Sunday 25 December 2011

Christmas surprises

Christmas eve and instead of doing the usual (nursing a sore sweet sherry head) I'm running around Killerton House. A beautiful estate just outside Exeter. This was courtesy of the local parkrun

In crushingly typical fashion, I'd failed to recce the course, assumed it was similar to Hampstead Heath and turned up in trainers.

Assuming had made a big arse out of me again.

Trainers are not suitable attire for cross-country. Uphill. Mud up to the knees. The only saving grace was that this time it was a fun run, rather than the 5-minute-mile sprint of my last proper race. That meant, after a general bundle across a field I settled into a comfortable pace. Slow.

Delighted to report my time was not as bad as I'd feared and the atmosphere was lovely. Plus I managed to outrun an 11-year-old dressed as a Christmas parcel - and a gorilla. A very merry Christmas all round, I think.

(Stats: 5k/3.1 miles; 27.35 minutes; just off to brother's family for Christmas so no time to work out minute/mile. Better than feared.)

Thursday 22 December 2011

The shortest day

Yesterday, I woke up to Armageddon. The sky was black. Admittedly, it was very early, but still, this rarely happens in London because of the light pollution. I immediately rolled out of bed and went for a run. And so it was that before the sparrows had even showered, I was racing around the streets of Hampstead. And that's when I discovered where all the bin men go in the winter. To NW3. There must have been at least three lorries to every street*. There were loads of them. Like doozers making sure the expensive roads were clean. I also suspect they were taking the wealthy residents breakfast in bed. I live in Camden too! Where's my breakfast in bed? After fighting the urge to become a communist, I ran home for a hot lemon and porridge with a side-order of smug. I then fell asleep on the train because the early morning smugness had worn me out. How on earth do people do this kind of thing every day?

(Stats: 4.34 miles; 44.12 minutes; 10.11 minute/mile.)

(*Possibly a small exaggeration, but only a small one.)

Tuesday 20 December 2011

It's a man's, man's, man's pond...


On Sunday, I pottered off for a swim on the Heath, only to discover the ladies' pond was closed. Iced over. A sign indicated we could use the men's instead.

How exciting! Not only is the men's pond much larger than the ladies', it also has a diving board. I didn't take advantage. I was nursing a sore head so had no intention of smashing it into the (literally) ice cold water. But it was great to have a nose around 'someone else's house'. I discovered the men also have a mini-gym, a tennis court and, most interestingly, a nude sunbathing area. That's prohibited at the ladies'. I think at the men's it may well be compulsory.

(Pond temp: 3 degrees. As the blackboard said: Very cold. Very very very cold. But good for a hangover.)

Saturday 17 December 2011

One heath. Four seasons.


Last night I imbibed a fair amount of Christmas cheer, so I was proud I even made it to the start line for today's parkrun.

There would be no striving for a PB, I'd decided a gentle potter was on the cards.

An approach that was further endorsed when I arrived to find Hampstead Heath under a thin layer of ice. It was treacherous.

In fact, I nearly ended up on my arse during the pre-race briefing.

I was listening attentively when I received a firm shove in the rear. I wondered briefly if it was the man I'd pipped to the post on my last outing, but thankfully not. It was just a very excited dog. And, after a bit of wrestling, his apologetic owner managed to separate us just in time for the start of the race.

I'd resolved to take it easy - and I did. On such a gorgeous morning, it was comparable to taking a leisurely sightseeing tour. Even running uphill was a pleasure. And when I got to the finish, I was red faced, but human.

Time for fitness part two - off to the ladies' pond.

It was freezing. Fricking freezing. In the time it took me to put my cozzie on, the weather had turned from cold but bright to sodding cold and sleeting grey. Walking from the changing room to the water took less than 30 seconds and yet I nearly changed my mind. Twice. In the end, I think I was only in there for about a minute. Every single bit of my body hurt. I swam out to a buoy, then as fast as I could back to the ladder; all the while reciting the calming yogic chant: 'f**k, f**k, f**k'.

Once I'd regained my senses, I spotted a funny machine by the entry platform. It seemed to be churning the water. I spoke to a lady and she said it was used to stop the pond from icing over. In the past, they would just break the ice with a broom, but understandably that didn't leave much room for laps. Fascinating stuff, but I couldn't help thinking it was a great shame it didn't heat the pond too.

(Stats: 5k/3.10 miles; 28.39 minutes; 9.13 minute/mile. Pond temp: 4.5 degrees celsius/40 degrees fahrenheit. Cold enough that an hour on and my woolly hat is still glued to my head. And that's despite being at home under a blanket.)

(Pic: Lovely light on the heath this morning - pre-sleet.)

Thursday 15 December 2011

I'm in love


With the HoMedics Shiatsu & Massaging cushion.

My flatmate has one and he's set it up in the kitchen. It's transformed everything.

Why sit on a chair and eat your dinner when you can sit on your chair, eat your dinner and get a massage at the same time? Unlikely to be good for the digestion but who cares?

Prior to this, I'd filed massage cushions alongside sandwich makers and foot spas, i.e. objects most likely to end up in the charity shop. What a fool!

This morning, after a quick four-mile jaunt, I returned and promptly placed myself in the hands of the cushion. It was lovely. And if you lean back, you do get a fairly vigorous assault.

Five minutes in, I had a brilliant idea.

I've slightly strained a muscle in my right buttock and I was sure a massage would help. The challenge was how to optimize contact between the massage rollers (which are on the back of the chair) and my bum.

I tried standing on one leg a la karate kid and hooking the other over the back of the chair, but I couldn't quite get my bottom low enough or the rollers high enough to connect.

Finally, after many contortions usually seen only in a circus, I managed to find the perfect position and spent a glorious five minutes having a good shiatsu.

Should you find yourself in a similar situation, I recommend touching your toes then 'backing up' towards the cushion. The remote control has a long lead so you can still easily operate the rollers. It also allows you to lean your bottom firmly against the chair, therefore maximizing the massage.

The only drawback is the blood does tend to rush to your head, which limits the amount of time you can spend down there. Also, if you do have a partner/flatmates, I recommend waiting till they're out before you try it. With this image in their minds, I fear they wouldn't be your partner/flatmates for much longer.

(Stats: 4.34 miles; 40.37 minutes; 9.21 minute/mile.)

(Pic: Lovely massage chair next to lovely wine rack. I look forward to combining the two.)

Sunday 11 December 2011

The beauty of rain

The beauty of rain is it means I feel no compulsion at all to leave the house. I ran yesterday, therefore I can stay in my pyjamas today without guilt or regret.

It is also a good opportunity to do some marathon training research. Despite spending a lot of time reading about training schedules, I've not really been following one. I say not really. I mean, not. I've been told by my successful running friends that I need to have a plan. One that I stick to. Not just keep in a drawer.

To that end, I've just found this 16-week beginner's one on the Runner's World website. It seems pretty straightforward and, more importantly, is flexible enough for me to stand a chance of actually sticking to it.

Well the flexibility starts here. I'm changing Monday to Sunday so I can begin today. And, would you Adam and Eve it 'day one' is a rest day? That means by not getting out of bed, I have already commenced my new regime in earnest. Result.

Saturday 10 December 2011

Sunny but cold. Very cold.

I'm so cold I want to climb in the airing cupboard. I've just been for a (relatively) early morning run and the beautiful white-blue sky was accompanied by sub-zero temperatures. My hands are like two frozen lumps of butter. I can barely type. For the first half of the run, I thought I had frostbite. I seem to remember Sir Ranulph Fiennes trying hacksaw off his own fingers because of that. I had my front door key on me, but I'm not convinced of its cutting capabilities.

The cold also makes my nose hurt. I breathe in and soon my sinuses feel like they're going to explode. It got so painful at one point I had to hold on to a lamppost. It attracted the attention of a passing traffic warden. I think he thought I was angry. Well I was quite angry about my painful nose. In the past, wearing earphones has helped so I may have to revert to running with my iPod. I must also buy something menthol to stick up there pre-run. I do hope Vicks Sinex isn't a banned substance. I wouldn't want my running to be overshadowed by a doping scandal.

(Stats: 4.08 miles; 39.18 minutes; 9.38 minute/mile.)

Thursday 8 December 2011

A good reason to run



I took up running (as if I'm a professional?!) about 8 years ago.

