Dressing for a battle: half marathon

My internal competition device was activated 2 hours before, when the ritual of dressing for the occasion begins. You know that you are dressing for a battle, where you must put on the greatest "shields" to defend yourself and reach your goal.
Bananas, salt capsules, a lot of water, some gel in the bedroom, compression stockings, a visor, Vaseline, cut nails, sun protection, glasses... and endless other things.liments and accessories that together make us feel more sure of ourselves.
Faro de la Mola: starting line, incomparable setting, infinite sea. Unconsciously I start to look at the runners, looking for those who at first glance seem more trained to me, there are a few seconds in which it seems that I am playing the world championship and I have to analyze my rivals, and as always happens to me, I see a lot level. Clear strategy, I have not prepared this half marathon, but I want to do my best. I don't know if my hamstrings on my left leg will hold me, which always tend to give me war and I plan to control and be cautious until km15 and from there decide.
EXIT! Traffic jam, everyone trying to get a place, every second seems to be worth it. I join the practice of 1:30 thinking more about muscle pain, than about the race. The mental game begins, each race is a similar but different game, always the same players, body and mind, different scenarios, same rules, but different weapons, depending on in what conditions you have arrived at that competition. On this occasion, I was expecting pain, which in the end did not manifest itself, but which kept me in a somewhat absurd state of searching for it throughout my career.
When you are touching your threshold, you have time to see many things, footsteps, cadences, and above all you see too happy rhythms that little by little are lowered.
Descent zone, curves, incline and retention, I know that my quads are going to overload, but they will complain the next day. I continue to control, the views are beautiful and you say to yourself: “¡¡Kid, are you in Formentera!”. Now up, units are beginning to drop down, I hear too rapid breathing and I think that at that level of effort the race can be very long.
I keep devouring km, without going above 170 ppm maximum and a controlled cadence close to 180, I have everything very controlled, very close to the practice of 1:30, without worrying much about the partials per kilometer, I want to get to 15 and decide.
We arrive at km14; Refreshment and time to decide, I press my inner "cheking" button and begin to check the general muscular state, calves, hamstrings, quadriceps, adductors and well, everything hurts in general, but nothing is limiting or worrisome, so, Decision made: ROCK AND ROLL.
I approach the practitioner and ask him what difficulties we have left, I am about to say goodbye, but I think it may be pedantry that can later take its toll on me and I decide to put 5º without more and there I go, I start to raise my heart rate until I stabilize at 180 and there I stay.
I'm fucking runners who either stare at me in "Where did this come from?" or directly they release me or encouragement or some: “collons nen”, that motivates me more, I have activated the chase mode and nothing will stop me… not even the aire!
I'm going to a 3:50 mean, catching up with runners and thinking about the next one when I overtake them, then the salt flats arrive and there the aire is very strong, but the aire is strong for everyone, so I clench my teeth and continue, I already surpass the 180 ppm, but I know I have 2km left and although now even the rubber of my sock hurts, not slow or dead, I shoot, shoot, shoot, I see the Garmin and in the end I verify that I'm going to do better time than I thought: 1 hour 26 min and place 38 of the general.

Finish line, I hear the encouragement of my colleagues who are cheering us on, I see the chrono, the carpet and I think: you already have it, It is time to tighten the knot of the tie and put out chest for the photo.

Happy, tomorrow everything will hurt, I think. But that is another story, a story that is suffered in silence and with honor.