The Half Marathon Sandwich
This moment, these hours, this blog post and all I do and eat and dream before putting my trainers on tomorrow is the filling of my half marathon sandwich.
It’s a sandwich with not that much filling, if I’m honest. Stretching, a shower, some typing and Skyping, roast pork and a wonderful (I hope) sleep. The real draw of the half marathon sandwich is the bread: two doorstop loaves of thirteen slices. There are slices which are sometimes tough and crispy, others which are soft and crumble to the touch. There are slices which taste so good, they are gone before you know it, and there are others which stick in your throat and take forever to swallow down.
Today’s slices went down a dream. It’s been a semi-sunny winter day, with a westerly wind. This meant there were head wind climbs, but also tail wind climbs, and the combination when it comes is one to relish. I had mapped a new route, incorporating some of the usual circuit and hills with a new park I usually take my bike to. I had banished nerves with my peanut butter on toast, added books to the camelbak, and put on the shades which turn people’s heads.
It worked. The last couple of miles had hills I wasn’t aware of when mapping the new roads and were tough. But I felt strong.