I was given an iPod when I left my job in Devon. Suddenly getting out of the door to run became a lot easier.

Nowadays I don't necessarily need a reason to run. It's become an end in itself. That said, with a marathon looming it seemed a shame to be doing all those miles (not just 26 on the day, but the thousands of miles of training too) without it meaning something.

So, I'm raising money for a little charity that I came across on a trip to Ethiopia. Mossy Foot UK helps to fight a nasty disease called podoconiosis that affects the feet and can even stop people from walking altogether.

It seems right that I can use my feet to help others'. I will not, however, be wearing a fancy dress costume. I think getting round in a small pair of shorts is challenge enough for now.

(Pic: I think this is the Mesket Escarpment. One of the most breathtaking places I have ever visited. And not just because we trekked 18 miles up a mountain in one day, though that was quite tiring.)


Wednesday 7 December 2011

A matter of physics


I went to the ladies' pond today. There was a letter pinned to the notice board in the changing room. It said that one of the longest-standing regulars had passed away. She was 98 and, until recently, she swam on the Heath three times a day. That's impressive at any age. It was with this remarkable lady in mind that I took to the pond myself.

Halfway into the water and I feared I might soon have my own letter on the notice board.

At what point you get used to the cold, I don't know. But it certainly wasn't today. Still, I chucked myself in and aimed for a buoy. I would swim there and back and get out.

Despite the pain and cold, the plan went very well. In fact, I crossed the pond in what felt like record time. I don't think I've suddenly become Michael Phelps so pondered what had happened. The water seemed to be 'thinner' than usual when it's normally like wading through cold treacle.

That's when I recalled a conversation I'd had with a clever friend. He'd said that water gets more dense, the colder it gets - until it falls to around 4 degrees, then it gets less dense as it becomes ice. A speedy bit of research (i.e. google) confirmed this. That's why ice floats. I see.

And that's why I like swimming in the pond. It's excellent for enhancing both the body and brain. Though whether a truly intelligent person would be swimming in an icy-cold pond in the first place is up for debate.

(Stats: Pond temperature: According to the board, it was 6 degrees, but I'm more inclined to trust my very empirical evidence and think it was nearer 4.)

(Pics: Spurious pond temp; Even chillier than it looks.)

Monday 5 December 2011

It is an offence to remove your trousers

Went for a massage at the weekend. It was in Chinatown and the place was rather 'spit and sawdust'. A world away from spas like the Sanctuary, but all the better for it. After half an hour of vigorous pummelling you emerge feeling ten feet tall. I've been going on and off for a couple of years so I know what to expect. But I still wasn't prepared for the lady to climb completely on my back and ride me round the massage room. Then she pulled my arms so far backwards over my head, she lifted me off the table. Given I was half-naked and facing out of the open booth, this provided an interesting view for my fellow massagees. Afterwards, she made me do some stretches. It was while semi-naked stretching that I noticed a small sign on the inside of the booth declaring it was an offence to remove your trousers during the massage. I was somewhat perplexed as to how this would be achieved. Particularly if you have a confidently-built masseuse tap dancing on your back. Anyway, I have to say that two days on and I am still feeling the benefits. I feel lighter and taller and when I went for a run this morning, it was relatively easy. I will certainly be booking in with her again soon. And when I do see her next, I can return the thumb she's left in my spine.

(Stats (re this morning's run, not the massage): 8.1 miles; 1 hour 24 minutes; 10.22 minute/mile.)

Friday 2 December 2011

The perils of the sea



This week has not been a good one for running.

I fell at the first hurdle when I failed to do a long run on Monday.

I fell at the second hurdle when I also failed to run on Tuesday.

I finally made it out on Wednesday, determined to do 11 miles along the south-Devon coastline.

I did 1.4 miles. A triumph in nobody's eyes.

I blame my parents. They wished me a good run, then pointed out the perils of the coastal path, flanked as it is by the sea and a train track. They warned I could end up blown off into the water. I pooh poohed this, but the pooh poohing soon came back to haunt me when I arrived to the highest tide I've ever seen. In places, it was virtually covering the path. So I was already twitchy when a train whooshed past, sending me leaping out of my skin and almost into the Atlantic. In what is fast becoming my catchphrase, I gave up and went home.

Friday and I was back to pounding the safe streets of London. It was nice to run without the risk of a high-speed drowning. I'm aware that compared with me a frightened rabbit looks like Andy McNab but, as my mum says, 'he who hides and runs away lives to hide another day'. Or something like that.

(Stats (for the London run): 4.09 miles; 41.48 minutes; 10.12 minute/mile.)

(Pics: Danger everywhere: high tides and fast trains; falling rocks; crazy golf.)


Monday 28 November 2011

The best laid plans of mice and me

So, today's long run turned into the shortest run ever. In fact, I'm not sure making it to the end of the road and back even counts as a run. It easily surpasses my previous 6-minute record for brevity.

I made the mistake of leaving it too long after waking up to head out. This took me into the no-man's-land of hungry, but not wanting to eat before I ran. My grumbling tummy was moaning loudly before I left the house and manifested itself in an abject lack of energy. Displaying my usual levels of commitment and will-power, I immediately gave up and came home for poached eggs on toast instead.

Unfortunately, I won't have time to run this afternoon as I'm heading off for the week, but the good news is I'm heading to Devon. That means I can do my long run tomorrow in the countryside and give my lungs a much-needed airing. Another brilliant plan. What could possibly go wrong?

(Stats are too short and sweet to report today.)

Saturday 26 November 2011

Born to lose but built to win


I don't know what that means.

It's written on the label inside my new hoodie. I suspect it's nonsense. But then, I have just learned the crushing news that I was way off a PB for today's parkrun.

It's not a surprise. My legs felt like dark matter and I frequently seemed to be running in slow motion. A lot of effort for very little reward. On the plus side, I did manage a sprint finish. And at least I didn't trip over a dog like the man behind me. I didn't see it, but it didn't sound too good for either man or dog.

Pottered over to the ladies' pond after for a quick dip and learned two new tricks: 1) Don't hang about on the ladder, just plough on in. What you lose in acclimatization, you gain in reduction of fear. 2) Stay in the pond until the pain subsides. It took about five minutes but, once I'd regained the sensation in my hands and feet, I had a very pleasant swim indeed.

(Stats: 5k/3.10 miles; 27.03 minutes; 8.43 minute/mile; pond temp: 9 degrees celsius.)

(Pic: The wisdom of the hoodie.)

Thursday 24 November 2011

What not to eat

It may be okay to go to work on an egg, but it's not a good idea to go for a run on a vanilla cappuccino and a bag of crisps.

Last night was running club night. About an hour and a half pre-run, I was feeling peckish so tucked in, figuring there was plenty of time for the food and drink to settle. I was wrong. Three-quarters of the way into the run, I was feeling so nauseous I had to resort to singing 'Top of the World' out loud to distract myself. I imagine this made for a rather odd scene, but was preferable to throwing up in a bin on Park Lane.

Unpleasant as the experience was, I'm mindful you never know how you're going to feel on 'marathon day'. At least I now have a bit of a strategy for running with sickness. Should the situation arise, let's just hope my fellow runners like The Carpenters.

(Stats: 6.53 miles; 1 hour 6 minutes 27 seconds; 10.10 minute/mile.)

Monday 21 November 2011

The long run on a Monday

I've just run 8 miles. If I can always do my marathon training 'long run' on a Monday that should set me up for the rest of the week. I appreciate this plan is work permitting, but when I do have the time I think it's an excellent strategy. Especially if all the long runs go as well as today's.

After thinking about it for a mere three weeks, I ran down to Regent's Park. Even on the greyest of days it's a lovely place to run. Lots of flora and fauna, including two reindeers, two zebras and a giraffe having his breakfast. The occupants of London Zoo had best get used to my red face because they will be seeing a lot of it.

I also (almost) take back all the bad things I've said about Nike+. I gave it a third chance today. Preparation turned out to be key. First I checked that the 'Pause Workout' buttons were switched off, then I set the screen to 'Landscape' so it would be easier to read mid-run, then I removed 'Learn French the Easy Way' from my playlists. 'Good news grammar' would not be interrupting my running flow again. 30 minutes of fannying around later and I was ready to leave. But the fannying had paid off. Apart from when the GPS signal was lost and the encouraging voiceover started slurring, the Nike+ worked perfectly. Well, I say perfectly. I'm not entirely sure all of the statistics are accurate. I can well believe that, at my slowest, I was doing a 14'39" mile. But apparently, at my fastest, I was doing a mile in 6'02". Even downhill that seems rather fast. Hey ho, maybe I should be aiming for a sub-two-hour marathon after all?

