Sunday, 21st February – 63 days to go

Up early for the long run to find a light dusting of snow. By the time I’ve had my cuppa and brekky there are flurries of snow. While waiting for toast to digest I watch Winter Olympics on the red button. I realise I’ve watched the loop twice in order to avoid going out into the cold. I put on extra layers of clothing and after much dithering I decide that a cross country trek to Harewood is not a good idea. It’s now snowing hard so I decide to stick to the main road. I will head off towards Otley as far as the Dyneley Arms and then back. If it’s too slippery or the snow gets worse I’ll just have a two mile run and crawl back under the covers; if it’s not too bad I’ll continue towards the city centre as far as the Library pub and then head back. If I have the energy I can then carry on to the Dyneley Arms and back to extend the run by another two miles.

I set off in my trail shoes and find that there is just enough snow underfoot for it not to be slippery. I make reasonable time to the Dyneley Arms and on the way back I can see my own footprints heading out. I’m pleased to see that I ran out with a reasonably long stride; no shuffling here. I have already stashed a couple of water bottles in the front garden. I have a glug of water and leave the bottles and head towards town.

The pavement isn’t slippery, but the road hasn’t been gritted and is very dangerous. What little traffic there is moves very slowly. As I approach Adel there are a couple of runners heading towards me. One of them is wearing shorts! Who would look out of the window this morning and think “Hmm looks like a shorts day”?

I’m mostly running with my head down as it starts snowing harder. I leave the A660 and head down Adel Lane, cross the ring road and onto Weetwood Lane. No donkeys out at Hope Farm just a forlorn looking Shetland pony sheltering under the gazebo thing. Church bells ringing as I get back to Otley Road very appealing (ha). Organized religion has no attraction for me, but the sound of the bells is comforting.

Pavement needs care now as there are people about and the snow has already been walked over. When I briefly run under cover in front of the Arndale Centre I realise just how much running on and in snow is slowing me down. This run isn’t about pace or time on feet; it’s definitely about reaching a destination, turning around and heading back. I know I’m not going to be able to stick to my schedule but it was important for my confidence to get out this morning and do a long run.

I’ve not really felt the cold, but when I run alongside the park at Woodhouse Moor the temperature seems to dip and the wind picks up. I’m relieved to reach the junction with Clarendon Road and head back. One hour twelve minutes at the half way point which I reckon to be about eight miles. It’s the one and only time I will check my watch on this run.

I’m now running back up the hill and into the snow. My mind begins to wander; I try and think about running instead of the usual disconnected rambling thoughts. On the Fetcheveryone website there’s a graph that (possibly) shows a correlation between the distances of one’s five longest runs and one’s finishing time. If the chart is to be believed then my five longest runs ought to total 100 miles or more if I’m to meet my target time. I know I’ve only got six more long runs scheduled and I don’t feel that I’m ready to move up to the twenty mile mark just yet. Change my line of thought as this line isn’t very positive.

I think about my blog. Before I started it I just had a vague idea that I wanted to record my first marathon. I didn’t intend it to be a stream of incoherent babble (perhaps I’m in touch with my feminine side! Sorry ladies, only joking). The words of Ms Schmich float into my mind “Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements”. My chosen form of recording things is usually a spreadsheet. My first long run would have been recorded as date, route, distance, time – a bank statement equivalent. Whilst my blog falls down on the love letter analogy it seems to make sense to me. Something that the boys say on Marathon Talk also has some resonance. Getting to the start line is equally hard as running the race. I want to record the whole meandering experience of my first marathon not just the race itself. I have a strong suspicion that if I do make it to the start line then the race itself will be just a blur (and not because I’m moving so quickly). Thanks to everyone who has given me positive feedback on the blog. Thanks especially to Sam for his kind words and encouragement.

I head towards home and stick to Otley Road all the way up towards Weetwood roundabout. There are so many side streets and drives with drop kerbs that are difficult to judge with snow still falling and settled on the ground. My knees are getting jarred and achy. Another of Mary’s phrases comes to mind “Be kind to your knees. You’ll miss them when they’re gone”. I decide that her advice would make a decent blueprint for an organised religion and it’s only as long as a single newspaper article.

It’s a real drag getting up the hill across the ring road and past the cemetery. It hasn’t stopped snowing the whole time I’ve been out. I push on past the Lawnswood Arms and by the time I pass the Parkway it stops snowing. Suddenly I can see properly and I pick up the pace a little. By the time I reach home it’s snowing hard again. I have another glug of water from the bottle I’ve stowed in our front garden and head off up the road for the final two miles. Just past the Britannia I start to feel peculiar and consider turning back, but I’ve just gone past a couple enjoying the snow and think it would look strange if I suddenly stopped and ran past them. I continue on to the Dyneley Arms and turn for home. I can’t feel my knees and am getting light headed. I feel dreadful. In the words of Marwood “My heart’s beating like a f*!*ed clock”. I’m going slower and slower and eventually have to walk. I want to lie down at the side of the pavement and curl up into a ball. I start to run again but only very slowly. It’s like someone’s nicked all the bones out of my body.

I’m home. Two hours thirty four minutes, the longest I’ve been on my feet. I tell Liz I’ve had an “out of body experience”. I try and explain and she says all matter of fact “You’ve used up your glycogen stores. You’ve hit the wall”. I can’t process this right now. Liz has a massive smoothie ready for me which I neck in one go and ask for more. I have a quick hot shower and then scarf down a bowl of porridge before collapsing into bed for two hours of solid kip.