In praise of the shower at work

Yesterday lunchtime I was invited to the pub for a festive drink. I declined. I went for a run around Hyde Park instead. No one was more surprised about this than me. I can report that it cleared my sinus-y headache, eased my sore back and left me with a sense of virtuous well being, verging on the smug. I will definitely be doing it again.

(Stats: (Estimated) 4 miles; 40 minutes; 10 minute/mile)

The pulling out of the finger

Saturday. The sun was out. The sky was blue. And despite having consumed a little too much festive cheer the night before, I made it to the Hampstead Heath parkrun. This week it was the annual 'Santa run' in aid of the North London Hospice. A charity that gets little funding from the government, yet does amazing things.

We all made donations and in exchange received a nice red hat in which to run. In the spirit of the season, I kept it on throughout the 5k. It was very hot. Though I don't think I can lay the blame here for my continuing slowness.

On the plus side, I made myself useful and put finger to keyboard to write this week's (Event 83) race report: Event 83 - Twas the week before Christmas.


(Stats: 3.1 miles (5k); 29.06 minutes; 9.23 minute/mile)

(Pic: Post-run I went for my first winter swim on the heath. Oh my god, turns out three degrees is blooming cold when you haven't been in since September. I managed to get up to my bum.)

Bringing up the rear

Turns out squash fit and run fit are two different things. For the past two months, I've been having squash lessons and playing at least once a week. Running has taken a back seat. Today I returned to the parkrun with the misguided belief all this 'interval training' on the court would set me in good stead. I was wrong. Every step was like mile 22 of the marathon. Good to run on the heath though - and nice to see Bill Oddie out and about.

(Stats: 5k (3.1ish miles); time tbc, but unlikely to be within a sniff of a pb.)

(Pic: Too tired to walk home so got my chauffeur to pick me up.)

Three's a charm

Hooray. My enthusiasm for running seems to have returned.

Since last week's less than successful parkrun, I've been out for three gentle, yet effective, four-milers. Two in Devon while staying with my parents and one this morning around the streets of Hampstead.

The first two runs were lovely because there was no one about - the last run was lovely because there were loads of people about. After a few quiet days in the countryside, I really appreciate the buzz of the city. I think I just needed to regroup.

On the downside, I have already sacked off the Ealing half-marathon - it's this weekend and I wasn't looking forward to dragging myself around. On the upside, I have agreed to look after my 8-year-old nephew instead. In retrospect, I'm not sure this will prove the easier option.

(Stats: 4.34 miles; 44.52; 10.20 minute/mile. No wonder I enjoyed it, I was walking.)

(Pic: Beer, a beautiful little fishing village only 40 minutes' drive from Exeter. Can't believe I haven't been there before now. Nice cafe on the beach called Ducky's - I highly recommend the all-day breakfast and crab sandwiches.)

Enjoyably hard (or hardly enjoyable)?

Eeurghh.... that's the noise I made on Saturday morning. A lot. I returned to Hampstead Heath parkrun and my fitness levels are officially at a new low. The whole thing was agony and I recorded my worst time ever. Ever. Worse than my scratch time. I'm not even back to square one, I'm back to the square before the square before square one. Time for bullets to be bitten!

On a recent trip to Centerparcs, I was reminded how much fun it is to 'do sport'. To whit, I start a beginner's squash course next Wednesday. 'Beginner' is a little disingenuous. I used to play every Saturday morning (when I was 13) so I'm hoping there's a residual knowledge I can build on. Rather disconcertingly, I recall there was a dangerously high rate of collapse at the club in 'old people'. I'm hyper-aware that, to my 13-year-old self, I am now 'old people'. Maybe I should wear a heart rate monitor?

Anyway, I'm hoping that a new sport will help me find my fitness mojo, which is currently missing in action. I think I may have lost it around mile 21 of the Brighton marathon. If anyone's by the south coast and they spot it, please return to NW6.

(Stats: 3.1 miles; 28.40; 9.14 minute/mile.)

Addendum to previous post

The reason I know what a fornicating hedgehog sounds like is because I grew up in the countryside. On numerous occasions, I was woken up in the night by the sound of heavy panting from outside my window. One day, I decided to confront what I thought was an asthmatic burglar and, instead, discovered two hedgehogs 'in flagrante'. Suffice to say, I made my excuses and left.

The summer of loving sport

I get it. I get why some female tennis players make such a racket when they play.

Running up Finchley Road this evening, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. My usual tactic, singing, didn't wing me on my way. It was also visibly 'not enjoyed' by my fellow pavement-users. So I resorted to exhaling noisily instead. And it worked.

I can only assume the action encourages a deeper inhale/exhale because by replicating the exact sound of a fornicating hedgehog, I discovered a sack of extra puff. In fact, it gave me enough of a boost to sprint for the final five minutes. I think I ran faster than Usain Bolt. Possibly. Which meant, by the time I arrived home, the vociferous wheezing was involuntary. I was also nursing the reddest face in history. I've showered, had tea and been sat down for over two and a half hours and my visage is still puce. Less than three weeks till the Ealing half-marathon and I've run no more than five miles since July. This could prove a very noisy run.

(Stats: 4.34 miles; approximately 40 minutes; 9.12 minute/mile.)

(Pic 1: Gold-winning, record-breaking runner Oscar Pistorius (the guy in the white t-shirt), being interviewed on stage in Trafalgar Square. Yes, not the best shot but I was stood on a wall, holding an iPhone with one hand and trying not to fall off with the other. Pic 2: Packing up the Olympics - very sad. This lorry was taking away the barriers that had lined the roads for the wheelchair marathon. The summer of sport has come to an end. Let's hope I can do my bit to extend it with the Ealing half.)

Whatever it takes

Tonight I went for a run for two reasons: 1) I can hear music from my house and wanted to see if there was a fair in the park. 2) I read that Harry Styles of One Direction has been hanging out at a pub on my running route. If fairs and minor-celeb hunting aren't good running motivation, then I don't know what is. However, following another short Vibram-based run on Saturday, my calf muscles are still really sore. So I decided to ditch them. (The Vibrams, not my calf muscles.) Just temporarily. Sinking back into my trainers was like reuniting with an old friend. If my old friend was a pair of oven gloves, filled with cotton wool. They may be the gift of the devil, but they are a very comfy, shock-absorbing gift. Given the Ealing half-marathon is less than six weeks away, I have decided to mix up my training attire. If I can't go farther in my minimal shoes, then my trainers will have to take me there instead. All in all, it was a very satisfying run. I chased a squirrel up Oakhill Avenue and managed to avoid running into a fruit stall on Finchley Road. Oh, and as for the reasons to run in the first place: no fair; no Harry Styles. But I did see Bill Nighy. As usual. (Stats: 4.34 miles; 41.59 minutes; 9.40 minute/mile.)

Two nights of barefoot running

And I'm barely walking. Epsom salts. Hot bath. Ice pack. Hmmm... there's a reason they tell you to take it slowly. Am both a tool and a cock.