(Stats: 8.89 miles; 1 hour 32 minutes 10 seconds; 10.22 minute/mile.)

(I downloaded The Very Best of the Chairmen of the Board for today's run. It's very good.)

Saturday 19 November 2011

Another small victory


I did my second parkrun this morning.

It was on Hampstead Heath again, though a different route to the previous one I'd run. They sometimes change it to accommodate other events. As such, I had a small panic when I arrived because there didn't seem to be anyone else there. Had I got the wrong place? Did everyone else in the world know something I didn't? No. All was fine. I was just early.

And yet I was still caught on the hop when the 'starting pistol' went. It's tricky to run while trying to tie a sweater around your waist. I just did my best not to get run over in the pack. That's when I overheard the lady next to me: 'We've got stuck with the fast runners, let's slow down.' I looked around and realized I'd made the same mistake. Everyone was running very fast. I decided I'd try to keep up and see how it went.

It went downhill (metaphorically speaking) pretty quickly and I was soon making the same noise as an accordion with a hole in it. I don't think my lungs are as fit as my arms and legs. I slowed to relieve the wheezing and, at the half-way stage, a man shouted: 13.16. I assumed it was my split-time. If I could maintain that pace, I would beat my last run.

Unfortunately, I'd been giving it my all for the first 2.5k and didn't feel I had much 'left in the tank'. Thankfully, that's when I spied a rather handsome distraction a little way ahead. I soon forgot about my empty tank and focused on chasing him up the hill. This worked excellently and, even though he quickly disappeared into the distance, it was just the boost I needed to get to the finish. I think being chased by me was just the boost he needed too.

On a scale of one to 10 my face was as red as a Beefeater's uniform. I'd found it really hard work. But, for all that, I am delighted to report I beat my previous time by 44 seconds. Hooray! I have to confess, given how difficult it was, I had been hoping for a bit more distance between my last run and this one. However, at least I got a new PB. Plus, I went for a quick swim in the ladies' pond afterwards. In your face Sports Billy.

(Stats galore: 5k/3.10 miles; 26.44 minutes; 8.37 minute/mile; 34th out of 71; 8th woman out of 32; 1st in my age category (out of 5) woo hoo! And finally, pond temp: 10 degrees.)

(Pic: The London Cross Country Championships were also taking place on the heath today. Following last year's cross-country 'success', I had no desire to join them.)

Friday 18 November 2011

There's always time to enjoy the view


I left the house at 9 am this morning and returned four hours later. I'd packed my rucksack for the trip: swimming stuff, purse, phone etc as I'd decided to run to Regent's Park and, after several laps, would head back to the heath for a swim.

I got as far as Primrose Hill.

On such a beautiful morning, it seemed a shame not to sit down and enjoy the amazing view over London. Unfortunately, once sat down, it was difficult to get up again. So I didn't. I stayed on the bench, chatted to a small dog, then phoned a friend.

Suitably rejuvenated, I wandered into Camden for a coffee and a blueberry muffin. And after an hour of magazine reading, I was ready for the walk back to Hampstead. Well, the walk to the tube anyway.

I still had good intentions to go for a swim. The pond was a 30-minute walk away, so I went for the second-best option. The nearby leisure centre.

That's when I discovered that getting into lukewarm water is no easier than getting into cold water. In fact, when I emerged 20 minutes later, I was freezing.

What's lovely about swimming on the heath is that when you get out, you feel nice and warm. Or, at least, you think you're nice and warm because the water is so blooming cold. It's one of things that makes swimming at the pond such a joy.

There was no joy at the leisure centre.

It was packed and I nearly got run over by an old lady. She had a very aggressive stroke that created a sonic boom every time her hand hit the water. Several times I had to take evasive action to avoid her fist impacting with my head. It was so terrifying I got out. That doesn't happen at the pond.

(Stats: 2.5 miles; 25.53 minutes; 10.21 minute/mile. Swimming: 20 laps; 500 metres/0.31 miles; 20 minutes; 64.30 minute/mile (really??!!!))

(Pic: A lovely spot for a bit of a sit-down.)

Sunday 13 November 2011

Better running backwards


This weekend, instead of marathon running, I have been marathon eating. My parents came to visit and I now know what it feels like to be a French goose.

This evening I attempted to redress the balance.

Forcing myself out into the bleak winter night, however, proved to be a bit of a struggle. London currently resembles a dark dank cellar. Not that I've been in any dark dank cellars, thank goodness. Which I hope remains the case, unless it's to choose a nice bottle of red, of course. Anyhow, I digress. With thoughts of marathon failure in mind, I stoically ditched my work gear and sought my running attire.

This was when I discovered all of my running leggings had disappeared. I used to have about three pairs. I was down to one. And now they had gone too. Maybe they'd left me for someone who spends less time talking about running and more time running about running.* I'd also mislaid my only long-sleeved running top so put on an old khaki jumper instead. This gave me a slightly odd appearance. Odder than usual, even.

The final touch was my 'new' pair of Avia trainers. They look pretty scruffy, but they're hardly used and the tread on them seemed grippier than my Brooks'. (I'm mindful of the hazards of wet leaves.) The Avias had sat at the back of my wardrobe for three years and it did make me wonder briefly whether trainers go off? They smelled okay so I decided to risk it.

I'm aware that in order to get the most from running you should mix up your routes. So I did my usual run, only backwards. This turned out to be the best move ever. It meant the first mile and a half was downhill, then it was flat for another mile, a gentle hill for about a mile, then a bit of a steep slope into Hampstead. By then I was on the final furlong so the psychological battle was won. It was so much nicer than doing it the usual way round! And, as I confidently pounded the last hundred yards, I pondered how I'd feel to be told I had another 21 miles to go. I decided I felt pretty okay about this. I should add, I felt pretty okay about being told I had 21 miles left to go. Whether I'd manage said miles is another question. One for next time, I think.

(Stats: 4.26 miles; 42.39 minutes; 10.00 minute/mile. I have reverted to trusty stopwatch and mapping my run. Less stressful than fiddling about with armbands and iPods.)

(Pic: My 'new' Avia trainers. I don't know much about Avia. For some reason, I'm having flashbacks to being 12 years old and wearing 'Nicks' trainers. Haldon Market's finest.)

(*Thanks to the friend who made this amusing, and accurate, observation last year. I think he'd agree that the amount of time I spend running has increased. However, I admit that the amount of time I spend talking about running has increased exponentially more.)

Thursday 10 November 2011

The silence of the parakeets


In the spirit of cross training/cold water therapy, I've just been for a quick dip in the Ladies' Pond. It's been over 2 weeks since my last swim. 2 temperature-dropping weeks.

For the first time ever, I nearly abandoned ship. Climbing down the steps into the water was painful. It was utterly freezing. And the pond even looked different. A gang of ducks circled menacingly. There was an eerie absence of birdsong... With a grimace, I flopped into the water on the silent proviso I would swim to the nearest buoy and then get the hell out of Dodge.

It emerged that I couldn't swim to the end of the pond (had I wanted to, which I didn't) as it's been split in two with a rope - a winter safety precaution, I guess. And a wise one too. I truly thought my heart was going to explode. This was a lovely complement to the muscle-wrenching icy cramp that was travelling along my arms and legs. Part of me wanted to get out. Most of me, in fact. But mindful of the psychological battle that the marathon will pose, I decided to stay in a little longer. At least until I acclimatized (or lost consciousness). Thankfully the former occurred before the lifeguards had to fish me out. Backstroke seemed to help. It relieved the pressure on my chest so I could breathe more regularly. And, as that settled, I could relax and enjoy the swim.

Which I did. For a good 5 minutes. And then I got out. I'm fond of my fingers and toes and would prefer not to lose any through carelessness or hypothermia.

That said, even on a mini-swim, the restorative powers of the pond remain undiminished. My sore leg, stiff foot and bad knees eased (I'm such an old lady) and I felt like I'd had a good massage. It's difficult not to become messianic about outdoor swimming. And it's educational too. In the changing room, I had a nice chat with the other swimmers, who informed me of the thermo-benefits of newspaper under foot: "Tramps don't sleep under newspapers for nothing," one lady asserted. Very good point.

