“I’ll definitely only have one or two drinks tonight,” I confidently announced to my boyfriend, Zak, while putting my frock on the night before the Birchwood 10K – my first race in nearly a year. It was my boyfriend’s father’s 50th birthday and we were off out for tapas to celebrate; not the most sensible of pre-race meals admittedly, but I figured if I loaded up on patatas bravas, I’d be getting my pre-race carbs in.
Needless to say, caught up in the celebrations – and nerves about the impending race the next morning – I loaded up on prosecco as well as potatoes, topped off with a completely unwarranted brandy shot. And when I arrived home woozy headed and saw my kit laid out on the bed, I couldn’t have regretted it more. After months out of running due to a lingering injury, I’d targeted the Birchwood 10K as my comeback race. I’d made it through a whole six-week training plan without pain, dedicated mornings to interval training and evenings to making overnight oats and couldn’t have felt fitter.