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:

The secret to running well

It's called 'lowering the bar'.

Last night I was late for running club. This gave me the ideal excuse to abandon the longer runs and return to my favourite (which is also the shortest and the one all the beginners do). The first 9 minutes were spent coughing up a rib as usual, but it soon became quite enjoyable and I was even able to chat to my friend for pretty much the entire way round. My legs didn't feel like lead and my lungs seemed to function normally (unlike last week, when they felt like small acorns).

I even had enough energy to go to the pub after for a post-match beer. Now, I still want to resume the longer distance runs, if only because they make returning to the shorter ones so much more enjoyable. But at least now I know I'm not completely unfit (and I can cancel the doctor's appointment I'd made as I'd hypochondriacally decided that if running was this painful, then there must be something badly wrong.)

(Stats: Forgot my stopwatch, so no idea on time, but I did 4.3 miles, one half of bitter and several potato wedges.)