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.)