Just before heading off, I took a quick look at the temperature board, convinced that it had to be as low as 10 degrees celsius, if not less.

Apparently not.

It was 11.5 degrees celsius. Exactly the same as when I swam 2 weeks ago. Disappointing.

(Pic: The edge of the meadow at the pond and a rose bush that is clearly hardier than me.)

It's all Greek to me


I received an email this morning inviting me to join Google+ now that it is in 'open beta'. In open beta? Why do I need to know that? As far as they're concerned, I'm just a run-of-the-mill internet user. Why? Why?

Anyway, the point is I'm a bit of a technophobe. Something I had temporarily forgotten when I decided that gadgets were the best form of defence against a marathon. I was reminded last night when I tested my Nike+ app at running club.

I was quite excited about donning my running armband. I usually run a little faster on club night and I was looking forward to all the lovely stats the app would produce concerning distance, calories etc... However, I had a bit of an issue.

First rule of running club: don't talk about... actually, that's not it. If there is a first rule, it's that the wearing of iPods or mp3s of any kind will result in death or worse. Therefore, I could wear the iPhone on my arm, but I could not wear the earphones. This is fine, I agree with the rule. Except I was mindful that on Monday's run the workout paused when someone rang me and I had to manually restart it. Had the voiceover not told me that the workout was paused, I wouldn't have known. Hence, last night I had a minor logistical problem. If someone rang me, my workout measure would stop and all my hard-earned stats would go out of the window. A bit of poking around pre-run appeared to solve said problem: Settings>Pause on Incoming Calls>OFF.

Right, so that would turn off the facility that pauses the workout on incoming calls. Surely. And yet... and yet... three quarters of the way round I'm waiting at traffic lights and I contort to check all is well on the Nike+ front and !!!!!&*^ *insert expletives as you see fit* my workout has paused and is waiting for me to press resume. I've had a phone call and, in spite of my best efforts, it has hamstrung my run. In the grand scheme of things, this isn't a big deal, but I still did a lap of Green Park with a very angry face. It's just as well it was dark because it was not a face you'd want to run into. Thankfully the final wheezing mile lifted the fury and relieved the desire to welly my iPhone into the Serpentine.

Apart from that it was a very nice run. I know that it was at least 6 miles because it's mapped out on the running club website. And that's what I'm keeping in mind, even when my Nike-poxy-+ tells me it was only 5.37 miles. Right, time to dig out the as-yet-unused Garmin Forerunner. Now I just need to browbeat someone patient into showing me how to use it.

(Stats: 6 miles; time: no idea thanks to Nike+; minute/mile: no idea for same reason as before.)

(Pic: This was supposed to be the Christmas lights on Oxford Street on the walk back to running club HQ. At least my iPhone was good for something.)

Tuesday 8 November 2011

Running toys


I consider yesterday's run the first of my marathon training. Not least because it was a Monday. And also because it was the inaugural run with my new Griffin Adidas MiCoach Armband. Having downloaded the Nike+ running app from iTunes, all I needed was something to secure my iPhone to my body. Salvation arrived yesterday with the postman.

I'm pleased to report that the armband stayed securely in place for the entire run. I'd heard rumours of inadequate versions slipping down your arm, especially with limbs as toned and slender as mine [*ahem*]. Something that I'm sure gets easier with time is trying to operate your iPhone through the protective plastic of the armband. I found you had to be quite vigorous with your touchscreen poking, and there was a modicum of pause workout/resume workout/pause/resume as I fumbled about trying to play music too. On the plus side, I love the chap who interrupts at each mile marker to give you a time, distance and average minute/mile report. On the downside, I spent much of the run trying not to catch the earphone lead with my left arm. To remedy this I've ordered a new pair of 'active' earphones with a longer lead. Marathon training, I've decided, is all about the gadgets.

(Stats (according to Nike+): 4.74 miles; 41.49 minutes; 8.49 minute/mile.)

(Pic: Running armour.)

Tuesday 1 November 2011

What does a marathon runner have for breakfast?

Vegetable stir-fry and several strawberries. I've just had confirmation of a place in the Brighton marathon. I've instantly become a nervous wreck so thought that poking down some extra fruit and veg - immediately - would help. It hasn't. Now i have tummy ache too. I've just been watching the Brighton marathon film below for inspiration. At present, I'd like to do all the activities shown in the video, except the running. Sure all will be fine. Definitely.



Monday 31 October 2011

There and back

After yesterday's feeble six minutes, I was prepared for a proper run today. No detours to the Co-op this time. My plan was to run as far as I could for 15 minutes, then see if I could get home in the same time (or less). I figured a bit of healthy competition (with myself) might make my runs more interesting. I'm very much in favour of competition as long as no-one else is involved. Anyway, I enthusiastically put on my running leggings and long-sleeved top and headed out. However, it soon became apparent that I had not chosen wisely. It might have looked grey and cold through the window, but in reality it was quite balmy and I was boiling. I tried to roll up the arms on my top, but it's really fitted and the sleeves wouldn't budge. I managed to get a bit of air to my right wrist, but, apart from that, I was effectively vacuum-packed from the neck down. I don't think I've ever 'perspired' so much in my life. It was a good run, though. And I particularly enjoyed the local Higham Ferrers road-sweeper running ahead of me to brush the leaves from my path. I imagine it's much the same when the Queen goes for a run.

(Stats: 3.56 miles; 32.36 minutes; 9.09 minute/mile. (Split time: 16.16 minutes, so I took 4 seconds longer to do the second half. I was held up by a sniffing dog on a long lead, so I shall blame him.))

Sunday 30 October 2011

Six minutes is better than no minutes

This weekend, I'm staying with a friend in the beautiful Northamptonshire countryside. As I discovered on a previous visit, it's the perfect place to run, littered with chocolate box villages and friendly locals who all shout 'hello' whether you like it or not. Which makes my rubbish outing this morning all the more bewildering. I set off intending to run to the next village, then pop into the shop on the way home. Unfortunately, I never really 'got into it'. Which meant I 'got out of it' at the earliest opportunity. And it was a very early opportunity. At 6 minutes and 17 seconds I was running. At 6 minutes and 18 seconds I was perusing the Sunday papers in the Co-op and contemplating which one to buy. After investing in a box of Nescafe instant cappuccino sachets (I'm no stranger to sophistication!) I pootled home. It was not the most auspicious of runs but I think it was better than nothing. Just.

(Stats: 0.7 miles; 6.17 minutes; 8.58 minute/mile. (Secondary stats that include walking home with papers and shopping: 1.4 miles; 17.32 minutes; 12.31 minute/mile.))

Friday 28 October 2011

Olympic success

Hooray! I have a place in the National Lottery Olympic Park Run. As the name suggests, it's a 5-mile run around the Olympic park, finishing in the stadium. Entry was by ballot and I can't believe I've actually been successful. I don't think I've 'won' anything since the Sudbury Court 10k raffle 2010. It's next March so I have plenty of time to train for the Olympic performance. I could not be more excited. I must purchase some new trainers immediately.

www.nationallotteryrun.com

Thursday 27 October 2011

Your attention please



It turns out that not only did I come 51st out of 72 on Saturday's parkrun, but I was 16th woman (out of 28) and first - yes FIRST - in my age category. A quick look through the results table confirmed that, remarkably, there were other people in the category. Two, in fact. So a small victory. Hooray.

Hot on the heels of success, I dragged myself out for a run yesterday. I say dragged because I've been feeling less than well since Sunday. Someone pointed out there may be a correlation between my feeling green and the amount of time I spend submerged in a pond. I don't think it's possible to catch anything from the ladies' pond. It's now so cold, no bacteria could survive. Not without a wetsuit, anyway.

So, off I went for a be-rucksacked trek up to the heath. Now, that's a little disingenuous. I got the train to the heath. Then went for a short run and an even shorter swim. I had good intentions. I would head to the parkrun course and follow that. Thereby ensuring it would be at least 5k. However, I hadn't factored in my appalling memory for direction, exacerbated by the lack of distinguishing landmarks ('I remember turning left at the big tree... oh').

Suffice to say, I got lost about 10 minutes in. And without a goal, I lost interest too and ended up wandering aimlessly in circles. I should add it was pouring with rain and by the time I located the pond I was drenched. Interestingly, it turned out that being cold and wet in no way made getting colder and wetter any easier. And I'd swear it started sleeting.