Google search: calf pain

That's how I've started today. My calf muscles hurt so much, I'm back to having to take stairs sideways. Thankfully, several forums on minimalist running have reassured me this is completely normal. They say having a rest day between runs is essential and I should also practise 'chi' walking. I'm not entirely sure what this means, but I think it indicates walking 'mindfully' in order to give my muscles a good stretch. Ice is also recommended. Less than 8 weeks to the Ealing half-marathon. Not sure yet what I'll be running in. Or whether I'll still be able to run at all. Getting to work today should be interesting. I wonder if I can find someone to carry me?

Chafing mole 2

I thought another gentle run in my Vibrams would ease my painful calf muscles. Little did I know that while I was concentrating on my feet, something far worse was going on behind my back. On my back. My poor mole was, once again, the victim of a chafing. I'm now running a cold bath to cool it down. On the plus side, Zoolander is on. (Stats: 4.24 miles; 1 hour 20 minutes - calf muscles hurt so much, I walked half the way and stopped off to buy my tea.)

Feeling hot hot hot...

Too hot getting changed in the work's toilets. Too hot trying to force my swollen feet into my Vibrams. Too hot running home through Regent's Park. However, it was my first proper run in what feels like months, ergo it was a good one. Issues: I'm not sure my right foot fits properly in the shoe. My toes don't sit comfortably in the toe gloves and this led to a stubbing incident on Marylebone Road. Another issue, I'm landing ever so heavily, which I try to address, but this 'fleet of foot' running style is extremely tiring. Halfway home I was already turning corned beef; three-quarters of the way and I was groaning like a tennis player. But I kept going and made it home in one piece. I practised my patented 'running backwards down Hillfield Road' technique in order to stretch out my calf muscles in the opposite direction so I'm hopeful I'll be able to walk tomorrow. This is all in preparation for the Ealing half-marathon at the end of September. I'm not sure that speed will be of the essence, if I'm going barefoot then I'll just be happy to get round. Expectation management in progress. (Stats: 4.24 miles; 43 minutes; 10.08 minute/mile.)

Olympic fortnight

Training for the Ealing half isn't going as well as I'd hoped - in the sense that I haven't done any. With the Olympics on, it's much easier to get my sporting fix with my bum glued to a chair. I've been somewhat remiss and have singularly failed to get tickets for any Olympic event, despite living just a short tube ride away. That said, you need only walk into London to soak up the unique atmosphere. I'm not too far from Lord's (and the archery) so last week, emboldened by having just had my wisdom teeth extracted, I went down there and asked if they had any free tickets. There was a method in my madness. I'd been chatting to a nice security guard and he'd said that people had been giving away the odd ticket as they queued to get in. I guess their guests had dropped out. Unfortunately, none of these made their way to me. Probably just as well given my head had begun to swell up like a melon and, with the drugs wearing off, my mouth was throbbing. I went home to bed instead. Yet another inspiring Olympic story.

A new challenge

Time to take my Vibrams for a proper run. I've just signed up for the Ealing half-marathon. Two months to fitness. And, possible, to under 2 hours?

Hot in the city

Good to see that the sun has finally made it to London. Nice to run this evening without getting wet. Saying that, I was only out for ten minutes so I wouldn't have got that wet anyway. Me and my Vibrams are starting again. Last Saturday's long run wiped out my calf muscles for a week. Going downstairs was so painful I had to resort to descending sideways. Given I was on a course at a college in central London, this attracted some stranger looks than normal. So, back to square one. Except maybe not, because I've learned a few lessons about my new shoes and my old legs; square two, perhaps?

Don't stop believing

When I was a little girl, I had two dreams: to live next door to a sweet shop and to own a swimming pool. The friend I'm staying with in Bristol has a pool and it's absolutely brilliant. You roll out of bed and the next thing you know you're doing lengths. This morning's dip was especially welcome given my poor calf muscles needed soothing following yesterday's long barefoot run. To be fair, last night's three-hour 80's dance-a-thon didn't help. And neither did the three-inch heels. Thankfully, this morning's swim relieved the pain a little, which brings me back to how brilliant it would be to own your own pool. Unfortunately, we don't have room for one in our back garden but I shall continue to dream. And, on the plus side, we're only a couple of minutes from Tesco's and they sell sweets, proving that that some dreams do come true.

Lost in Bristol

Today's run in the Vibrams took a slightly different turn - several, in fact - when I got very lost. I'm staying at a friend's so while she was at spinning, I headed out in the rain for a 20-minute foray that took 45 minutes. A lesson in spending less time looking at your feet and more time looking where you're going. My calf muscles are now rock hard. Even a quick swim hasn't loosened them up. I'm squatting a lot to see if that helps, though I might need to stop as we're off to Clifton shopping. On the plus side, it was good to go for a decent run. Apart from the concrete calves, my feet are fine and all is well with the barefoot adventure. We're going dancing tonight. The Vibrams would be perfect. However, I'll probably stick with the ridiculously high sandals that have previously left me with second-degree burns. Would Barefoot Ted approve? Probably not. (Stats: 45 minute run (no idea of distance, possibly three-ish miles in circles around Stoke Bishop?) (Pic: Peace and quiet at Clifton Relaxation Centre. Well worth a visit.) [Corrections and clarifications: My friend has just informed me she was at body pump, not spinning.]

Look out Barefoot Ted

First barefoot run: done. Just went out for a mighty six-minute jog around the block in my Vibrams. Actually, I shouldn't use the word jog. According to one of the speakers at the Primal Lifestyle Barefoot Connections conference, 'jogging' was invented by Bill Bowerman at Nike to describe what you do in trainers. 'Barefooters' walk or run (or squat, there was a lot of talk of squatting). Anyway, I'm happy to report that apart from a little soreness in my right calf and a little straining in my right instep (damn my weak right-hand side) all is well. However, six minutes was definitely plenty. I was boiling within seconds. In trainers, it's easier to have a lazy gait. When you're 'barefoot' your whole body has to get involved. As a result, you feel like your feet are skimming, rather than pounding, the pavements. I can genuinely see how, once you're acclimatized, this motion is much kinder to your body. I plan to continue this kindness with a nice bit of reflexology at Step In in Chinatown - followed by fresh dim sum at Jen Cafe on Lisle Street. Healthy body, healthy appetite etc...

Vibrams are like dogs...

...when you're out and about with them, everyone wants to talk to you. Mindful that you can't barefoot run before you can walk, I decided to spend today pottering around in my new shoes. It was with trepidation I left the house. They are not an attractive shoe. However, my flatmate offered reassurance with the words: "Are you really going out like that?" My request he accompany me for support was rejected on the grounds I'd ruin his [in my view, minimal] street cred. What a fool I was. I didn't need his support. No one pointed and laughed. In fact, my feet became minor celebrities attracting interest from all sorts (two men in a cafe and several ladies on the Heath). They all wanted to know if they were as comfortable as they look and have they transformed my running. Having been wearing them for less than a day, I can only say yes, they are very comfortable but, re the running, I plan to go for a very gentle jog tomorrow morning and find out. Wean myself into them slowly. A few people said they'd tried the shoes, but had suffered injuries and given up. This tallies with the words of Lee Saxby - a coach I encountered recently at the Primal Lifestyle Barefoot Connections conference. The reason being, these shoes will not instantly turn you into a fleet-of-foot Bambi-style runner. You have to learn to run skilfully. If you just don the new shoes and gallumph off as if you were wearing a padded trainer, then injury will prevail. I am determined that injury will not prevail here. In fact, I'm thinking that there's a Zola Budd-shaped hole in the running world that me and my feet could fill. Barefoot toes crossed the run goes well tomorrow. (Pic 1: A beautiful day for a barefoot walk on the Heath. Pic 2: Vibrams in action.)

