A blog about someone who doesn't really like running or exercise, but thinks it is character building to do things that are hard for you. I've become addicted to doing hard things but I do them for charity, so I don't feel like a complete glutton for punishment.
Thursday, 23 June 2011
Been there, done that
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
Dear diary
It’s recommended when training for a marathon or anything that seems to take up most of your year, to keep a training diary. I love notebooks and so I have several diaries. Some of them I even write in. Rarely about my runs, instead I scribble 15 versions of training plans, nice quotes, shopping lists of things I want to buy or things I have eaten.
I wish I had kept training diaries 1) because they are great for when you get Alzheimers 2) they are great for when you want to record what things you have attributed to a drop or gain in performance 3) they are useful for reminding yourself of everything you have done to get to the start line and tell yourself that you have put in the miles. Oh well.
I do have some scribbled notes from breaking in trainers, recovery runs or start of season. They are hilarious because they seem to be longer in word count than they are in time spent running. In fact long runs rarely feature in my training diary; just the short whiny ones. They also feature cryptic elements which would not look out of place in a Dan Brown novel (eg mysterious and badly written).
For example:
“Right quad very tight. Ran to Chatsworth Rd at treadmill speed. Back at run speed. Negative split [obviously]. Right foot pins and needles. Very tight calves feel awesome. [what?]” and this goes on for paragraphs for a 3km run.
In contrast a 20 mile run says “17 and around [no idea]. Hard energy. [pardon] short start very difficult. [nope no idea] sore knees. Cry at flyover.” And that was the full entry. The only thing that made sense was the crying on the flyover; I had a stomach upset the day before and desperately needed more food.
Sometimes there are stoic entries. I don’t know if they are written with false or real bravado.
“5km Toyota dealership pins and needles so far on forefoot. Tippy tappy. [this refers to a little Chris McDouggall line in Born to Run]. All ok. Calves tight but on form. [I didn’t even realise I was capable of form but in my diary it appears so]. After turnaround on hill [half way point] checked foot for friction [I had felt some serious rubbing going on]. Blister on left arch [an understatement, I had a £2 coin worth of skin turned pink and bubbly] Vaselined. On last 5km ran with one sock off. Great run, could have pushed harder but eased off from 6km to the end.”
It’s true, I did run with one sock off and actually ran the last 400m with one a bare foot which led to some strange gait as I still had my trainer on the other foot. Anyway, wasn’t I glad that little entry was recorded in the training diary; it makes up for all the entries where I was crying!
Sunday, 12 June 2011
The long and short of it
According to the training plan, written in pencil, this is “week one” of marathon training. Which means I should be able to run 4 miles this week. I think that’s probably possible as I have done training with the Running School for up to an hour and fun run around the block for about 3 miles. But I am not running 4 miles this week. And it’s not the incessant it-must-be-tennis-season-so-lets-chuck-down-the-rain that’s stopping me, but that I would like a full two weeks of resting these feet:
As you can see by the adjacent image which I hope you’re not viewing over your breakfast (or indeed any meal or snack), the feet are healing remarkably. Gone are the huge blisters filled with liquid of mysterious qualities. Gone are most of the clusters of toadspawn-like bumps. (Who on earth invented this ailment?) But as my hands have flared up in recent days due to a condition I call being allergic to work, I would like to spend another few days smearing my feet in toxic cream burning layers of my epidermis and waiting for the pharmaceutical company to call and tell me I am indeed allergic to cholorcresol. Anyway, I digress. 4 miles lies ahead, as does a plan to do some catch up exercise, which shall involve pilates at home, a session with the wonderful Galina, some strength sessions with Barry and no doubt being dragged around the block whimpering for 4 miles.
Which brings me to the point of this post, if you can call it a point. I hate running 4 miles. 5kms. Anything longer than the run for a bus and under 10km. I’d sooner run 18miles than three. And that also means if I run 18 miles, I hate the first three. I start slow, I stitch, I bitch, I grumble, my foot pronates, then the other, then it suppinates. Then my knee hurts, and my chest, and my breathing is labored. Oh I hate it. And I tell anyone I am running with or passing by or looking at or thinking of. If it’s a short run (see definition above) then I carry on like this till the half way point. Then I realise I am half way home, and I think “I can’t do this anymore, what a stupid dumb arse sport, I am going to die” and it feels like I physically pass through something like hatred and come out the other side gambolling like Bambi and run a negative split fast all the way without so much as a boo and annoy anyone I am running with. Really annoying.
In my first year or marathon training I got around this by running lots of 5km races as they are very exciting and you whinge less than if you were plodding round your local park. I did this through Nike Town Run Club (sure it’s not a race, you tell the girls I race home down the end of Regent St), the England vs Australia vs Rest of the World and a lot of Race for Life, Hydroactive and other charity runs. I built up a good 5km base which I found transferred to a quieter first 5km on long runs. So while I am sitting on my butt watching my feet heal, I am going to surf the web for some great 5km races to give me something mildly exciting to do while I get back into things.