Yesterday (for I am posting this the infamous morning after) was the hardest day of Janathon for me so far. Physically and mentally, I just felt flat, nothing left in the tank, no secret reserve of cheerfulness and strength to pull on. Just a very run-down, flat, Pyro.
I'm not sure what brought this feeling about: 24 days of consecutive running almost certainly played its part; perhaps too much activity and not enough fuel input over the weekend made for depleted reserves; maybe pushing for 40 miles last week was a bad idea; perhaps my immune system's a bit low and I'm coming down with something. I don't know the cause, only the symptom, and the symptom was that I felt like a deflated balloon.
I think we're into a second set of doldrums in the Janathon now. Days 1 and 2 were awesome, a runner's high, but from there we hit a dip as it sinks in what we're trying to do. We grit our collective teeth and keep pushing onwards, and it gets easier again as we settle into a rhythm and our bodies adjust accordingly. We celebrate the occasions, a week done, 100km, half way, 100 miles... and now we find ourselves with a week left to go and our bodies saying "Precisely how long do you think you're going to keep this up?" The world becomes still, the helper wind on our back drops, and all we have left to keep us running is our own grit.
Last night was one of those grit-only nights. It took effort to stand up from the chair. It took effort to open the front door. It took effort to put one foot in front of the other and just move forward. Tonight was not one of those wonderful, bright, easy nights where the world is running with you; it was one of those agonising grey ones where it seems to be spinning against you.
4.5km, 42mins-ish. Plus a brief stop to catch a haggis for supper, which was then eaten in grumpy silence while I had the mickey taken quietly by Hannah and her housemates. The world is a little brighter this morning, and the walk home was a little easier. We'll see what tonight brings.