You gotta fight for your right to party

Some days running 30+ km feels easy. Today was not one of those days.

It all started last night when I, in preparation for my planned 35 km, went to bed early to make up for the week's sleep deficit. I put on my earplugs and relaxed. Not a second later, our neighbour (whose living room is on the other side of our bedroom wall) started blasting music. Bad music. Having the earplugs on made no difference; so loud was the music that I could hear the words of the songs.

I thought: it's Friday night. It's ok to have a party. I thought: J has talked to him about this before, he'll turn down the volume soon. I also thought: I hope his stereo spontaneously combusts. He has parties every other week.

After two hours of twisting and turning in bed trying in vain to fight the murderous thoughts that plagued my tired brain, I gave up and went to knock on his door.

Me: Hi! Could you please turn down the music? It's so loud that I can hear it despite the fact that I have earplugs on.

Sherlock: Aha! Are you going to sleep?

No, I'm not going to sleep. But loud music makes the voices in my head angry.

He agreed to turn down the music, but it made little difference. I could hear it anyway. So I spent the night on the sofa. On the very uncomfortable sofa. Where I woke up less than 6 hours later with a stiff neck, when the morning light found its way into the living room.

So maybe I wasn't that well rested when I joined the group for a long run with the ambition to run home afterwards. It might also be the case that today's lousy performance was a result of a low carb week. Or that my Camelbak tube suddenly stopped working and I couldn't drink any water. Or that last week's cold is still lingering. Or that the route was very hilly. Or that I was simply having a bad day.

The first 7 km went well. I talked to people, climbed up hills energetically, even jumped over stones and fallen branches. Then something happened and I found myself walking up hills more and more, the mere thought of running them making my thigh muscles ache. Nonetheless, I never once considered throwing in the towel and taking the bus home.

After I left the group, I had to stop and walk several times, stretching, drinking water (after I figured out what was wrong with my Camelbak and fixed it) and texting J complaining about how tough it was. Nuts and bolts started falling off, hips and knees begged for mercy, but still I went on. After all, no one ever got better by sitting on their arse. I have to fight for it if I want to get better. And boy did I fight today. For 32 km.