On Sunday I “ran” 20km, except in my head it was 2 x 10km because this was easier.
I sought out a little advice from Twitter prior to running (and when I get to a computer I’ll edit the post & give credit where it’s due) for what people take with them, water bottles, those camel sac things, and dashed out & got myself a cheapy version of the bladder in a rucksack. It was £16 in a sale from a tent shop place, and I’m so glad I got it.
I was out for 3+ hours. The 1st 10k was good, I went in the evening so, it wasn’t too hot and sunny, and the canal route was clear from most of the fishers, and the chavvy kids who chuck stones from bridges had gone home for their tea or to the pub.
I think it was about 14km I stumbled a little, I thought the floor was higher, but my left foot kept going down. I didn’t think I’d hurt myself, but by 16 (and a bit) I knew I had, and by 17k I was walking, slowly.
I’ll admit to being quite gutted, hobbling home while calling the husband and telling him to start boiling potatoes. (I was behind schedule, and wasn’t going to be back in time to roast food myself)
If I’d managed to keep up my average pace I’d have completed in (just) under 3 hours. The last 3 km took me, at least 45 minutes.
I haven’t done much with the leg since Sunday, and it’s feeling good, so I’m going to give a short run a go tonight. I’m mindful of the whole “too much, too fast” scenario, but if I don’t go out & try I might have to murder my family, or eat the local corner shop out of chocolate.