Barefoot or bust

My fitness regime needs a boost. I am hoping these will provide it.

Taking the plunge

It's taken a little while to get my stride back after the marathon, but today I jumped right back in: to parkrun - and to the ladies' pond. The run was lovely: sun shining; happy faces; dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. One dog, I think it was a Basset, even seemed to start us off - standing proudly to one side as we lined up, wagging his tail in encouragement. To be honest, I was envious of his four legs. My two didn't work that well today. In the night, someone had replaced all my blood with lead. I tried to will my body to move faster, but it wasn't having any of it. In the end, I resigned myself to a very gentle plod. And, on the plus side, it meant I could enjoy watching all the little four-legged friends frolicking in the way they do. Mainly in fox poo. Post-run, I headed for the bathing pond. It's a mighty 12 degrees now - 9 degrees warmer than my coldest swim. However, the sunshine today was a bit of a trick and I had to summon all my resolve just to get in. The lifeguard advised a long breath out as you enter the water. It was so cold, I feared it wouldn't be followed by any sort of breath in. But good to freshen up - and it entirely justified the small mountain of fried breakfast I consumed ten minutes later. (Stats: 3.1 miles; 27.15 minutes; 8.47 minute/mile.) (Pic: Parkrun involved running up this big hill. Twice. I much prefer strolling down. Slowly.)

One week on (nearly)

This week has been mainly characterized by post-marathon euphoria (Monday to Wednesday), exhaustion (Thursday and Friday) and confusion (today). Confusion as I no longer have the marathon taking up a huge amount of space in my head. Technically speaking, I should be missing all the running. However, in the last month I didn't really do that much. The clocks going forward scuppered my morning gym visits and running home from work once or twice became my training regime. Which leads me to the unexpected desire to do it all again. Only quicker. Not this weekend, obviously. But I think next year, I could easily be tempted to sign up for something farther afield. Berlin or Paris, perhaps. In the meantime, I'm thinking I need to strike while the iron's hot. Right now, 13 miles feels like a relatively short distance. I've been pondering signing up for a half-marathon to take advantage of this slightly addled state of mind. I'm even wondering if maybe, just maybe, this might be the one where I come in 'under 2 hours'. Imagine that?! Right, where did I chuck my trainers?

A long time running

Many years ago, I decided to join Bideford running club.

I turned up for the first time and they asked about my experience. For various reasons, I wanted to go out with the fast group, so I led them to believe I was a much better (and more frequent) runner than I actually was.

Error.

I quickly lost the group and ended up walking back to the clubhouse by myself. That was the end of my time with Bideford Blues.

As I was doing that lonely walk of shame, I could not, in a million years, have ever imagined finishing a whole marathon.

Which is pretty much how I felt yesterday at mile 23.

It wasn't just the pain, but the psychological fog. My energy levels were fine - I'd taken on board everything: water, Powerade, Shokbloks (energy cubes. Tasty). But as I ran around the Power Station (miles 20-22) I didn't think it would ever end.

It wasn't so much hitting a wall as entering stasis. Some of my friends were tracking my progress on a special Brighton Marathon app and it occurred to me they would think I was going backwards.

This slump continued forever (about two and a half miles) until I discovered the cliche was true.

I had just collapsed into a walk when I came across some supporters I knew: my marathon-running friend, his girlfriend and their mates. I think I may have shouted 'oh no': I couldn't believe I'd been running all this time and they were located at the very spot where I fell into a walk. The humiliation!?

It turned out, however, to be the best place they could have stood. Their cheers and good wishes lifted the fog and, suddenly, the whole thing was fun again. Just like that. Which meant, when I saw my family at mile 25, I was able to canter past (relatively) energetically and joking. Ho ho. Little did they know I'd spent miles 21 to 24 with tears running down my face.

I thought the Brighton marathon was fantastic. Running by the sea never gets boring, the hills (that sit between miles one and 10) were fine and the crowd was amazing. Yes, there is a wall and I'm sure in my nightmares I will revisit that Power Station many times, but the whole experience was no worse for it.

And in answer to the most popular question of the day, yes, I would definitely do it again. Not for a while though.

(Stats: 26.2 miles: Me: 4 hours 47 minutes 44 seconds; 10.58 minute mile. Brother: 3 hours 47 minutes 58 seconds; 8.42 minute/mile. He was lucky. This time.)

(Pics: Preston Park pre-race - most of the people you can see are queueing for the loos. The medal.)

Looking forward to it

I have now transcended fear and entered a state of zen-like acceptance. Let's hope this lasts till Sunday.

One track mind

Topping up my Oyster. Six days to go. Ordering a coffee. Six days to go. Waxing my legs. Ouch! Six days to... you get the idea. I cannot wait to wake up next Monday and think about something other than running (or walking) the marathon. I must make sure I enjoy it because I'm never ever ever doing this again.

The Goldilocks Principle

With only 12 days to the marathon, I'm under strict instructions not to overdo it.

I'm also under strict instructions not to under do it.

My speedy marathon running friend has warned that people sometimes lose their fitness from tapering too seriously. With this in mind, I'm going to carry on pretty much as normal: a couple of short trips to the gym and a couple of hilly runs home from work.

Tonight's hilly run home from work was all the better for a torrential downpour. It meant that jogging through Soho was less of an obstacle course as all right-thinking people were staying safely under cover. As were all bored teenage boys with a proclivity for bottom fondling. Which meant, unlike two weeks ago, I was able to make it through Regent's Park with my nethers unmolested.

The rain was also useful in highlighting the problems with wearing short shorts that get sodden; problems such as chafing and riding up. Thankfully, Primrose Hill was virtually empty so I was free to forage at will. I've added a new pair of mid-length leggings to my shopping list for I fear any similar rooting around at Brighton could well result in disqualification and/or arrest.

(Stats: 6 miles; around an hour; around 10 minutes a mile.)

(Pic: Very much enjoying my Osprey Raptor at the moment. The trick is not to overfill it.)

First to finish

Yesterday I swapped the Hampstead Heath parkrun for the National Lottery Olympic Park Run: five miles around the freshly minted Olympic Park at Stratford with the last 300 metres in the stadium.

The Velodrome is finished, and now, so is the main athletics venue. However, there's still a bit to do and the first four miles were a little like running around a building site. At one point I even got a big pile of sand blown in my face. But all that was forgotten as soon as I left the athletes' tunnel and saw the track. Then it became the most exciting thing I've done in my life.

As I ran in, I could hear Steve Backley over the tannoy telling us runners to wave and immediately started waving like a furious flag. But no, this was inhibiting my plan to sprint to the finish line so I ditched the waving and, instead, ran as fast as I could.

