I lost the will to carry on. I felt the throbbing pain with every step I took – sweat dripping, breathing heavy. Darkness quickly ensued as I pounded the pavement, racers spread thin and the finish line still miles away. Growing weary, I traded slow jogs for brisk walks and the looming cramps seemingly subsided though not for long.
Every couple of minutes, I tried to break into a jog but couldn’t sustain the pace for more than a few steps. I only had myself to blame. Even though I started slower than usual as I attempted to conserve energy, inadequate training eventually proved decisive in the last miles when fatigue creeped in.
After futile attempts to get back into gear, my muscles finally seized up, slowing me to a stutter. I barely made it to the riband. Needless to say, I fell way below the target time I set for myself when I signed up for the run. The home stretch was particularly agonising, seeing other runners breezing past for the final sprint.
When my heart was willing but my legs couldn’t carry me any further, I knew it was the end of the road for me. I didn’t expect myself to hit the wall so early though I should have figured from my training runs. With this harrowing experience, I’ll certainly be making sure that I am sufficiently prepared before my next race.
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