3 October: Statistics v. Courage

Today's one of those terrible days off. Granted, I've done about 45 minutes cycling and walked the dogs a couple of times, but it doesn't really count as useful training, just a bit of exercise. I've plenty of time to think about what a goal time really should be.

I had a plan of looking at last year's splits and working out a split ofr each mile this year, based on percentages. What a stupid idea. Instead, I've divided the race into fast/medium/slow/very slow sections and got a rough idea of a pace for each sort of mile. Really, it's only going to be any use at the very start of the race, and for the rest of it I'll need to go by how I feel. I've decided I should feel a bit worse than I did at Windermere, but I'm still going to go for a conservative start. I do like passing people.

I decide to test out my theory that a top performance, in reasonable conditions, would be around 3:15, and get little evidence to support it. Everyone who ran at that level last year (that I can find times for) had faster races at other distances last year than I've had this year. But then there's those fastest-ever intervals. And I LIKE hills. And I've actually done some "marathon training" for this one. And this really is going to be my best ever race.

In the end, all I can decide is that, come what may, I'm going to run the first mile in just under 8 minutes and see how it goes. I also know that will feel tired, tense, and irritable on race morning. That I will lose my vaseline. That I will probably line up too far back. That I will think that it wil be too cold/wet/the wind direction will be wrong/there's a problem with my feet/legs/eyes. That the queue for the only available toilet will be too long and the nearest bush bare of leaves. That it will, despite all this, be a wonderful day. That if I fail, it will still all be worthwhile. That I will not fail.