A rough chronology of my thoughts this morning:
Walking to Pasos De Las Delicias: OK, a bit of sniffle, a slight temperature, that’s fine, that’s fine, this is going to be good, this is going to be good.
Start Line: [Excited Now.] Let’s have it!
Mile 3: That felt a bit hard, but you’re just warming up and it’s a marathon, it’s supposed to be hard.
Mile 7: Why are they giving out water in f**king cups, how the f**k could anyone think this is a good idea? I nearly choked at the last drink station and could hardly get a mouthful of water down.
10k @ 36.20: Alright, on plan, consistent splits, that’s good, that’s good, let’s have it!
Half-Way @ 76 mins: Still on plan but f**k me that felt harder than it should’ve.
Mile 14 @ 6:30: Ahhhhh, f**k. Just focus, this’ll pass.
Mile 15 @ 6:50: Come the f**k on, what the f**k, this is not f**king fair!
Mile 16 @ 7:30: F**k this, f**k Seville, f**k Spain [catches eye with one of the now numerous runners overtaking me] and f**k you too!
Mile 17 @ 7.55: The game is up, the time is done, Rome is lost, taste the whip. But I’m going to finish goddamit, there’s no way I am not going to finish, no f**king way.
Mile 17.8 @ 7.55: [Passing within 200M of the finish area.] *Quiet thought* Sack this. [Moves on the pavement, stops running, rips off number, sulks off head bowed.]
Seville Airport: [Surrounded by dozens of Mr Jolly F**kers glibly jangling their finishers medals.] My hate is pure, I have a heart full of darkness and vengeance will be mine.
You can nail the training, smash your PBs, be stronger than you’ve ever been and it can STILL destroy you on the day.
And that’s what makes it cool.
The marathon is cruel. The marathon is awesome.