I passed lots of people on my way to the end so I knew I was a bit quicker than usual, but was still astonished to cross the line and see 37 minutes on the clock. Had I really run five miles that fast?

No. I was looking at the wrong clock.

Putting aside that emotional roller coaster, it really was an amazing chance to live out my Olympic dreams. Granted, in my dreams I tend to finish first, not 3215th, but then, you can't have everything.

(Stats: 5 miles; 45.58; 9.11 minute/mile - would have been faster but I was saving my energy for the last lap. Honest.)

(Pics: Stadium mid-race; 'First' across the line medal; Either Wenlock or Mandeville, not sure which.)

A rest is as good as a rest

This weekend hasn't been great for training - in the sense that I haven't done any.

I woke up yesterday feeling dreadful. I managed to drag myself to the Heath for a walk, but returned home exhausted so went back to bed for a siesta.

When I woke up, it was British Summer Time.

I figure if you need to sleep, you need to sleep. With only three weeks till Marathon Day, I think preserving my finely-tuned running machine is a priority. And today I preserved it - or pickled it, even - in orange juice and Cava. I should say I was visiting a friend and haven't taken to lying in bed, boozing. Not yet, anyway. Once the marathon fear really sets in that might be an option.

(Pic: The trees are still bald, but the sky is blue.)

Oh I see....

Last night I was the victim of a cycle-by bottom-slapping. That'll teach me to run through Regent's Park in the dark. To ensure my bottom stayed safe through Primrose Hill I clung to the heels of a guy in front. Impressive how quickly he speeded up when he thought he was being followed. Which he was. Fortunately, Primrose Hill is rammed at twilight so I was able to relax at the top - on my slightly tender rump - and enjoy the view. I needed a rest. I was carrying a huge rucksack stuffed with work clothes and it felt like I was on manoeuvres.

This escalation of exercise is the result of a short conversation about marathons with my neighbour. He said I've undertrained, the last six miles will kill me and I'll be lucky if I'm not running into a headwind, which will make it worse. Once I'd overcome my initial reaction - to start banging on his door in the middle of the night and running away - I decided he was probably right. So, I'm taking his advice: more miles, more hills, more often. As is so often the case, my antagonist is also my motivator. Though I'm still trying to work out where the bottom-slapper fits in.

(Stats: 5.58 miles; about one hour; about 10.45 minute/mile.)

The luck of the Irish

Today's run took an unusual turn when I became part of a St Patrick's Day parade.

Should you ever run into central London and find it closed to traffic, don't think 'ooh, how convenient, I can run down the middle of the road and avoid all those people on the pavement'. Because fairly soon, it will emerge the crowds are waiting for a parade and they think you're the warm-up act.

As I turned down Whitehall, barriers on either side of the road prevented me from correcting my mistake so I just kept running. One man tried to give me some money 'for the charity I'm collecting for'. Another decided to vault over and join me: he kept up for a good two minutes, which was impressive given he was wearing a large green hat, smoking and had been out celebrating since yesterday.

I escaped the throng at Westminster Bridge and sought sanctuary in the cafe at the BFI. I had been toying with the idea of running home again, but got cold so jumped on the tube with a pasty instead.

On reflection, today was an interesting lesson in how the energy of the crowd can carry you through. Let's hope there's a massive crowd in Brighton and they've got an awful lot of energy.

(Stats: 8.5 miles; 1.45 minutes; 12.21 minute/mile; but that includes some time spent chatting to leprechauns.)

A lot of it about

I did the Hampstead Heath parkrun this morning and there was a distinct feeling of love in the air.

This was due in no small part to the presence of a big contingent from the Royal Free hospital who were raising money for charity. This had the much-appreciated side-effect of increasing the numbers of 'hotties' in the field. Well done them. On both counts.

I had been a little anxious about my first run since the 20-miler. I'd intended to go to the gym this week but work (and bed) commitments had got in the way. As I'm thinking of doing another long run tomorrow, I thought the parkrun 5k would prove a good warm-up.

It was certainly warm. It's hard to judge what to wear this time of year and I'd opted for long running leggings. Were I more flexible, I might have whipped them off mid-race. Thinking about it, the last time I did PE in my pants was 1983. I recall I was wearing my Princess Leia vest and knickers set. Which seems cool now, but it was cream with brown piping and, at that age, no-one wants brown underwear.

Anyway, it was a very fine way to start a Saturday even if I did fail to entice over any of the hotties. Perhaps it is time to dig out the Princess Leia pants, after all?!

(Stats: 5k/3.1 miles; 26 minutes 33 seconds; 8.33 minute/mile - Woo hooo.)

(Pic: This is the last hill before the finish line. It may not look much, but you really feel it. I do, anyway.)

Hard to believe

I expected to wake up this morning and find rigor mortis had set in. But no, I feel pretty fine. Hamstrings are a little tight, but that's it. I'm fully mobile and ready to get back on the training horse tomorrow. To be honest, I felt worse the last time I did my Tracy Anderson DVD. It's been interesting to find the distance took a far greater emotional toll, than a physical one. And, thankfully, the blanket of fear has lifted. I'm delighted. I ran 20 miles. Hooray.

16 miles good, 20 miles bad

It's the day after the Finchley20 and I don't think I'll ever be the same again. I was going to write an update last night, but feared it would have been too depressing.

What's really scary is I usually feel euphoric when I cross a finish line. Not this time. This time, all I felt was terror. I just kept wondering where on earth I was going to find the extra six miles for the marathon?!

And then I started crying.

I surmised maybe my sugar levels were a bit low. Luckily, I'd stored some jelly babies in my socks. Unfortunately, after their 20-mile trip, they were really sweaty and fluffy, and looked absolutely disgusting. But they tasted fine.

It was weird. All was well until mile 16. Then the wheels (and my legs) fell off. Even walking the last half a mile didn't help because my muscles wanted to keep on running. I must have looked a bit sketchy because a marshal came over to see if I needed a medic. I said no, so he said it was only 200 yards to the end and I could probably run. I agreed, summoned up all my remaining strength and trickled across the finish line.

And then I started crying.

They say feel the fear and do it anyway. Well, I plan to. But I may need to tuck some tissues in my socks alongside the hairy jelly babies.

(Stats: 20 miles; 3:25:33; 10.16 minute/mile: 469th/501)

(Pic: My feet deserved it more than me.)

(P.S. I'd also like to add that the Finchley20 is a lovely, well-organised, friendly race and a good 'warm-up' for a spring marathon. Plus they have the loveliest loos and shower room - with candles and flowers and everything.)

It's just a training run. It's just a training run...

Finchley20 tomorrow. I was looking forward to it. Then reality hit. Now I have a stomach ache and my knees hurt.

It's four five-mile laps of somewhere in Ruislip (not Finchley, then?) To be honest, it's a bit of a trek to get there. I have to find my way to Ruislip station, then walk a mile and a half to the start line for 9.30 am. Part of me is really anxious I won't make it in time. Part of me's really anxious I will.

