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.)