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Chester Half and Trusting the Tank

I’ve been a bit quiet on here for the last few weeks, and for good reason. On May 17th, I stood at the start line of the Chester Half Marathon. No chip-timed targets on my wrist. No pacing alerts. Just 13.1 miles of open road and a brain that had spent the previous month battling that "confidence gap" I mentioned in my last post.

If I'm honest, the week leading up to the race was full on. I had been away on a walk in Yorkshire so had travelled a fair few miles and on the lonely car ride to the race I was surprised to be sharing my space with  my old mental ghosts. Without a digital training log to look back on for reassurance, my brain kept whispering, "Are you sure you’ve done enough long runs? Are you sure you're ready to step up from the 10k?" But by the time I hit the Britannia Bridge, I gave my head a shake and decided to just trust the tank.


The atmosphere in Chester was brilliant. The queues for the toilets were huge and I found myself wondering if I would make the start line in time. The race had pacers and the thought crossed my mind to try to stick with the 2:20 runners but instead, I just walked forward at where I was doing my leg swing stretches, and looked for the enjoyment. The race was kick started by the town crier who was somewhere, I could only hear his amplified voice. The horn went off and I didn't move for a fair few minutes. By the time I crossed the start line about 10 minutes had passed which helped make me feel more at ease and relaxed than just running as soon as I heard the claxon.

I ran entirely by feel. When my lungs felt clear and the route rolled downhill, I let my legs find their stride. When the long inclines started to bite, I didn't panic because a watch wasn't flashing red at me; I just geared down, adjusted my breathing, and kept plugging away.

Instead of tracking splits, I took mental snapshots (and some literal ones of my countryside training routes beforehand). I ran with the crowd, took in the support from the spectators, and remembered exactly why I fell in love with long-distance running in the first place. It wasn't for the numbers; it was for the feeling of hitting that 'zone' entirely on my own terms.

Crossing that finish line watch-less was a completely different kind of victory. My time? I honestly did not know, for the first time ever, I really don't care! But of course I had a text message once my bib passed the chip timing mat. I'm just pleased my legs did exactly what they were built to do.

2 down, 1 to go. 


The 10k is ticked off. The Half is done. Now, the horizon opens up for the big one: the full Chester Marathon in October. The miles are going to get longer and the training is going to get heavier, but the rules of the road remain exactly the same. No beeps. No nags. Just an imperfect pace, a fantastic support crew, and a brilliant charity keeping my legs moving when it gets tough.

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Every pound is a massive help to a wonderful charity and a huge boost to my morale. 


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