In order to distract myself, I have spent today working out what my split times need to be to maintain a 10.30 minute mile. I managed that last weekend when I did 12 miles in the Arctic conditions of Northampton. I see no reason (apart from the additional eight miles) why I should not carry on where I left off.

And speaking of bizarre weather, it's forecast to be a mighty 17 degrees tomorrow. Fifteen degrees more than last Sunday when I got cold-induced nerve damage. Which reminds me, I must remember to dig out my sun cream. Don't want to get my frost bite sun burnt.

(Stats: One Soho Special sandwich from Bodean's and a day spent listening to One for the ditch on Mixcloud in an attempt to relax. It has helped a bit.)

No sense, no feeling

Hamstring pulls, shin splints, stubbed toes. And now a numb left hand. A legacy of yesterday's icicle run.

It feels like I've been resting on it for too long and it's gone to sleep. Only it's been asleep for 24 hours now. I asked a medical friend if I should be worried:"Nah...it's probably just a bit of nerve damage". Well that's okay then.

To cheer myself up, sleepy hand and I went shopping at lunchtime to the new Sweatshop running store on Rathbone Place. I intended to buy some gloves (yes, that is the sound of a horse bolting) but came out with new trainers, 'Supreme Anklet' socks and insoles moulded to my 'surprisingly normally-arched' feet.

After a quick canter on their running machine, I was matched with a pair of Asics GT-2170. The very helpful assistant brought out a variety of shoes, but I found the 2170's the most comfy (as I need a narrow fitting) and least cerise. At the same time, I bonded with a fellow shopper who was also a novice marathon runner. I could tell he was a novice because he shared my demeanour - partly excited, mostly terrified.

I'm hoping that the new purchases will transform my session at the gym tomorrow. And what's reassuring is they come with a 30-day guarantee. That said, my assistant was very knowledgeable so it's unlikely I'll need it. On that note, I asked him if he'd ever experienced a numb hand from running. He thought about it and said yes, but not for that long - and I should probably see a doctor. Hmmm... not the reassurance I was hoping for. I'm going to see how it is in the morning and make a judgement call then. In the meantime, I'm typing this as quickly as I can before my ability to do so decreases by half.

(Stats: Asics GT-2170; FootBalance Dynamic moulded insoles; Supreme Mono Socks. I was given a running club discount on the latter two, but waived it on the shoes in favour of their current offer - a voucher that entitles me to another pair of trainers for £25, valid for the next three months. I best stock up now I'm a proper runner.)

Where the hell has spring gone?

Last night I went for a lovely run. Three miles on an early spring evening in the Northamptonshire countryside. Birds tweeted, friendly locals shouted hello and I returned home looking forward to my long Sunday run.

Little did I know my long Sunday run would be accompanied by driving rain and gale force winds.

I set off hoping my Gore-Tex jacket would protect me against the elements. It helped, but without gloves, my hands were soon freezing - and I became a little perturbed when my left hand started to turn blue. Mindful that I need my hand to do my job, I stuck it inside my jacket to keep warm. This gave the impression I was an opportunist thief running off with some half-hidden bounty. Thankfully, all sensible people were at home, so my only witnesses were another couple of runners and they had their own cold wet fish to fry.

Despite the hideousness of the weather, the 12 miles went quickly and I was soon home, resembling - as my friend said - a human popsicle. By now, I'd lost all use of my extremities so she peeled off my kit and I ran to the shower. There, I discovered, I couldn't distinguish between hot and cold so erred on the side of caution by setting it to cool. It took me around two hours to warm up properly, and that was done with the help of a huge roast dinner. And a very tasty mushroom starter.

In the spirit of being prepared for all eventualities, I suppose I should be glad it poured with rain. And dropped to four degrees. And started to snow a bit. But I would be more than happy if from now on I could just be prepared for lovely sunshine and a light breeze.

(Saturday stats: 3 miles; 30.37 minutes; 10.12 minute/mile.)

(Sunday stats: 12.4 miles; 2.01.55; 9.47 minute/mile.)

(Pic: Oh, I see. The sun comes out after I've been for my run!)

80's day at the gym

This morning's work-out was a painful slog, mitigated only by a welcome change of jukebox: Walk like an Egyptian, Born to run, Walk of life.... Hmm... I've only just noticed the ambulant theme. I don't think it was deliberate? Not unless the gym group is spending our hard-earned membership on a 'dj'. Anyway, the music provided a much needed distraction from my heavy skin. I'm going to spend the next day being super-healthy to see if tomorrow is any better. Starting with a ban on pizza delivered on mopeds. At least if I have to collect it, I'll get some exercise.

(Stats: 24 minutes; 3.5k; 11.02 minute/mile: That said, it was on a 3% incline and I did 5 mins at 8kph/10 minutes at 10kph and spent the last 5 minutes incrementally increasing the speed to 12.5kph.)

And today's tune of choice:

Food and sleep

The more I run, the more I need more of the above. Sleep is fine. I'm very adept at noticing when I need to rest - that's most of the time. The food bit I struggle with. I eat reasonably well, but I don't seem to get hungry. The first sign I should eat is when I start to feel ill, then I don't feel like eating, I feel like sleeping. So I'm trying to force myself to eat more, more regularly to ward off this vicious circle. Hence, I'm currently enjoying half a malt loaf for breakfast. I went for a lovely run around Regent's Park this morning. Marred only slightly by a small re-enactment of Alfred Hitchcock's 'The Birds': One minute I'm running around the lake, the next I'm covered in breadcrumbs and seagulls. The old lady who threw the bread was very apologetic. She said the wind caught her bag. Thankfully, apart from a bit of beaky poking, I survived unscathed and un-poo-ed on. I suspect those seagulls don't have to remind themselves to eat.

(Stats: 1hr 20 minutes; 8 miles; 10 minute/mile. Technically, I was a little faster than this, but I didn't pause my stopwatch while I fought off my avian attackers.)

(Pic: Halfway through my breakfast malt loaf. It's lovely and takes no effort, therefore satisfying all of my food criteria.)

Conflict of interest

In the red corner: my newly arrived Finchley20 race number.

In the blue corner: a large bar of Dairy Milk.

I came home from work with the intention of changing and heading straight to the gym. That was half an hour ago and so far I've managed to 'indecide' myself into paralysis. Right, this isn't helping. I shall go to the gym in the morning and eat the chocolate tonight. Carb-loading. Excellent.

Life's a beach

Yesterday I did a 10-mile run with my brother; the farthest I've been in three weeks. And, due to my brother's long legs, it was much faster than usual, too.

To be honest, I was nervous. I haven't run outside for ages and feared I may have forgotten how. Thankfully it was like riding a bike - which was handy as we were running along the new Exe Estuary cycle path.

I can honestly say it was one of the loveliest runs I have ever done. Beautiful countryside, chocolate box villages, silence except for the breeze across the Exe. I live in London and don't mind the crowds, but I do sometimes find the noise a bit much. Now if I find it overwhelming, I shall simply recall the harbour, just outside Topsham, where the boats are moored and the only sounds are wind chimes and lapping of waves. Ah.... anyway, the ten miles flew by and we were soon sat in a cafe on the beach, drinking tea and eating ginger biscuits.

