Bilbao Night Marathon 2017
I think it was at about the twenty mile mark when the steward on the motorcycle pulled alongside me. I’m not great at Spanish, but it didn’t take a lot to figure out that he was asking if I was okay to carry on. I lifted my head up, tried to force a smile, picked up my pace a little and gave him the thumbs up. It seemed to satisfy him and he offered some words of encouragement before continuing on. How had I gotten myself into this mess? I’ve ran twenty miles or more plenty of times this year. Why is it that this time it had turned so horribly, horribly wrong? Why do my marathon efforts seem to always end up in me dragging my legs around the last miles at roughly the same pace as a glacier? Rewind two months and I am feeling confident. Since joining... View Article