“There’s a wall up there. Believe me it’s there. You’re running up to that, any further and you’re chasing rabbits.”
I’m sure what Sean actually said made perfect sense but I’ve gone past the ability to understand words.
Dark grassy tussocks languish in the beam of my headtorch, the rest of the hill is black. Sean has just informed us we’re not trying hard enough. I’m running so hard I feel like I’m going to throw up and I’m somewhere near the back of the pack.
My legs have been tired for the last 4 days but I’ve kept hammering them with strength and conditioning training. I remember rest and recovery is an important part of getting fitter.
Helm Hill has become so successful the committee has created a middle group. I’ve been running on and off with the club runners for 2 and a half years, too scared to brave the elite group. I know this middle group is where I need to be and it’s doing exactly what I thought it would do: push me. But it’s also a little daunting. At the back of my mind, I feel I need to prove I belong here.
The hill we’re on has been dubbed ‘Sean’s Revenge’. It’s steep and straight up and at our ninth fartlek my legs are tired. And we do it twice. I’m quietly screaming ‘come on’ at myself and make a mental note to rest my legs before Wednesday nights.