I'm delighted. I felt great after the run. In fact, I felt I could have managed the 10 miles home. I'm not sure whether this confidence is novelty at being out on the road again, blind optimism or - and this is the theory I favour most - my time in the gym is paying off. I've been doing proper interval training on the running machine. And maybe, just maybe, I'm getting fitter. That would be nice.

(Stats: 10.4 miles; 99 minutes; 9.31 minute/mile. One coke, one tea, one ginger biscuit, several chips.)

(Pic: Oh I do like to be beside the seaside, especially when it involves a cuppa.)

New year's revelation

Yesterday morning I went to the gym before work. I did 30 minutes: 20 minutes on the running machine, then 10 minutes of stretching and core strength.

In the past, I would only go to the gym - or for a run - or do anything really, if I felt I had the time to do a proper job. This 'all or nothing' attitude resulted, more often than not, in nothing.

This year's lesson has been you don't have to go the whole hog to make a difference. Put another way, half a hog is better than no hog.

Speaking of which, I'm off to my parents' on Sunday. Mum has already promised to roast the biggest piece of pork known to man. On this occasion, I will be more than happy to go the whole hog. In fact, I can't wait. Bring on the pig.

(Stats: Interval training: 20 minutes on running machine: 10 minute warm-up, followed by 10 minutes of one minute fast, one minute slow. My heart rate varied between 82 to 162 and my pace from 8kph to 12.5kph. Going to see if I can get up to 13k tomorrow. I'm flying.)

Back in business

10k. That's how far I ran tonight on the treadmill. Not the two-hour session, I'd aimed for, but not too bad. I managed a few sit-ups too. And a plank. I'm definitely enjoying the gym for the first time in years. Having a goal makes a huge difference. As does having a gym that I can get to just by rolling out of bed. I'm going to see how much it is to get a personal trainer for a couple of sessions. Maybe a few early in the morning. It would be nice to get my training done before work. Mind you, before seven they might need to bring some jump leads to get me started.

(Stats: 6.46 miles; 65 minutes; 10.01 minute/mile.)

The magic half hour

At last weekend's training workshop, marathon-winner Eamonn Martin hammered home the importance of eating within half an hour of working out. Keen to put this into practice, I've just poked down half a loaf of bread and a block of pate.

This was after a morning in the gym. Well, an hour in the gym: 50 minutes on the running machine. I'm trying to ease my hamstring back into training. If all goes well, I'm heading there again tomorrow for a long run. It's not the same as being outdoors, but infinitely better than lying in bed watching Saturday Kitchen.

In fact, I only joined the gym at 8.30 this morning. It's one of those 'cost-effective' outfits (i.e. dirt cheap). You just register online and rock up. I gave it a test drive last Sunday and was pleasantly surprised. Fairly basic but lots of equipment and very clean. In the past, I've only been a member of extortionately-priced gyms. I remember getting very excited about the free towels until I worked out I was paying about £30 a go for a 20-minute swim. Free towels? For that money, I expect someone to scrub my back.

Mind you, I've got form for this kind of thing. Around about the same time, I went to a vibro-gym for a trial session. One minute I'm asking how the power plates work, the next minute the most gorgeous salesman ever has appeared and has me bent over the plate while he massages my thighs. I couldn't sign the contract quickly enough. I left 30 minutes later £300 lighter. I went three times. And it turned out he was married. I bet this sort of stuff doesn't happen to Eamonn Martin.

(Stats: 4.98 miles; 48 minutes; 9.38 minute/mile. Plus, a very chilly 5 minute run there and back.)

And today's workout song of choice:

Healing hands

I saw a sports masseur last night. Best hour of my life. Well, nearly. I was expecting 60 minutes of pain so was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be quite relaxing. Admittedly, there was plenty of shouting when he located the problem with my 'hammy'. However, in the words of Mr Masseur 'you don't have to work deep to get good results'. Which meant much of the session was not only therapeutic, but also very soothing. He gave me lots of advice about how to get a good post-exercise stretch too, but at this point I was falling asleep due to his gentle voice and ambient lighting. Mind you, I do recall his recommendation to buy a tennis ball and stick it in a pair of tights. Then you can use it to rub the ball of your foot (good for muscles all the way up your leg, apparently) or to massage your back (hold one end of the tights (the gusset, I guess?) then wedge the ball between you and the wall and rub yourself about a bit). My housemate has a sore shoulder, I may recommend it to him. Last week, he got me to stick my bony little elbow in his back. After 30 seconds, I was sweating like a porker and he could barely feel a thing. No sense no feeling, I say. Perhaps I should get him a snooker ball and a pair of tights? Anyway, I would highly recommend everyone have a sports massage. His ministrations have already stopped the constant painful throbbing in my hamstring and my calves feel considerably less tight. Maybe if I cut out a few things, I could afford him every week. You know, just the luxuries like take-out coffee. Or food.

We need to talk about Brighton

Yesterday I went to a marathon workshop organised by England Athletics. It was advertised as for coaches and athletes. I wasn't sure I qualified as either, so I emailed the organiser. He said it was open to everyone. Even me.

It could not have come at a better time. In the past 10 days, I've been out for one four-mile run. My shin splints cleared up, only to be replaced with an old hamstring injury. Suffice to say, I've been feeling worse and worse as each day passes and my trainers sit at home.

And so it was in this mindset of fear and paralysis that I made my way to Twickenham yesterday. The workshop was at St Mary's College, which, incidentally, has the most amazing sports facilities and offers all sorts of stuff like lactate testing. I might get myself tested...

Anyway, I digress, the workshop was predominantly a question and answer session. Firstly with Eamonn Martin who, in 1993, was the last British man to win the London marathon. And then with Scott Overall, who was the first person to secure a GB marathon place in this year's Olympics.

They had distinctly different styles. Of presenting and running. Eamonn extolled the virtues of stretching every day, even when not running. He enjoyed doing proper races in the run-up to his marathon and showed us a powerpoint of his training week up to the big day. He clearly loves running and his enthusiasm was infectious.

And then came Scott. I think he is possibly the most laid-back man in the world. In fact, at one point I genuinely thought he was going to fall backwards off his chair. I can't tell you a great deal about his training schedule, I think he said he runs about three times a week. And he's off to do some altitude training at Flagstaff, Arizona before the Olympic games. Maybe that could work for me? Though I don't have time to go abroad before Brighton so the highest point of Hampstead Heath will have to do.

Quite seriously, though. Yesterday's workshop was fascinating. Eamonn Martin reassured me that there is still plenty of time to get marathon-fit - as long as you put in the miles. And Scott Overall made the whole thing seem so incredibly achievable I became vicariously imbued with his confidence.

Interestingly Scott qualified for the Olympics with a time of 2 hours 10 minutes 55 seconds. On his debut marathon performance. His very first one. Like me at Brighton. Think on.

(Due to snow, these are gym-based running machine stats: 5.28 miles; 52 minutes; 9.50 minute/mile.)

(Pics: Eamonn on the plinth; Scott on the chair.)

