As the weekend of the last trail run approached, I was both nervous and excited. I really wanted to try and get a good time for this run, but I could feel I had a bit of a cold so I wasn’t optimistic. And I was right. Turned out to be helluva tough, and between the steep uphills and my cold, along with the gunky lungs thanks to quitting smoking, my time was never going to be great.
Still, it was a great run. More of an adventure race than anything else. Running through plowed fields, along the sloping banks of the Hennops River, around, over and under trees, and even up and over a turnstile and along a rickety rope bridge. The constant changes of scenery kept things interesting and helped to take my mind off the fact that I couldn’t breathe. I came in at just under an hour, happily in my usual position of slap bang in the middle of the pack. This is one area where I’m completely content to settle for solid mediocrity.
On the last uphill I was slightly embarrassed, as the leading runner for the long distance course came bounding past me like a mountain goat while I practically crawled on all fours up what felt like a 90 degree cliff. But I figure it’s something to work on. Hopefully if I keep it up I’ll be able to run up a mountain myself one day.
In the meantime, I’m contemplating a half marathon. Suppose I should get my shoes on and hit the road instead of just staring at the training programme…