It turns out running a half-marathon is tiring. I already knew this, because I did run a few in the noughties, and indeed one in 2014, but yesterday’s efforts still took it out of me more than I expected.
Perhaps this is because I’m getting older, perhaps it’s the added challenge of being a parent, which is something I only added to my CV in 2018, but mainly I think it’s because I just forgot how hard running 13.1 miles actually is.
But I’m remembering now, and genuinely quite perplexed at the reality that on three occasions in the noughties I ran whole marathons. Which are much harder than half-marathons. When I crawled over the finish line yesterday I couldn’t conceive of doing the whole thing again immediately afterwards.
As I suspected when I wrote my last post, my novel-writing exploits last night were stalled by my earlier athletic exploits. In all honesty I wasn’t feeling much more inclined to write anything today.
I have rallied though, and managed to produce 665 words this evening, which brings my current total up to 7262
I’m roughly 6000 words behind schedule at this point and at this rate I could be a full 10,000 behind by the end of the week. However, if I can keep on eking out a small number of words each day then I’m sure I have it in me to put together a marathon writing session at some point to make up the lost ground.
I suspect even a half-marathon writing session would help…