Putting aside the vice-like death grip of the water, it turned into a very pleasant swim. Getting in - and staying in - is harder as the temperature drops. But I'm considering it an exercise in focus and mind over matter. Which leads neatly onto why I'm trying to strengthen my resolve and will-power. I'm signing up for a marathon. A proper one. Something that I've always feared. It's not the distance per se. I know that logically I could potter/walk around 26 odd miles. What's always put me off is the thought of doing 13 miles and realizing I have another 13 to do. I've always feared I'd have a meltdown. This is the psychological mountain I need to climb. And while I'm climbing that psychological mountain, I need to fit in a proper training schedule too.

So, in the words of Franklin D. Roosevelt (who apparently borrowed the sentiment from Sir Francis Bacon), the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. I confess, I had to look that up. I'd always thought it was a quote from Peter Porter's nuclear war poem, Your Attention Please. Turns out the line I'd been misremembering was 'Death is the least we have to fear'. Which is just terrifying.

(Stats: about 2.5 miles in 28.09 minutes - this involved several minutes sitting under a tree in the vain hope the rain would abate and lying on a bench at the top of the heath after wheezing my way up the hill. Swam one lap (200 metres); pond temp: 11.5 degrees celsius.)

(Pic: Just off the train, on my way to the heath.)

Saturday 22 October 2011

Official parkrun time is in

27.28 - so a good half a minute quicker than my stopwatch time. Excellent. This works out at an 8.49 minute/mile. I'm very pleased. I shall be even more pleased if I beat it next week.

A new plan


I've just been for a run on the heath. A 'parkrun' to be precise. It's a free timed 5k that takes place every Saturday morning at 9 am. In fact, they do them all over the country (www.parkrun.com). It has instantly become my favourite thing ever! You rock up. You run. You go home. Then around lunchtime, you discover how fast (or not) you ran it. It's like a race, but without being a race. And because there were enough entrants of differing fitness levels, I felt fairly confident I wouldn't be bringing up the rear a la last year's cross-country.

I decided to employ a slightly different running strategy today. Instead of conserving my energy for the final push, I would just run as fast as I could. And if my body rebelled, then I would slow down. And that's what I did. The course is split into two laps and I was shocked at how quickly I did the first half (12 minutes according to my stopwatch). However, on the second lap the pain kicked in and the final hill was a struggle (to the tree... to another tree...to yet another bloody tree, where's the top of the hill?!). At one point, I found myself neck-and-neck with a fat West Highland Terrier. I finally 'took him' when he stopped to relieve himself on a course marker.

My stopwatch says I did it in around 28 minutes, which means I was considerably slower on the second half. That said, I'll be intrigued to know my official time. I do hope that it's not worse than my stopwatch time. That would make me a bit cross.

It was nice to do something that was like a race, but wasn't competitive (well, not from where I was standing). Everybody was very friendly and one fellow runner even gave me a lift home. Which I very much appreciated as I was shattered. This running fast strategy is very tiring.


(Stats: 5km; stopwatch time: 28 minutes/official time: as yet unknown. I await the results with breath that is bated.)

(Pic: Post-run runners. Apologies for the strange 'treatment'. I took the photo into the sun (I'm no David Bailey) so I had to 'magic it' in iPhoto to clarify the image.)

Thursday 15 September 2011

The chafing mole


I'm having a few problems with my running rucksacks. One (the Berghaus Adventure light) is a little bulky. The other (the Osprey Raptor) is neater, but has a propensity to rub.

As I discovered today.

It was early when I ran over to the heath for a swim. Rucksack on back, I was pleased that while most people were in bed, I was already enjoying the autumnal sunshine. Unfortunately, the smugness of my reverie was matched only by the discomfort of my rucksack. So when I got to the pond, I knew it had rubbed a little. But I was shocked to discover I'd been flayed alive!

I had more welts than an extra in Spartacus. And worse, a badly positioned mole had taken the brunt of the assault and was bleeding. I decided a swim in the pond would stem the flow. Which it did. By cutting off my blood supply. It was absolutely bloody freezing. And if I'm to continue this outdoor nonsense into the winter months, then I need to move on from a bikini. Must pack a more substantial costume next time.

And there will be a next time. All the chafing and bleeding and Baltic-temperatures aside, swimming in the pond was a lovely start to the day. And when a chatter of parakeets (yes, I looked it up) swooped over my cryogenically-suspended body, the moment had an almost filmic quality.

(Stats: Forgot my stopwatch, but ran an awkward 3 miles in about 35 minutes; swam 2 laps of the pond, which is about 400 metres; water temperature: 16 degrees - only 0.3 less than Sunday, yet I could feel every absent point.)

(Pic: Temperature dropping.)

Wednesday 14 September 2011

The day I didn't meet Mo Farah

So, Mo was doing a 5k run around Regent's Park this morning at 7 am. I'd mentally signed up for this unique opportunity, not only to run with an elite athlete, but also to earn a free breakfast. The first 250 finishers would get a free feed courtesy of the Holiday Inn. What's not to love? Dragging myself out of bed before 6.30 would be a challenge, but worth it.

Worth it, had I not spent the night awake counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until I had to get up for work. It may be unjust, but I'm currently laying the blame at the door of a Vietnamese coffee I had yesterday afternoon. It was absolutely lovely, but it left me wired for hours. I did a run, had a bath, tidied my room, did some washing... the effect showed no signs of abating. Finally, around 4 am, I drifted off. Suffice to say, getting up for breakfast with Mo was the last thing on my mind.

Probably just as well. I was so sleepy I inadvertently spent half the day with my top on inside-out. A colleague pointed it out at lunchtime. I disturbed him further by saying I was too tired to correct it. He gave me a wide berth after that.

Anyway, here's a review from someone who did make the run.

Tuesday 13 September 2011

Winded


This evening's run was distinctly average. It was born of guilt and procrastination. I'd planned to go to track training, but my friend (and fellow track trainee) couldn't make it. Rather than crack on alone, I leapt at the opportunity not to go. Some days you feel it. Some days (today) you really don't.

Instead I headed out on my usual jaunt to Hampstead. It was a very beautiful evening, if not a little gusty. I think we've got the tail-end of Hurricane Katia. (Just to clarify, she is no longer a hurricane, but a low-pressure system according to the BBC.) Either way, she was still very strong. Great when behind me. Less great when sand-blasting grit into my retinas.

As a result, I ended up walking the last mile. I just didn't have the energy or will to fight. A bit feeble, but better to be feeble and out on my feet than feeble and at home on my arse, I think. I hope.

(Stats:4.4 miles; 44.25 minutes; 10.05 minute/mile. (Partly wind-assisted/partly wind-hindered (windered?))

(Pic: Kite-flying on the heath. Good to see someone enjoying the breeze. (By the way, the kite's on the far right of the image. And this was the best shot of 5. Poxy slow iPhone camera.))

Sunday 11 September 2011

Cold comfort pond



Today I did my first duathlon. Well, maybe that's a minor exaggeration. I ran to Hampstead Heath, then went for a quick dip in the ladies' pond. It's part of my quest to become north London's answer to Wim Hof - the 'Ice Man' - who endures Arctic temperatures in just his Speedos.

There are two reasons I fancy this: firstly, I find swimming outdoors very therapeutic and I'd like to carry on doing it through the winter, ideally, without a wetsuit. That's because I've been told (by my physio neighbour) that freezing cold water is excellent for 'toning and tightening'. So that's the second reason I'm doing it. What a wonderful motivator is vanity.

Let's see how long this lasts (or, more importantly, how low the temperature goes) before self-preservation kicks in (or something drops off!)

(Stats: 2.84 miles; 30 minutes; 10.33 minute/mile. Pond temp: 16.3 degrees.)

Tuesday 6 September 2011

Forgive me, Father...


It's been some time since my last confession, sorry, post, but that's not a reflection on the running. I've been averaging two outings a week. Four miles alone and just over six every Wednesday at running club. I'm supposed to be trying out track training again tonight, but two things are putting me off:

1) It's raining and I fear slipping over in full view of the stadium crowd. (I know, it's not Daegu, but you do get a few other runners watching. I prefer to make a tit of myself in private. Or not at all. Though that's rarely an option.)

