My legs are fine, but the sun is burning down on me. The start this morning felt weird. Around 7. I was there 15 minutes before and could directly hup onto a bus.
The only problem; the start was at 9. A quarter past nine we were allowed to go to the start pen. I was in the second wave, which meant I had to stand there for another 25 minutes. It felt like a big waste of energy, before a race of 80 kilometres, with 3. I would have loved that freshness now. I run better in the cold.
I think my best race so far was the Houffa Trail in January, in the snow, at minus 6 degrees. Heat is not my thing. The parts in the forest are okay, but on the open fields, I feel my energy draining away. My plan is to run this race in 14 hours. My legs feel like they can handle this pace for the rest of the race. Looks like my week of training in the Vosges is paying off. There is a second reason I feel low on energy. Yesterday Sara wanted to go out for dinner.
I know, never eat out the day before a race. Eat at home, or at least in an apartment. Yet, sometimes you want to be nice to your girlfriend. So we had a bite in town, which came retour last night. This morning I ate noodles, my race food, and before the race I ate donuts.
Just after the 15 kilometres point, on a little downhill, I decide to overtake the two guys in front of me. I affirm. My hand hurts badly, my hip also, but everything is still working. I wash the blood away. Carefully I start running again. The longer I go on, the more stiff my right glute becomes. There is something heroic about big races. It looks so cool to run by with all these spectators going wild. Even now, here on the Trail du Saint-Jacques I enjoy it when we run through a little village and a handful of spectators are clapping and ringing cowbells.
