I am drawing MUCHO lessons on the living with mental illness or disability or family pain from this story of marathons:
##stopping to refuel
##Coping with your mental “game” being the prima facia case
##The blessing of experience
##The amplified blessedness of having a running partner
My brother in law, Gearard, and I embarked on our latest long run yesterday in preparation for the Belfast Marathon in May. This time we stepped the distance up to 15 miles, our longest effort yet. It was chilly but thankfully dry as we set off on the first of several loops round the village, well wrapped up to ward off the icy wind. This will be Gearard’s first marathon and my tenth.
Long distance training runs are as much mental as physical and I always find the first few miles the hardest as you dubiously eye up the road in front of you. No matter how many times I set off on such a run I always experience the same emotions. Anxiety and a sense of hopelessness, convinced this will be the time I’m caught out and shown up for the running fraud I truly am.
Given this, I’m…
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