Ran 16 English miles this morn, through Ebley to Nailsworth then back to Eastington and home. I took one of those fancy sports gels with me, testing out a bit of mid-run refueling. I felt good as I squeezed the warmed-in-the-palm gel into my mouth halfway round, but it just wasn't enough. My leg muscles were well up for running further than 16, I wasn't out of breath, but for the last couple of miles I was just done for energy. Glycogen empty. I floated along a bit light-headed, fueled only by the memory of food, I think. Not having any water probably didn't help either.
I'm going to work on a cunning plan to transport sufficient sugary products around with me, and plus they'll have energy drinks at the water stations on the day anyway.
While I was running Dan Robinson (Britain's top male marathon runner) passed me. As I plodded and limped along, counting my footfalls and dodging terriers, he sped past like someone out of the Matrix. I carried on, watching him get rapidly smaller, his immaculate trainers barely stroking the ground. That's when I chomped my energy gel.