2) My big toe hurts. I was a little overenthusiastic on the self-pedicure front and now it's throbbing in my sock. Who knew a little personal grooming would lead to yet another career-threatening injury.

That aside, I feel it's time for a challenge. I can't find any half-marathons at the end of November. However, my brother has mooted the idea of the HellRunner. Hmmmm... I can't say the name is filling me with joy, but I do need a goal. I shall spend today pondering the wisdom (or otherwise) of signing up for '10-12 miles of challenging off-road running'. Because the cross-country last year went so very well...

(Pic: Back to nature. If you find yourself in the Vendee region of France, I highly recommend a run around the beautiful Lac du Jaunay. I also highly recommend a waterproof tent.)

Wednesday 3 August 2011

One foot in front of the other

After Tuesday exertions, I was under strict instructions to take it easy at running club last night. I took this advice extremely seriously. And took it very easy indeed. So easy, in fact, that a group doing the same distance as me - who set off 10 minutes later - finished before me. Hey ho, I was shattered and just turning up felt like an achievement. Even if I did sleepwalk round. As a result, I can't remember much about the run. Just that it was very very very hot. Though I did notice a young man go to the aid of an older one who was trying to fix a puncture. Good life-affirming stuff. And a relief I didn't have to help. I don't know one end of a tyre from the other. Does a tyre have ends?

(Estimated stats: 4.6 miles; 50 minutes; 10.52 minute/mile.)

Tuesday 2 August 2011

Miracles do happen

The sun is out. The sky is blue. And I finally made it to Tuesday night track training.

After the 'light' hills workout on Saturday, I felt a bit more prepared for the high intensity madness to come. After a warm-up that would pass for a whole exercise class, we had to choose from two speed-work sessions. Unfortunately, sitting down watching other people was not an option.

First off, 1200 metres. Running around a track brought my school days flooding back. I would occasionally run the 800 metres at interschool sports day. For the whole week leading up to it, I would be paralysed with fear. 'Track-fright' thwarted my burgeoning Olympic career (probably?!) and facing my nemesis 22 years on was a bit odd. What was also weird was finding that my legs wanted to run faster than the strength in them would allow. So when we got to the 150 metre sprints, part of me felt I had the momentum and will to go faster, but my wobbly lower limbs felt they would give way if I did. I kept having visions of finishing the last 50 metres on my face.

Thinking about it, 400 metres was my most successful distance. And that's only because I improved each time I did it. In fact, by the third 'go' I managed to knock 20 seconds off my original time. This was quite heartening, though did wipe me out for much of the rest of the session. Must remember not to peak too early next time.

I will definitely be back. There's something cathartic about pushing myself to see what I can achieve. Something I rarely, if ever, do. And I figure, if I can continue to knock 20 seconds off my 400 time each week, then I should be knocking on the door of a world record by September. Which will be nice.

(Stats: Not sure of my 1200 or 150 time, but my 400 metres: 1.52; 1.46; 1.32 (minutes, not hours.))

Saturday 30 July 2011

No good deed goes unpunished


On Friday, I volunteered to marshal for my running club. It was hosting a 5k race in Hyde Park and my role involved standing in a fluorescent bin liner, ensuring that all the runners were heading in the right direction. I find these events incredibly moving. In fact, watching people of all ages and abilities really push themselves makes me teary-eyed. Thankfully, I had my sunglasses to hide behind. Nobody wants to hit 4k and find a weeping marshal. Suffice to say, I was happy to retire to the cafe for a post-run lemonade and a large blueberry muffin.

But little did I know I was about to be ambushed. My friend had decided to sign up for a Saturday hill running session. This has never ever appealed to me and when she and the coach of said session asked if I'd like to join, I was emphatic in my refusal. However, somehow - and I'm still not sure how this happened - by the end of my blueberry muffin, we'd arranged a time to meet. I suspect some form of Derren Brown mind-trick was employed.

So, early on Saturday morning, when I would usually be in bed - reading the papers and listening to the radio - I was instead on Hampstead Heath. And it was lovely. The sun was out, fellow 'athletes' were exercising, and looking down over London you got an air of possibility and perspective that gave the moment a slightly reflective quality.

That was before we embarked on 2 hours of sprinting up and down hills, bleep tests and haring about like chickens with our heads cut off. I can genuinely say I have never been so worn out in my life.

I think the last time I properly sprinted was back in 1985 when I inadvertently entered every event on sports day. Yesterday, it was a revelation to discover that running really really fast is really good fun. Even if it left me unable to breathe. Or speak. This was just as well as coach had forbidden me from saying anything negative about myself. The punishment would be press-ups for me and my fellow hill runners (both of them). As a result, I was pretty much mute for the rest of the session.

But I survived. And was even able to muster the energy to go swimming at the ladies' bathing pond later on in the day. Though my heavy limbs did mean I had to spend a little more time than usual clinging onto the slimy safety rings.

(Stats: Difficult to measure. Apparently we ran 4.5 miles in total, but that was in bursts of varying lengths. If we go by aching limbs, the pace was Usain Bolt-esque)

(Pic: Blue skies on the heath.)

Thursday 28 July 2011

Back in the club

Returned to running club last night. It was good to get back into the swing of things. As usual, Hyde Park boasted its own unique microclimate. It may be snowing in Covent Garden, but it's always hot in Hyde Park. Or that could just be the result of my running labours. Either way, it was nice to see the familiar sites of the hugging bears fountain and the Peter Pan statues. I also have a new inspiration. Last November, when I embarked upon my failed cross-country career, there was a girl who was of a similar speed to me. Since then, she has run the London marathon and become the fittest person alive. Now she can easily maintain an 8 - 8 and a half minute/mile pace, leaving me way behind (literally and metaphorically). This is just the kick up the nether regions I needed and it's motivated my search for a suitable half-marathon. And by suitable, I mean flat.

(Stats: 4.18 miles; 40.14 minutes; 9.37 minute/mile. Quite pleased.)

Tuesday 26 July 2011

...but the rabbit is running for his life

Last night, I experienced a timely reminder of why running is good for you. I saw a man being chased. Seconds later he was on the floor and his attacker was, for want of a better phrase, kicking ten tonnes of sh*t out of him. I was midway through a 999 call when a fellow bystander shouted that the police were on their way and the assailant ran off. Thankfully, the victim was able to get up. And I made my way home, still unsure as to whether this had actually happened or whether I had just been watching too much CSI of late. Quite possibly both are true.

Nevertheless, it was an abject lesson in why running can, quite literally, save your life. Not just from a spare tyre and type 2 diabetes, but from bears and lions and bad people who want to kick your head in. Thankfully, I've never been pursued by any of those things. And (fingers crossed) never will. But should that day come, I would like to think I'd have a good go at fleeing. Flight is definitely my survival instinct of choice. I don't like fighting.

Which is why, when I woke up this morning I went for a run. The first one since the half-marathon 5 weeks ago. And it was great. My knees hurt, my hips hurt, my feet hurt. But it was a pleasure. It's quite overcast out, but surprisingly warm and I'm currently relishing my beetroot face. It's not been that colour for a while. Except when I fell asleep in the sun.

I think I'm going to spend today looking for another half to sign up for. If my speed needs a boost, then I need only remember that man being chased down the road. As they say, the fox is running for his dinner...

(New stats: 4.34 miles; 44.36 minutes; 10.16 minute/mile. Not bad for the first time in 5 weeks, though not sure I'd outrun the fox at that pace.)

Monday 18 July 2011

Core instability

It turns out that being forbidden from exercising was just the motivation I needed to start exercising again. And so it was that I found myself at the local leisure centre in the company of a group of women (and one man) in pursuit of better posture and a stronger core. As this was not an aerobic class and more about toning, I didn't think it qualified as proper exercise, therefore not really contravening doctor's orders.

In fact, most of the class involved sitting on, lifting up or bending over a Swiss exercise ball. Before we began, our teacher made the point that our knees should be neither higher nor lower than our hips when sitting on the ball. Looking around I realized I was the only one whose ball was half-inflated, which resulted in my knees being somewhere up around my ears. Thankfully, my neighbour was having the opposite problem and was perched precariously high up on hers. 'As our balls don't fit, why don't we swap?' I suggested. She agreed, while I stifled a bout of the giggles. You can't be reared on a diet of Carry On films and let that kind of innuendo pass you by. Judging by her non-reaction, I suspect she was not a fellow connoisseur.

