So when I managed to pull out a personal best at Sunday's Birmingham half-marathon, I was over the moon. Even better that I was running through my old hometown, down streets that had so many memories for me - my old junior school, the park where I watched friends and family pose for wedding photos, the prep school where I sang at a Summer Ball.
Lately, I have been feeling the strain of every day work, as I guess we all do from time to time. Trying to 'replace' two-thirds of your team, due to maternity leave, at the busiest time of the finance year, is no mean feat. There have been days when I have felt as though there is 'nothing left in my locker', and I have had to dig deep to maintain my finance-professional-cum-quirky-music-loving-chick persona.
I set off way too quickly on Sunday, partly to escape the congestion at the start of the race, but mainly to take advantage of the descent out of the City Centre. However, my quick start came to bite me towards the latter half of the race, in the energy-sapping dark tunnels, and climbing the truly awful hill, at mile 10. It was at these low points that I had to dig deep, find what little reserves I had left, and keep going.
When you cross the finish line of a long distance race, it makes you feel as though you can achieve anything. Starting a new week, with my half of my new team half in their seats and half waiting in the wings, I feel on top of the world.
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