A white mist hides the road ahead. The forest is empty. Silent. Even the birds are silent this early hour. The only sound is that of my footsteps and my rapid, heavy breathing. As if somebody, something is chasing me. In a sense it is. Today is test day. Five kilometres all out, so time is chasing me, because my goal is a new personal best.

Or maybe I should say my hope. My goal is to run hard. So hard, I can’t stand on my legs anymore after five kilometres. But how hard is that? How hard can I run, at this moment in time? I don’t dare to say. I haven’t done any fast running in what feels like ages. My focus in the last twelve months was on ultras, and on recovering from my hamstring injury.

Flat Rock Endurance

This month I started to work with Brendan Lombard, a running coach at Flat Rock Endurance. Tuesday I did a bike test. Today is my run test. And as I have no clue how fast my legs still can run, I’ve taken my personal best as a guideline; 22 minutes and 47 seconds. This morning I hope to do every kilometre in 4:30.

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There’s no wind, no traffic. Just me and a deer crossing the road. Normally I would stop, walk slowly, take a picture. Not today. I just mumble: ‘sorry deer’, and keep running. Time is ticking. Maybe this is just kilometre one, but every kilometre counts.

At the end of the forest, I take a left turn. That saves me a road crossing and maybe the need to stop. Although, strangely enough there are no cars on the road this morning. I look at my watch, as my Garmin beeps. 4.23 for the first kilometre. That’s a seven seconds win. I might need that at the end.

Slowing down

I run in the middle of the cycling path. My eyes focused on the dotted line. It kind of helps me to determine my rhythm. I just hope no cyclist will show up. I check my watch again. 4:35 per kilometre. Am I seriously going slower? Is this path sneakingly going up? Am I already losing five seconds per kilometre?

I try to speed up. My legs feel good. They should. This is just five kilometres, not fifty. And this is the weather I love. It’s six degrees. I’m out in shorts and a singlet. I feel fresh. Perfectly fresh. A created this loop in the AllTrails app this morning. The next left is after the farm campsite. That’s also the next kilometre.

Something is wrong

I am there quicker than expected. Yet, something is wrong. In my memory this path was a concrete path. It isn’t. It’s hard, but it’s a dirt road. Softer than asphalt, which means less bouncy. Which means slower. My watch beeps. 4:19 for the second kilometre. That’s a win of eleven seconds. So why was my pace 4:35 earlier? Because I was under the trees? Or was it just for a moment?

I worry about that later. Now I have to deal with this dirt road. Shall I speed up? It’s an all out run. But already? There are still three kilometres to go. I should wait. Keep the pace high. Two kilometres all out, is more than enough. If I go now, I might hit the wall, before I’ve reached my imaginary finish line.

Lack of oxygen

In front of me, I see the crossing I’m longing for. Kilometre three. Sooner than I expected. When I get closer, I see that the mist has been tricking me. It’s just the dirt road of the T-junction. I’m not at the crossing yet. I want to. My breathing is becoming heavier. It feels like I can’t get in all the oxygen I want.

The junction has another trick on its sleeve; sand. It’s just two, three metres, but it feels like glue under my shoes. Breaks my rhythm. As I pass it, I start to listen for signs of cars. The mist is still thick. The crossing is ahead, but I can’t see a thing.

There is no sound, no lights. I cross. More dirt roads. Smaller now. I focus on my foot placement, as the Red Hot Chili Peppers are yelling in my ear: ‘Give it away, give it away, give it away, now’. I’m not giving away anything. I keep pushing and as my Garmin beeps again, I see that kilometre three went in 4:17. Another win.

Euphoric

I have no energy to feel euphoric. Or better said, no air. The sun is starting to shine through the mist, I start to feel hot and my breathing is heavy. My legs are okay, but the road feels heavier. Or is it slightly going up? This was the kilometre I wanted to speed up, now I’m doubting. Maybe I should hold back for the last kilometre. My heart rate is above 170. That’s above my lactate threshold. How long can I push this?

I see the farm ahead. It’s the one with the beautiful cows. Not that I have an eye for them now. Plus it doesn’t look like the farm is getting any closer. At least not as fast as I want it. Okay, relax. Relax your shoulders, relax your jaw. Wasn’t that what Femke Bol’s coach taught her? Bol won gold at the Olympics in Paris with the mixed 4 x 400 metres relay team. Maybe I should try it as well.

Slowing down

Just before the corner my watch beeps again. 4:23. See, I am slowing down. Come on. Push. I am back on the asphalt now. It runs easier. I pass farm after farm. Just not the one I am aiming for. I thought it was closer. Behind me, I hear a car. I hope the driver sees me. I move to the other edge. By the sound of it, the car does the same, but on the other side. I can hear its tires on the curbs.

I try to speed up a little bit. Not sprinting yet. That’s for the last 500 metres. Or shall I wait till three hundred? Or two? My breathing is as heavy as it can be. I feel my left hamstring protesting. Not the one I tore a while ago, the other one. Shall I wait with my final sprint?

Tears

I should check my watch. Then again, running fast and looking at my watch isn’t my thing. Plus my eyes are watering because of the wind. I know which farm I’m looking for. I just don’t know precisely where the five kilometres end. At the start, middle or end of that farm?

I speed up one more time. It’s all out, isn’t it? Just when I start to sprint, my watch beeps. Five kilometres. I pant, walk, stagger. Check my watch. 21:48. Twentyone, forty eight. Wait, what? That’s a minute faster than my personal best. A minute. Twelve seconds per kilometre. Shit, that’s a lot faster. Did all this slow running made me fast?

With wobbly legs I walk home. I know it’s going to take a while, but I can’t wait for the next test.

Keep on running.

Photo: Sara Bigatti