The class continued without further incident and was proving quite a nice segue back into activity. That was until we had to roll right on top of our balls (snigger) and assume the press-up position. As soon as my head was lower than my body, I experienced an instant pounding headache that felt like my frontal lobe was going to explode. I even had to sit back down and hold my eyes as I thought they were going to fall out. Suffice to say, I didn't do any more press-ups.

Thankfully, once I sat up straight and the blood returned to the rest of my body, the pounding subsided and I felt fine. The teacher asked how it went. I have to say that, apart from the bit when I thought my head was going to fall off, I really enjoyed it. Finding stuff to do while I can't run may turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Though I must remember not to do anything that involves my head being between my legs. Or anyone else's for that matter.

Friday 15 July 2011

Labyrinthwhatus?

I am painfully aware that it has been nearly one month since my last run. In fact, I haven't set foot in my trainers since the half. I thought I was suffering from some kind of running ennui, having reached my goal. And notice I use the word 'reached' not 'achieved'. However, the ennui has a name. Labyrinthitis.

For the past 5 or 6 weeks, I've had varying degrees of dizziness. In fact, I've fallen over a few times. And some of those times I was sober. It had occurred pre-race, but I ignored it. I did, however, write a small essay on the back of my race number with a liturgy of ailments. Had I actually keeled over, I fear I'd have passed away before the first-aider had finished reading.

Finally, I went to the doctor. He said I'm fighting some form of bug, which has left me with a wretched sore throat and affected my inner ear. Hence, the labyrinthitis. It upsets your sense of balance, which explains why I frequently feel like I'm going up and down in a lift. Apparently, I'm not to exercise for a while, which is fine because just wandering up and down to the tube station knocks me out.

So, this leaves me with a bit of space to plan my next half-marathon, which I'm hoping to do in October. This time I will have a different strategy, i.e. I will have a strategy. I just have to decide what that is.

Monday 20 June 2011

2 hours 8 minutes 20 seconds



So, not only not under 2 hours, but I didn’t even beat my previous best half-marathon time. This is why I don’t set goals.

Today I’m feeling a bit of a failure, though I am trying to look on the bright side. I think that the training certainly helped on the endurance front (I didn't get my usual 11 mile anger) and my body actually feels pretty good today (when I'm usually aching like a b*stard post-race). And I suppose it’s not terrible, considering my recent dearth of mileage and sore tendons. But, ultimately, I failed. And I failed because I did not run fast enough.

I would like to blame the hilly course. And when I say hills, I mean hill. But it was a very large one and I had to go up and down it four times. I thought the course was flat. That came as a huge shock. I then spent a lot of time ensuring I conserved enough energy for the imminent ascent. I think that maybe I spent too much time conserving and not enough time... well, serving, I suppose. I don't know.

All that aside, I did really enjoy the run (probably because I was going so slowly). Torbay provides a beautiful backdrop for a half-marathon and cantering along the coast in the dewy morning sunshine was inspiring. I can also recommend Tor Abbey (recently restored), the Princess Theatre (Calendar Girls. Back for the very last time) and the London Fryer (tasty looking chip shop). But the best views were reserved for the top of that bloody hill. Views that I very much enjoyed on visit number one. By visit number four, the novelty had worn off and I had bigger fish to fry. Though not, unfortunately, at the London Fryer.

There were a couple of occasions when I did think about speeding up. One of which involved the tantalising prospect of overtaking my brother’s friend. He kept bobbing up in the distance and I felt that with a good burst of speed on my part I could ‘take him’. However, my feeble competitive instinct was quashed by the vision of me lying prostrate on the ground; the inevitable result of any ‘burst’. There's no glory in road kill.

To be fair to said friend, I probably wouldn’t have caught him anyway. I believe it was his first half-marathon and he came in a good three or four minutes faster than me. My brother also did really well, passing the post at 1.34.05, though he was gutted to narrowly miss the 33 minute mark. Which just shows how all success (and failure) is relative. No pun intended.

All in all, I would highly recommend the Torbay half. Irrespective of my disappointment re time, it was a really well organised, fantastically located race. And my lungs felt like they'd had a good jet wash by the end. Speaking of which, I was rather pleased with my sprint finish. It was nice to show my family that despite being the slowest member of the pack, I could still cross the line in style. Fortunately, they didn't witness the small collapse, seconds later, next to the military boy who was removing the timing chips. But once I'd gathered my thoughts and blood had returned to the cerebral part of my body, I was ready to collect the spoils of war in the form of the 'goody bag'. This was instantly collared by my niece and nephew. They grabbed the bag, devoured the free gummi bears and led me over to a market stall selling wool, where we spent a good 3 minutes before I came to my senses and insisted my wellbeing and need for rest came before their need to purchase knitting needles. No matter how cheap they were.

And so a rather surreal end to an inauspicious day. On the plus side, the challenge continues. And I'm looking out for my next half. Preferably one in Holland.

(Stats: 13.1 miles; 2.08.05; 9.46 minute/mile; one very very very very very very big hill.)

(Pic: Victory t-shirt and medal. It's all about the medal.)

Wednesday 15 June 2011

My leg is a moot point

My race number has arrived. And my leg is feeling a bit better. It's all go! Except I had to work late so missed running club anyway. Unfortunately, I've spent most of the past three weeks squashed in an office chair. If the half on Sunday involves staring myopically at a computer screen, I'll definitely win.

In the absence of any actual running, I've decided visualization will have to suffice. I'm picturing myself racing confidently along the south Devon coast, enjoying the sea air and crossing the line in 1 hr 30. I may as well aim high. I'm also picturing a lovely hot dog. Not for Sunday. Just generally. I'm hungry.

Monday 13 June 2011

Tibialis posterior update

My injured leg is absolutely fine. If I don't use it. None of which bodes well for Sunday's half. However, I'm carb-loading regardless. Why waste a good excuse to eat pasta and garlic bread and risotto every night?! This evening, on top of my Italian fiesta, I also poked down a small bucket of spinach. If it's good enough for Popeye... Seriously, my body needs all the help it can get. If that means eating fruit and veg in quantities usually only seen in zoos, then so be it. PMA!

Sunday 12 June 2011

One week to go


So, what was a small nagging pain in my left calf has developed into a huge nagging pain.

Weirdly, it didn't feel too bad on Thursday, the day after the run, but I think the mistake I made was wearing flip flops in the rain on Friday.

I say rain. It was torrential. Complete with thunder and lightning and floods on the streets of Soho. (Okay, so maybe it wasn't the apocalypse, but compared with the arid months of April and May, it was very wet.)

The thing with flip flops is they're hard work to keep on your feet anyway. Add in a few inches of water and they're wriggling about like a couple of flounders. I think struggling to ensure they weren't washed away put a lot of pressure on my already slightly sore lower limbs and I fear it was this that did the damage. (I should add it was lovely and sunny when I left for work and I was optimistic it would remain so. It didn't.)

By Friday evening, I was in real pain and had a distinct limp. When I got home and assumed a yogic position to inspect the area (behind my ankle and up the back of my calf) I found it tender and swollen.

I immediately texted my physio (i.e. my friend) a detailed outline of the problem and she identified the sore area as the tibialis posterior and feared it might be tendonitis. Obviously, I googled this and my symptoms do seem to correlate. However, my left sock was rubbing under my forefoot like a b*stard on Wednesday so I was running a little awkwardly. I'm hoping that it's this that has caused the injury and that it's a temporary state of affairs.

In line with recommended expert advice (from my friend) I have rested all weekend, dosed myself up with anti-inflammatories and been liberally applying an ice-pack to the area. And I'm relieved to report it's already improving. Just as well as this time next week I will be mid-half-marathon. In fact, If things are going according to plan I should only have half an hour to go.

Right now, there's a question mark over the time thing. But I'm optimistic my leg will be well enough to run. Because, of course, my optimism on the weather-front worked out brilliantly.

(Pic: My sore leg with biro graffiti highlighting the affected area.)

Wednesday 8 June 2011

Milkmaids Passage

Tonight's run could not have been more 'London' had I done it dressed as a Beefeater while singing 'roll out the barrel, we'll have a barrel of fun.'

It was club night. And rather than opt for the shortest distance, I decided to step up. I would do the 'three parks'. This consists of my usual circuit of Hyde Park and Kensington Palace Gardens, with the addition of St James' Park (and Green Park too). Hang on, surely that's four parks? Guess that's why we're a running club and not a maths club.

