The weekend drew closer, then it started, Sunday arrived, the Attard 10k race was with us.

Being just two weeks before the biggest race of the season on the local athletics calendar, it is justifiably seen by many as the final dress-rehearsal for the marathon or its younger sibling, the half-marathon.  Rehearsals or preparations might only be a warm-up for some, but in my personal reality they are the base in the pyramid scheme of things.

I was now in my blue Mellieha AC vest expecting the starting gun to duly go and press the start button on my stopwatch.  The first kilometre is more a case of control over giving yourself to the cause, but this time in the narrowest of roads of Attard, it was a case of finding empty spaces to go through, reminding oneself of Monday morning traffic jams.  It wasn’t the best start possible.

I went through two years of not beating my personal best in a 10km race.  With 10km races being the bread and butter of the road running scene and a benchmark to pit myself against, 10km races at the time could sometimes feel like a long lonely tunnel.  But subconsciously they were probably building a base for today.

I broke my personal best in December and then two weeks ago, I went down under 43 minutes for the first time in Ta’ Qali.  I was now expecting rather than hoping that I will break that in the roads of Attard.

The first kilometre was thus a setback, but I found my rhythm in the second kilometre.  The third one was slightly harder with a silent incline, I did almost enough to get through it fine, the fourth was more vocally inclined and it showed on my watch.  For, the fifth and sixth I was practically within my target time.  In the overall scheme of things, I was though still playing catch-up.  And the seventh felt like a thorn, as the wind blew against in the unsheltered roads of Ta’ Qali.  The pb of 2 weeks ago at the same Ta’ Qali felt far away.

Then came a turn to the left, and all was left for the day were 3 kilometres.  The wind wasn’t felt anymore and after going up the ramp it was time to go down.  I let go.  I had a good eighth kilometre.  The ninth was fair but with the average pace still refusing to go down properly.  Now for the last kilometre – a proper compensation for the earlier inclines.  My body pushed forward, my breath got probably louder, my strides were hopefully going longer.  I think I recorded my fastest kilometre in a race. 

I finally arrived a mere 3 seconds earlier than I actually did two weeks previously.  It felt enough for the day.

Two weeks ago felt beautiful, this time it felt solid.  They make for a good combination.