THE searing pain came out of nowhere. One minute I was determinedly schlepping through the torrential rain and gusting wind, the next every step was agony. It felt like the sole of my right foot was being prodded by a white-hot poker - or repeatedly standing on the same jagged Lego brick.
If you tuned in last week, you’ll know that I tackled the Edinburgh half marathon a fortnight ago. The conditions were tough. But, just before mile six, I found myself unexpectedly hobbling.
I’m still not sure what happened. My best guess is that I jarred my foot at some point. There were a few occasions where I’d had to swerve or slam on the brakes, so to speak, as other runners halted without warning in front of me.
My brain toggled through a gamut of emotions: shock, disbelief, fear. A thought bubble formed: what if I couldn’t finish? I immediately batted that flicker of negativity away. Because if I didn’t acknowledge it, then it wouldn’t become a reality.
I cast my mind back to the message my friend Alison had sent me the night before: “Don’t doubt yourself. There will be no sweeper bus picking you up. You will be crossing that finish line as a half marathon finisher.
” READ MORE I've signed up for Edinburgh half marathon - that's a scary thought What does your sock length say? Possibly that you're 'old' I pushed on along the promenade at Portobello. A man winced in sympathy as I shuffled past. Other spectators shouted my name and words of support.
A child gave me a hig.