I've done this distance before. About three times. Last time (at the beginning of April) I really pushed myself and nearly had a coronary. Since then, I have opted for enjoyment over speed. And so it was this evening.

I set off with the 9-minute milers. I kept up with the ones at the back. In fact, I even overtook two girls (to be fair, they were deep in chat and expending considerably more puff than me). But soon, I found myself in a pace group no man's land. Which proved the perfect place to be.

Hungry squirrels. Bored foreign students. Happy drunks. It's surprising what you see when you're running alone and very slowly. I saw a tent completely covered by a tree. A cuddling bear fountain. A stick shaped like a gun. And, the piece de la resistance, Prince Harry.

I was running down The Mall when I came to the entrance of Clarence House and a very nice policeman told me to stop. Tired, but keen to keep up the momentum, I jogged energetically on the spot, but rested my hands on my hips. That's when a state car emerged and a Harry-shaped head peered out through the tinted glass. I barely had time to register 'that's pri....' before he was gone.

Once I'd regained my composure, I completed the rest of the run at a comfortable pace. And I even carried on running past the most important lamppost in London (i.e. the one on Speaker's Corner at the 'finish line') all the way back to the club house. With just over a week till the 'big day', I thought those extra half miles could come in handy.

So, a thoroughly enjoyable evening was had by all. Well, by me anyway. I'm sure Prince Harry was just confused by the Riverdancing busker.

(Stats: 8 miles; 80 minutes; 10 minute/mile. PLUS: I ran from work to the club house (1.55 miles) so that's 9.55 miles in total. Which, I think, makes me brilliant.)

(p.s. Milkmaids Passage is a little alleyway just off Green Park. I ran past it earlier. In fact, it proved a welcome distraction from the pain in my left calf. Milkmaids Passage. Tee hee...)

Sunday 5 June 2011

Sunday driver

Today I planned to take my new Garmin Forerunner out for a test drive. Unfortunately, one look at the instruction manual and the plan demanded revision. Even the 'Quick Start' section had my little grey cells heading for the hills (at a pace that was somewhat faster than that managed on the eventual run).

By the time I'd finished fannying around, my motivation had long since departed. I had been considering a Regent's Park extension to the usual jaunt, but that got ditched along with the Garmin. I set off feeling uninspired and it wasn't long before I was home again.

Nothing particularly exciting to report. But, I guess, it is reassuring to think that even on a lacklustre day, I've managed a few miles. I used to go out with a golfer (a proper one, no windmills involved) and he was of the opinion that playing well on a good day was easy. Keeping going on a bad day was the challenge. Wise words. Then again, he also used to snap his golf clubs in half on the back nine. Less wise.

(Stats: 4.18 miles; 45.07; 10.47 minute/mile.)

Saturday 4 June 2011

Best (bare)foot forward



In the spirit of investigation, I decided to walk home from work on Thursday night. Without my shoes.

I thought it would be a good introduction to the 'minimalist' running idea that Barefoot Ted et al have been talking about.

I was a little self-conscious as I couldn't fit my flip flops in my bag so I had to carry them. This drew attention to my al fresco feet and I felt a bit of a tool (that's been happening a lot recently). To distract myself from tool-dom, I started taking photos of my feet on the various pavements and roads they encountered. (I took 241 pictures in total. I got a bit carried away.)

Ted was absolutely right about pavements being an easy flat surface to potter on. It was all pretty much plain sailing (or walking?). There was one minor incident when something non-specific got stuck to my forefoot. (I'm hoping it was just a soggy leaf.) And I found you had to be especially careful around parked cars. (You see a lot of smashed wing mirrors when you're staring at the floor.) But on the whole, the actual walking experience was fine.

However, once I'd got home - and washed my dirty black feet (top tip: don't try to shower with your jeans on) things took a turn. They really started to throb. I'm sure this is normal as it was around the padded raised areas that must have taken most of the flack. But they were so sore, I couldn't put them on the floor. It was almost as if they were burning in places.

At this point, I berated myself for not waiting till after the half to experiment. But just as I was going to text my flatmate to bring me a bucket of ice, the sensation began to subside. And by the next morning they were pretty much back to normal.

So, not the most auspicious of beginnings; but then, even Barefoot Ted had to start somewhere.

(Stats: 4.67 miles (2.67 sans flip flops); 1.30 minutes; not sure of the minute-mileage, probably not a personal best.)

(Pic: Using my flip flop to flick something untoward off my foot. I never ever want to know what it was.)

Wednesday 1 June 2011

My life on my back


Tonight I should have been at running club, but was thwarted. Thwarted by work commitments! Damn the need to earn a crust.

As I sat alone in the office, pondering the wonders of cytokine inhibition, I ruminated on my recent lack of running. Somehow I had gone a whole week without my trusty trainers. Maybe Barefoot Ted had confused me into inaction? More likely, my new busy schedule was to blame. Either way, I had been doing an awful lot of not-running and this needed addressing.

I was suddenly feeling very tired and decided it was time to head for the tube. Still disappointed to have missed running club, I gathered together my detritus (phone, pen, extra strong mints) and shovelled them into my running rucksuck. My running rucksack? I had a rucksack that I could run with. And in that rucksack was my running kit. You spend your life looking for the key and the door is already open.*

I stripped off immediately. Normally, I wouldn't do an office streak (it wasn't Christmas, after all) but I wanted to get my kit on before the enthusiasm wore off. Fingers crossed, they don't have CCTV. Anyway, I immediately hit the streets of Soho. At first, I felt a bit of a tool. Not least, because my rucksack was so massively overstuffed I could plausibly have had a parachute in there. It was also heavy and a bit awkward for the same reason. After pausing to tighten the straps, I inserted my iPod and hid away with Ed Reardon until I reached Regent's Park.

The run home was absolutely lovely. And the week of resting and eating for England had resulted in a surprising amount of energy. So, it wasn't the fastest time in the world. But it was a good reminder that you don't always have to go for a run to go for a run.

(Stats: 4.73 miles - that's uphill miles with a very heavy bag on my back! 50 very enjoyable minutes; 10.34 minute/mile.)

(Pic: The Berghaus Mach 24 that I carried all the way home. I have put a small ball in the pic too. For perspective.)

(*Apologies to Aravind Adiga for poor paraphrasing from The White Tiger. Fantastic book.)

Wednesday 25 May 2011

You don't have to take your shoes off to have a good time...


...but according to Barefoot Ted, it helps.

Last night, I went to 'An Evening with Barefoot Ted' to listen to the virtues of barefoot or minimalist running. I'd encountered this concept before (in Chris McDougall's book 'Born to Run'). I have to confess, I was already a bit of a convert (in theory, at least.)

The basic idea being, the foot is a piece of highly developed machinery that is designed to work best when it's at its most natural; i.e. the more you distance it from the world (with padded expensive trainers, for example) the less you give it the chance to work properly. And that can result in the joint pain and jarring that is, traditionally, the runner's lot.

A little while ago I attended the Running School in Chiswick in an attempt to achieve a more fleet-of-foot, effective running style. Their proposition is that they can teach you to run - and then to run faster.

At no point, did they suggest I throw my shoes out of the window. But what I found interesting, in comparing the words of Barefoot Ted with those of Mike Antoniades (founder/head coach at the Running School), was the similarities. Their descriptions of the ideal running 'technique' were virtually the same: from the idea that we need to remind our bodies how to work as holistic machines to the concept of light, gentle forward-foot landings and the emphasis on balance and breathing. The only difference being, Ted would advocate that this 'ideal' gait develops more naturally when you take your trainers off.

This is oversimplifying it and you'll find more information on his website but, to me, Barefoot Ted made a lot of sense. To the extent, I was seriously considering ditching my sandals for the walk home from the tube station. Maybe I should change my name to Barefoot Lou.


(Pic: Barefoot Ted waxing lyrical at King's College. Apologies that my iPhone doesn't have a great zoom. And no, he wasn't completely barefoot. He had special sandals on.)

(Chris McDougall's book 'Born to Run' is a fascinating insight into ultra running, barefoot running and the mysterious 'running' tribes of the Copper Canyons.)

(More info on the Running School in Chiswick. Mike, incidentally, is one of the nicest guys I have ever met.)