half marathon in happiness at the drop of a hat, before returning to ten percent increments for miles 18 to 26. (This is why your training plan should always be done in pencil).
I'm really pleased that somehow the stitching, the wheezing and the thumping heart have all come together and that there seems to be a lot of muscle memory. My right knee (seven times dislocated) is dropping, my foot is pronating and the glute is a mess of knots. And let's not think about my hip flexor and IT band... But I see the magician that is Galina on Monday who will both cure it, and berate me for letting it get that bad.
As for the metronome, well it makes a sound like a personal attack alarm when on low, and it buzzes like something out of an Anne Summers catalogue when on silent so I will save it for when I do some novelty speed work at a track for the bemusement of all.
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