The reason I chose this race was purely sentimental. I grew up in the Yarra Valley and knew the area fairly well. I had visited its wineries many, many times, had dined out at local restaurants and even taken a hot air balloon flight over the countryside. When I saw that there was a brand new run to be held in this region, I knew I would be signing up for it.

 

13.2 km was a distance I had covered before, so I wasn't concerned about the length of the race. There weren't any significant hills or trails to navigate. It seemed like a great opportunity to work on achieving a fast time, as well as perfect training for the half marathon that I wanted to complete sometime in the future. 

 

Back in June Danny and I had finished the 10 km event at Run Melbourne. As part of this event, free weekly training sessions were held in the city for a couple of months leading up to the race. There was the option of different distances, paces and interval workouts to choose from. Danny and I started with the 10 km group at a medium speed, a distance we knew we could cover. Part of these runs covered the event course, which was great practise before race day.

 

After a handful of runs I started to get bored. I was coming all the way into the city on a work night to run a distance I could run by myself near home. That's when I decided to mix things up and join the interval group. I had never done speed work before so I didn't know what to expect. It was a killer. Every week was different, from short and long repeats, to hill work and time trials. I learned more in those few weeks than I had ever thought possible. Once the race was over I continued to add interval sessions to my training schedule, finding different workouts online that suited my fitness level.

 

My training over the year had slowly progressed to more running and less gym work. I still went to the gym a couple of times a week, plus played two netball games, but I was now running four days a week. I tended to stick to the two main running/bike paths near my house, and occasionally ran along the road. The one thing that significantly changed was my long run.

 

After the Run Melbourne training runs had finished, Danny and I looked around for other running groups we could join. There turned out to be one that met at a large, public park not far from our house. Every Saturday morning dozens of runners would turn out to run their weekly long run together. Apprehensively, Danny and I appeared one week, unsure of what to expect. Everyone was incredibly welcoming and friendly, chatting to us about training, racing and social events. We immediately relaxed and became one of the regulars.

 

The long runs were split up between four leaders. With two distances and two paces on offer, there was something for everyone. Each week they changed the course, resulting in experience on different terrains and varying elevations. This was almost exclusively how I got some hill work into my training. Having the support of other runners and the motivation to push myself harder than I could when I was alone kept me coming back week after week. Plus I discovered several running routes in the area that I never knew existed, giving me a change of scenery from my usual course. 

 

We later discovered that the group also held interval sessions on a weeknight. We started turning up to these too, learning about strides, drills and different types of speed workouts. Again everyone could join a group they felt comfortable in, so no one was left behind. The two running groups we had found this year did wonders for our running, and gave us tricks and tools that we still use today.

I walked several hundred metres, until I no longer felt any signs of a stitch. Gingerly, I started running. So far so good. I picked up the pace, conscious of how much time I had wasted. I wanted to get back in the game. Big mistake. Only a couple of minutes later the cramp returned, as powerful as ever. Within moments I was again reduced to a walk, bending over double to minimise the suffering. I started to panic. What if I had to walk for the next 6 km? What if I was last to finish? What would my overall pace be at the end? I had seen constant improvements in my times since I started running and I was eager for that trend to continue. Any confidence or hope I had was quickly draining away.

 

This pattern continued for the next few kilometres. I would sprint for a few minutes, then walk in agony for a few minutes, the pain never fully disappearing. With each walk break I became more and more agitated. I was angry with my body for failing me. Negative feelings swirled around my mind, blocking out any semblance of rational thought. Why was this happening to me? What had I done wrong? It wasn't fair. 

 

Around the 11 km mark a long descent/occasional flattish section commenced, which would continue until the finish line. It was becoming apparent that the downhills were worse for my stitch, so I decided then and there that this was it. I was done. I was going to walk the rest of the way. I didn't bother trying to run again, even the flatter parts. The finish line came into view, and I knew I could have run 100 m to cross it without too much discomfort. Yet I couldn't think of a single reason why I should try to, so I didn't. I walked over that line, taking the finisher's medal offered but not feeling I deserved it. 

 

My overall time wasn't that bad in the end compared to others in the field, but it didn't matter to me. My pace was the slowest it had been in over six months. I had been reduced to walking, which in my mind was a sin. I wasn't sure where this "no walking in a race" idea developed from - was it a pressure I put on myself, or did media play a part too? Was it a subject that needed to be talked about more in running circles? Maybe if I had known that this was normal, a situation that everyone experienced at one time or another, I wouldn't have been so hard on myself. All I knew was that I came away from the race feeling lousy. 

 

On reflection, part of the problem was having high expectations of myself. I felt confident at the start of the day, sure that I was going to race well and achieve a great time. As soon as that possibility was out the window, I had nothing to fall back on. No secondary goals, no positives to hold on to. When I realised my expectations wouldn't be met, the doubts and pessimistic attitude took over. It was a lesson that I would encounter again in the future, but each time it would make me a better, stronger runner. My weaknesses would be highlighted, leading me to work on these areas to assist me in becoming a more well-rounded athlete.