It’s Sunday morning, and my mobile clock is showing 05:20.  It’s ten minutes before the alarm is set to ring.  I enjoy beating the alarm, as much as I enjoy handing something to the boss before she asks for it.  I stay a bit in bed and then am on my feet heading to the kitchen for my breakfast.

Today am set for a 10km race at Ta’ Qali, in the outskirts of Mosta.  In the past the place used to mean football for me, as the National Stadium is there.  Now it is the place of the second MAAA League race every January.  An open air place where wind is allowed to do its own thing, sometimes in your face, other times at your back.  For once honesty doesn’t seem to be the best policy, as I definitely prefer it behind my back rather than in front of me.

I had a bad experience with the wind 3 weeks ago.  I was running a race at Qawra and as it came from over the sea I felt overwhelmed like a canoe would in the middle of the ocean.  My legs failed me, my inner strength drowned like the canoe would.  I made it to the finishing line late and felt like getting to the theatre when the doors already closed.

For three weeks, it left a sour taste in my mouth, but not enough to want to cut my tongue.  I worked to convince myself it was just a one-off.  I reminded myself I am a runner.  And a runner is someone who leaves the world behind, gets out the door, runs and feel better for it.  I woke up early every morning for every session just like always.    I notched up the miles, I felt the wind more acutely than before.  Numbers had to be admittedly adjusted in my head, pb’s became more of something to aspire for later rather than for the next race.

At Ta’ Qali, I did the first kilometre as fast as planned, the second the same.  The third was harder.  The fourth was fine.  I felt better than last race, and took a deep breath.  The fifth was a bit harder and slower.  The sixth, I suffered.  The seventh felt nice going downhill, the eighth was one of two halves.  Part of it downhill and then as I turned a corner, the wind made its presence felt.

I have to admit I suffered more than I should in the last 2k’s.  I let the wind beat me, letting the seconds on my watch turn up quicker than my legs.  I lost time, but not the day, as I made it to the finishing line in decent time.  Slower than last year but much better than 3 weeks ago. The sour taste is sweetened.

Tomorrow will be another day, I will try to beat the alarm, get out the door and enjoy doing a few kilometres while most are still in bed.  Like a proper runner.