I want nothing more than to hide away and lick my wounds. To brood and mourn the race that was. The race that was not the one I wanted. The race that was not the one I worked so hard for. The race that was not the one I dreamed about.
Honestly I have no idea went wrong. I felt strong throughout. I passed a ton of people and moved up considerably in the standings in the second half. And somehow I still fell short. Moreover, Sportstats timing has my gun and chip times as the same, making me look even slower! Talk about adding insult to injury.
All this to say I’m not feeling too great right now.
I’d love to hide and sulk. But I can’t. Because no matter how crummy I feel right now, I look into D’s eyes and I can’t. I read the messages of support from my friends and I can’t. And I think of all the wonderful experiences and people — like you my esteemed reader — that running has brought into my life and I can’t.
Personal bests are incredible. But love and friendship are even more so. So if I had to choose one of the three to live without, well I’d be left with what I have at this very moment.
Plus a pair of very tight legs.
So tomorrow I will run again. Just like I will the day after that. And the day after that. And maybe, just maybe, one day I will have that dream race.
Epilogue: After having some cake on my balcony (I’m catching up to you NT) I took a look at my race today and my PB which was set on the same course 3 years ago. It turns out that in 2012 I ran 42.39 km’s, while today I ran 42.84 km’s. But on each occasion, my average pace was the exact same 5:11 per km. It’s a bit of solace. I must have taken a few turns wider and/or dodged around more runners today to account for the extra 450 metres.