Misplaced confidence

When I said, I think it's going to be a good one, what I actually meant was.... OH NOOOO, I'VE GOT SHIN SPLINTS!!! I woke up on Tuesday and the calf pain in my left leg had infected its twin. After a small Lance Corporal Jones-style panic, I decided to let rest do its thing. Plus I went for a massage in Chinatown. In usual fashion, it was absolute agony. That makes me very happy because anything that painful can only be doing some good. So, I'm aiming for another couple of days of feet-up, then I'll take my legs for a test drive. In the meantime, my physio friend has given me some extra exercises to do on my therapeutic roller. It's seen a lot of action this week. I do hope it's hardier than me.

Core stability class number two

No balls in the face this week, but plenty of arses unfortunately. Today's class was a bit too busy for my liking. I'm not massively confident on the Swiss exercise ball, which means one false move and you're careering into your neighbour's space. Consequently, I spent much of the hour desperately trying to find a safe haven. At one point, I felt I was just in the way and contemplated leaving early. I feel much the same at parties. However, unlike at parties, I didn't reach for the tequila; instead I focused on tucking in my pelvic floor, engaging my abs and dropping my shoulders. Afterwards I was pleased I had persevered because my core felt much stronger and my tum was nearly inverted. Or at least it was until I got home and embarked upon a Spanish omelette fiesta. I'm now letting my lunch go down before I have a bath. You're supposed to wait an hour, aren't you? Or is that just swimming? Either way, a great start to the training week. I think it's going to be a good one.

The friendliness of the long distance runner

Three raised eyebrows, two nods and a wave. There's nothing like acknowledgement from your fellow runners to feed your enthusiasm.

Today I met some very friendly people on a gentle potter to Hampstead and back. After the heady heights of yesterday's PB, I wanted to stretch my legs. And, more importantly, stretch out my left calf. It's just started playing up. I'm doing some post-run rollering to relieve the pain, but I intend to have a hot bath with epsom salts, too. I am very much not at home to Mr Calf-Strain.

Thinking about it, I may have been cursed by the man who came to fix the phone last Monday. He warned that if I had any injuries, my marathon training would ensure they'd be magnified tenfold. I grandly told him I was injury-free and planned to stay that way. Who's foolish now? Pride and falls etc....

Anyway, phone engineer warlocks aside, it's been another excellent week and this seems a good time for the Sunday review: what my marathon training schedule says I should be doing versus what I've actually done:

Monday: Core conditioning, yoga or Pilates - Hooray! I did an hour's Core Stability at the local leisure centre. Tick.

Tuesday: Recovery run 45 minutes - Didn't actually manage anything as I was really aching from all that core training on Monday.

Wednesday: 5 x 5 mis @ threshold off 2 min jog recovery - 10.2 mile long run. A threshold run in terms of distance, if not speed.

Thursday: 45 mins recovery run or cross training + core conditioning - Recovery sitting as I tried to get over yesterday's long run.

Friday: Rest - Rest day achieved. Tick.

Saturday: 2 x 10 mins continuous hill reps. 2 min jog recovery - 5k/3.1 mile parkrun. This included two longish hill climbs. And I got a PB. Did I mention that?

Sunday: Long run 105 mins - Having completed my long run on Wednesday, today I did a recovery run of 40 minutes.

Once again I've managed to stick to the week's marathon schedule like glue. Okay it might not all be in the right order, or the right thing, or have anything to do with the itinerary, but I've found a little imagination can take you a very long way. And I only need it to take me 26.2 miles.

(Stats for today's run: 4.34 miles; 43.09 minutes; 9.56 minute/mile.)

(Pic: Me and the roller in action.)

Breakfast of champions

Delighted to report that today was a PB day! Hoorah. All that resting and eating really paid off. I plan to do a lot more of both to ensure marathon success.

(Stats: 3.1 miles; 26.30 minutes (shaving a mighty 14 seconds off my previous best); 8.32 minute/mile.)

(Pic: You were right, Mum. It really is the most important meal of the day.)

The active choice

Since the 10-miler on Wednesday, I've been feeling weary. I chatted about it with a marathon-running friend and he said it was just my body getting used to the longer distances. I decided not to fight it and took two rest days this week. I love how doing nothing is now an 'active choice' because I call it a rest day. I also actively chose to go on a 24-hour eat-a-thon: porridge with bananas, scrambled eggs and mushrooms on toast, spaghetti with garlic and chilli oil, a spinach and ricotta pastry, one bar of Toblerone, a large bag of Kettle Chips and a trifle. I'm hoping to turn these calories into a medal-winning performance at today's parkrun. Fingers crossed my P.E. kit still fits.

The man who smelled of church

So I'm running around Regent's Park and this man runs past me. Immediately, I'm transported back to 1983/84, to my school nativity play where the stage was in the local church. I'm the 'messenger' - a vital role - and have to run up to Herod and say: "Hail lord, hail lord, hail lord most in might, into the land there comes this night three kings...." "Three kings, messenger, come thou to me. What is their errand in this country?" I could go on. But not for very long. It was only a small part. Anyway, it all came flooding back the instant this guy wafted under my nose. In retrospect, I think he must have smelled of candles and damp cushions. If so, I highly recommend a change of aftershave.

This occurred at mile four of a ten-mile run. I didn't set out to run ten miles. I set out to run for 105 minutes: this week's 'long run' as defined by my marathon training schedule. Very soon after heading off, I decided to ignore the time and just sightsee my way around London. I went everywhere: Carnaby Street; Piccadilly Circus; St James' Park (I got a bit lost here); Westminster Abbey; the South Bank and Chinatown, where I finished. The intention was to have a massage, but when I stopped I found I had a second-degree burn on my shoulder. I was, once again, the victim of rucksack chafing. I got the tube home instead, ate a pasty and had a bath (where I enjoyed more burning from the chafing.)

Not including half-marathons, this is the farthest I've ever run. And weeping burning sores aside, I feel okay. I'm going to spend tonight looking up interesting sights on the course route for Brighton. Distraction has to be the best training technique ever.

(Stats: 10.2 miles; 2 hours 1 minute 56 seconds; 11.53 minute/mile - so it's not going to break any records, but I think I could maintain this pace. If you can call it a pace.)

(Pic: Happy new year in Chinatown.)

Exercise balls

I went to a core conditioning class today. One hour's fun with a Swiss exercise ball. My favourite bit was rolling about on it like a floundering whale. My least favourite bit was lying back on the floor with my legs above my head, the ball gripped between my feet. Unfortunately, it didn't stay gripped for long and I got a ball in the face. Thankfully that was near the end of the class so I could skulk out and nurse my sore nose in private. But on the whole, a successful start to the week. Core conditioning is not something I enjoy or am particularly good at, which means I should probably do more of it. Might give the ball in the face a miss next week though.

Sticking to the plan

So, end of my first week of proper training for the marathon. Thought it might be useful to review what my schedule (courtesy of Women's Running magazine) says I should have been doing compared with what I actually achieved.

Monday: Core conditioning class, yoga or Pilates - I did a couple of planks in my bedroom.

Tuesday: Recovery run 30 minutes - Ran for 40 minutes at good steady pace.

