Yesterday, like thousands of others, I ran a half marathon to prepare for the London marathon in six weeks’ time. Before the race I felt some soreness in my hip: I shrugged it off as a niggle. At 10 miles, every stride started hurting, but, probably stupidly, I staggered on – nowhere close to my PB, though still a pretty respectable time I suppose (1hr 33min). Today, though, I can hardly walk and am at that awful stage of Googling injuries and looking up physios nearby.
The race I did was the Reading Half, and as with last year (when the weather was truly dire), it was really well supported. How I managed to totally block out all memory of the hills – minor compared to many, but enough to throw you off your pace – I don’t know, but I’d like to publicly apologise to my friend Alex for signing her up on the premise that it was “flat as a pancake”. I must have been delirious last year.
It does have an absolutely cracking finish in the Madejski Stadium, though, with an amazing crowd cheering home elite athletes, recreational runners, a camel, a banana, a crowd of Where’s Wallys and the hugely impressive Tony the Fridge home, to name but a few. The hills probably wouldn’t even have been so hilly on another day, with fresher legs and a hip that works.
But today I am fretting. My hip – I think my iliacus muscle – is in considerable pain and I’m trying not to think about the fact that the London Marathon is now a whisker under six weeks away. Having only just come back from a previous injury, the thought of more rest, more treatment, another step backward is dispiriting to say the least. I can only cross my fingers and hope it is nothing major. Any tips on staying positive, or the phone number of a physio with proven magical powers, most welcome …
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