Go big or go home

I've had a blessed "run" this year. I've jacked up my running to a point that the body that I thought was fragile and easily injured can take several consecutive weeks of 100km are not breaking me. My biggest problems of the year were my pesky arches, which often disappeared as soon as I try to run. My biggest foe was really the ground itself, which I met on four times. (And don't tell anyone, but almost a fifth.) The first was in the fog, in the dark; the second time was while crossing the road, opening a "gel"; another time tripping on advertising base while scanning for a public toilet. And on the cusp of the grand finale of the year, one more connection with the Earth.

It was in amongst a set a series of mildly unfortunate events on the day of the Omaha Half, where I was hoping to break 1:30. I miscalculated the time I'd need to get to the event and even when leaving prudently early, I got there with just a half hour till race time, most of which was spent queuing for the loo. Because I was queuing for the loo, I couldn't do my usual warm-up. Jogging from the loo, I jumped up onto a dewy boardwalk and had my feet shoot out from under me and experienced a butt-first collision with the ground. Apparently I wasn't the only one that had come a cropper pre-race on what was actually the final straight. The shock of the fall and the realisation stunned me briefly enough that others got over to me before I even attempted to get up. It hurt. But then I got up and moved around and felt it wasn't the end of the world. I dropped my bag off and joined the group warm-up and then headed to the start chute.

The race began and I felt pretty good for the first couple of kilometres. Then came the two kilometres of beach, one of the tougher sapping parts, and still felt good. And then things slowly went downhill figuratively (which is ironic because it's the flattest track around, barely an incline of any kind). I was slowing down and the different terrains in particular got me, first a gravel section and then spongy grassy sections. Each one ground me down. On the track that I ran fastest last year (1:35 at the 21.1km mark), matching that time was not going to be possible let alone my ambitious target. I was waiting perpetually for a slower running buddy to pass me at any moment. I just wanted it to end. And it did with me finishing 1:37:25. Not a disastrous time but a nothing time. But that's when the extent of the carnage came in.

I stood around the drink stand waiting for my buddy who'd found it a taxing course when I realised one of my arches was making it difficult to walk. After a rest I hobbled over to the bag drop which took ages to find my bag, then I hobbled painfully to the car. It was difficult to press the pedals without pain. Getting out of the car was becoming difficult as I realised the fall was more serious than I thought. My buttocks weren't just bruised; my hips were tight and I found it hard to get around. By the time I got home I was going full "old man" (no offence to the older men who are dynamic and fast moving). My arches flared, my hips and butt ached. The next day another layer came to the fore: my left quad became sore in sympathy and the arm that also took the impact from the fall was also weak. All in all, it has made up for all that good luck with one stroke of bad. I can only hope another night's sleep can make me feel fresh again.