Wednesday: Threshold run 2 x 10 mins effort with 2 mins recovery jog between efforts - Ran up and down my street quite fast a couple of times.

Thursday: 30 mins cross training or 30 mins recovery run + core conditioning - Did another couple of planks.

Friday: Rest - Did a 40-minute run, mainly steady, bit of sprinting.

Saturday: 4 x 5 mins continuous hill repetitions. 2 min jog recovery - Read paper, drank tea, watched telly.

Sunday: Long run 90 mins relaxed pace - Ran for 15 minutes, stopped at leisure centre to add name to waiting list for Power Pump (after being thwarted yesterday, I thought I'd try again). Then ran for another 56.51 minutes: up and down Primrose Hill, around Regent's Park and back to said leisure centre where I had as much success today as I did yesterday when it came to getting into the exercise class. Walked home thwarted again.

So, you see I've had a brilliant week and completely stuck to the marathon training schedule (if you squint your mind). It's this kind of dogged determination that is sure to see me fly round Brighton in April!

(Today's stats (for the main run): 6.1 miles; 56.51 minutes; 9.19 minute/mile - it appears I'm a lot quicker when running round Regent's Park. And I saw three giraffes.)

Pride comes before a cold

Woke up this morning feeling like Munch's Scream. My face was sliding off and my head was banging. That scuppered my 9 am parkrun plans, but I was determined to make Power Pump at 11. Power Pump, despite its rather off-putting name, is a great exercise class for running. Its mix of strength, core work and cardio proves an excellent support to 'miles on your feet'. That's why, after poking down a cocktail of tea and Sudafed, I headed off to my local leisure centre for a good work-out. Unfortunately, it didn't quite work out like that. The class was full. Damn new year's resolutions. I asked if I could be added to the waiting list. "No, there are already nine people on the waiting list." I know when I'm beaten. So, instead of weight-lifting and squatting, I spent the morning in the cafe of the Hampstead Theatre, enjoying the sunshine, drinking yet more tea and reading the paper. A result, I think.

(Stats: Two cups of tea, one newspaper (Guardian), one magazine (Woman).)

(Pic: Soaking up the literary atmos at the Hampstead Theatre cafe.)

Children and bin bags

I've just spent an hour trying to avoid both. Running at 'home time' is not a good idea. Small people are darting about like frightened rats, plus shopkeepers (because I live in the 1960s) are putting out their rubbish for the evening collection. I only hope all that dodging and diving is intensifying my work-out.

That aside, it was a very good run and I think I might have even achieved some sort of running nirvana...

I was sprinting down West End Lane and turned a corner to run up a steepish incline. Bizarrely, instead of running out of steam on the slope, I zoomed up it. The front foot landing motion I'd perfected going down was now helping me veritably fly uphill. My feet hardly touched the ground and, at one point, I felt quite detached, as if my legs and body could happily keep up this pace for miles and miles...

And then I hit the wall. Or should I say, a wall... of small children. They had formed a Maginot Line across the pavement and my only choice was to stop. With that, the moment was gone. And I came crashing and wheezing back to reality.

But that doesn't matter. Because for a few short minutes, I glimpsed how it must be for the sainted Haile Gebrselassie. Perhaps the high intensity training I've been doing (okay, that I've done twice) is paying off. I have a day of sports planned for tomorrow and there will be no backing out. Especially not now I've experienced the kind of high I'd usually only associate with shopping.

(Stats: 4.34 miles; 41.21 minutes; 9.29 minute/mile.)

Do it differently

This morning's lesson was flexibility. And I don't mean I spent it with my leg wrapped around my neck.

Last night, I laid out my P.E. kit ready for a nice little 7 am run today. This went right up the Swannee when I didn't wake up till 7.20. Now I didn't have enough time for my planned 45-minute outing before work.

After 10 minutes of fannying about, I decided to go anyway. My self-appointed marathon coach has been waxing lyrical about the benefits of sprint training. I would put this to the test.

For 15 minutes this morning, I ran up and down the road outside my house. One gentle jog, one proper sprint. It was quite a good distance for a 30-second dash. Enough that I certainly wanted to lie down and have a bit of a cry afterwards. I finished off the 'session' with a speedy lap of the nearby streets, even managing to bellow 'Good Morning' to a friend of mine preparing to open her lovely little coffee shop.

Who knows whether this will help much, but it has to be more beneficial than lying in bed watching breakfast TV. Surely?

(Stats: Not timed, but three sprints up and down the road, three gentle runs up and down the road, and one lap of my immediate neighbourhood.)

Summer in London

What a beautiful day! I was up and out running at 7 am this morning and it was positively balmy. So nice to feel warm while running. I've come to the conclusion that the ambient temperature, more than anything, has an impact on how well I perform. Not only are my muscles nice and flexible, but it also avoids the sinus pain problems I get in colder weather. On days like this, it feels like spring is just around the corner. Hang on, if spring is just around the corner, that means my marathon is just around the corner too - and I'm only on the second day of my training!!! Argghhh......

(Stats: 4.34 miles; 40.46 minutes; 9.23 minute/mile.)

Stats for this morning's run:

4.18 miles; 40.49 minutes; 9.45 minute/mile. Which goes to show that my 'sprinting' has in no way expedited my running. Oh well, let's play the long game and see how it goes.

An excellent start

Today feels like the first of January.

It's not, it's the fifth. But in usual glacial fashion, it's taken me a while to get into the new year.

After approximately 18 hours' sleep, I leapt out of bed this morning, finally ready to face 2012.

Today my marathon training would begin properly. Again.

Step 1: A banana for breakfast. My physio friend has instructed me I must start running with something in my tum. It needs to get used to fuelling-up if I'm to do 26.2 miles comfortably. Or even, uncomfortably.

Step 2: Warm-up. This involved some half-hearted toe-touching and rolling my head about a bit. I'm sure my neck is getting shorter.

Step 3: Stopwatch. I've currently ditched Nike+ etc... It's just me and my trusty stopwatch, especially necessary as I intended to begin my high intensity work-out, which leads me to...

Step 4: Apologies to the residents of Haverstock Hill. If you thought you heard a sealion giving birth this morning, it was just me interval training. One minute jogging, one minute sprinting. That was the aim. The reality was 10 minutes of jogging, one minute of sprinting, fifteen minutes of wheezing and retching.

Step 5: Apologies also to my flatmate's mum. I didn't know she was in the kitchen and burst in post-run, sweating and red-faced like the ghost of Christmas past. I don't know who was more shocked. On the plus side, it raised both our heart rates to a nice healthy level.

Step 6: Core-work and foam roller warm-down. My physio friend has taken a special interest in my marathon training. She kindly gave me a foam roller for Christmas, which I can use to stretch out my muscles. She's also been beating into me (quite literally) the importance of intensive training over endurance. She's being ever so helpful. I suspect seeing me in pain is just a nice bonus.

So, all in all, a good hour of proper exercise and a lovely start to the new year. Better five days late than never, I say.

(Pic: My new foam roller. We'll be spending a lot of time together over the next few months.)

Thanks to Huey Morgan on 6Music for playing a selection of very good tunes to accompany my stretching and rolling, including this: