Finale

I am minutess away from watching the finale of Lost, a moment I have anticipated for years. Following that, 24 will sign off tomorrow; a show I have avidly followed for even longer. Good things are coming to an end; I just hope they both live up to the hype.

I had my own season ending drama in the Coventry half-marathon yesterday. In theory, it was supposed to be a casual homage to my hometown, with the hard work done in Paris weeks ago. But the blistering heat (upwards of thirty degrees) and most gruelling route to date shattered this illusion within the first mile. Regular steep hills, rising temperatures and a bout of stomach pain were just some of the attractions of offer. Every time I settled to a comfortable pace, some other body part would scream out in protest. Throughout, the cardiovascular side was in turmoil as the hot air suffocated my lungs. This is not what I signed up for; running was supposed to be a thing of beauty but every step was sheer agony.

In these moments, my months of training did little to ease things up on the physical side. But distance running is won in the head. If you can honestly convince yourself that you are bigger than the moment, bigger than the race, you may just have a fighting chance. And there was no better way to convince myself than to draw upon my previous experience. Thoughts of the kilomathon flooded back but, above all, the last 10k of Paris. This wasn't any harder than that fateful day, surely? Actually, in many ways it was. Paris was pain, but comfortable breathing. Here, I faced unprecedented conditions, my breathing was out of whack and my muscles felt as fatigued as ever.

It's helpful, almost crucial, to have mantras to call upon in your darkest moments. As I laboured up the hills, I was Lance Armstrong ("pain is temporary but quitting is permamnent"). In the final miles, I was Rocky Balboa, "going the distance". And all the way, the strongest thoughts of stopping were entertained, but not realised. I've prided myself on never stopping, and certainly not during a race. Kurt Russell's "Miracle" speech proved pivotal; if I had ten races in these conditions I'd probably stop in nine. But not this race. In this race, I was the best distance runner of all time.

I came through in 1:48, a far cry from my PB of 1:38, but in many respects this was my most impressive outing. Performances are too easily judged by numbers, but in my mind to get through those 13.1 miles without stopping was up there even with Paris. And so, despite not having the pleasure race I was looking for, to regain that rare the feeling of accomplishment was well worth the blood, sweat, tears and giant blisters.

So the season really is over, but the journey continues. One step at a time, and my next move is simple enough; I will enjoy the next week, get an overdue sports massage and enjoy the moment.