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.