Alloa half marathon.

Yesterday I ran the Alloa half marathon. I arrived absolutely riddled with nerves, thank goodness my mum was there. Everyone bustled around, attaching numbers and time clips, stretching, chatting. It is quite an exciting environment, and easy to get caught up in the event. For whatever reason by the time I got to the starting point (although I was standing pretty close to the end of the crowd) my nerves had dissapated slightly and I was raring to go.
Everyone took off quickly, and I immediately knew the pace was faster than I had trained for. Avoiding the temptation to sprint ahead, I nestled myself in behind two women running for 'Help for Heroes'. Their pace was comfortable so I decided to follow. What was somewhat disturbing was that the person who had decided to tuck in behind me was an 82 year old man. Now good on him, what an amazing accomplishment for someone of his age, but NO WAY in hell was I going to be beat by an OAP.
Some poor guy was walking by mile one, one woman quit at mile 2, and a few runners were cuddled up in tin foil by mile 9.
I tried feverently to think of other things, other than how long to go, how long to go. I did settle into my running and my thoughts several times through the race, but I admit, the whole thing was hard. The strecth (3 miles) in menstri was never ending, and excuse my language, but the hill between 10 and 11 miles was a bastard.
I touched my badge with Michelles face on it four or five times for encouragment, and to remind myself in particularly hard moments the purpose of what I was doing.
Seeing the finish line was far more of a relief than a joy, and hearing my name being called out as I crossed was the funny release I needed. They were shouting here comes Jem Duffin, well done Jem, and all I could hear was my mum shouting at them. "Its not Jem its Jaime!!!!"
I am sure glad thats over, and can't help thinking four weeks from today, London will be too! Can I run twice as far? Who the hell knows! Am I going to give it my best shot? Hell yeah!