On beş!

One of the exciting challenges of running overseas is trying to work out what is going in another language.

In Berlin, the administration of the event was so efficient, that it was no problem changing my entry from "power walker" to "laufer" runner. It was a little more difficult once inside the entrant's area to work out where the change rooms, bag drops, etc were in German but that's a different story.

However changing my Istanbul Marathon entry from marathon to 15km run proved more difficult. I can fortunately read a bit of Turkish: enough to say quite İngilizce biliyor musunuz convincingly quickly followed by Burada İngilizce konuşan birisi var mı?. Both those phrases are quite useless when someone answers "hayir" (no) and I end up saying "bye bye" as I hang up the phone to someone gabbling away in Turkish.

Fortunately the cafes outside my office are run by Turks so I was off to The Grubberie for a helping hand. It turns out at some point I had been running some factory but they eventually got through and after a bit of chat and a lot of me confirming "on beş" it was all sorted. In that it can't be sorted, so on paper I am still a marathon entrant I must just make sure I follow the correct signs to the finish.

What I think about when I think about running

With apologies to Murakami

Am I standing up straight? I'm going to hit that child. I've dodged that child. Look two runners also running up the High Street. Smile! They sort of smiled. He smiled. She didn't. It's always like that. I'm going to hit that child. I hit that child.

Oh wow I didn't have to stop for that car. Bonus. Nothing. Nothing.

Ooh forgot how busy it will be down here. Shoppers everywhere, off the path, on the road, sideways through the bollards. Kind of like rat race or a video game. I like the challenge and I like the change in pace. Thank you for moving out of the way. Ugh smokers. Why do so many people who look like they strive to be beautiful, smoke? Thank you for moving out of the way. Eastern Europe pack on street corner; put on race face and block out ears. Ugh smoke. Dodge child, dodge old person. Muslim preacher. Looks unapprovingly at hot pink tight sleeveless top. He also look unapprovingly at my normal clothes.

Hey I'm through Kilburn. Hmm it's a bit grey. Maidavale, where cars have right of way, suddenly there's no pedestrian lights. So when do I cross. Now because I am a runner - give way cars. Honestly must get Living Streets onto this. It's starting to rain. Hmm. My leg is really hurting, that right one. Does it turn in, or out. What's the best way to correct it. Nearly 5km, that's good. That's nearly half way. It's really raining now, should I stop. Should I end? Hmm. Bombay Bicycle Club let's pull over for the worst of it under the awning. I wonder if that Dry Cleaners will give me a plastic bag. Should I take a bus home? This leg is a mess. [three minute massage]

Okay on we go. That's where the teacher was stabbed. That's nice, well not nice, but it's selfless. Didn't that guy just get out of prison. Wasn't he on a bus recently? Yes it was in the papers.

Here we are, Little Venice, the cafe where I saw Jude Law. We tried to eat there, they didn't serve us. I bet Jude Law got table service. Why did I go on this side of the road, tree roots everywhere, narrow access and overhanging plants. Oh great sightseers who won't move over - oncoming runner on road - smile - avoid crash, ooh a charity runner, bigger smile, leap through tree root, scowl at tourists.

Paddington Basin - always get lost. Easy this way, wave to cyclists and down we go to the canal. Nice boat. Nice boat. Hmm cafe, cosy, but pretentious. Feel smug, they're not running and I am. Do you think they feel smug because they're cosy. And maybe they ran when it wasn't raining? Maybe. Another cafe. Nice boat. I remember doing sprint training on that footpath. Skateboarders - cool. One day you might be runners. Screaming girls - no that just makes the skateboarders uncool now.

Why do Eastern European men drink so much. Is it a cold weather thing? If I had these flats, I would have a garden on that balcony. Not a bike. That bike looks hard to get out. Knife amnesty box - does anyone know that box is there?! Hmm they look suspicious, oh they're fishing. Would you want to eat what is in there?

My foot hurts again. Pins and needles, that's pretty severe. I'd like a 15km play list that has songs from all the people who mean something to me. Ok let's make that list of people starting with most recent and work back. Yep, two, five. Running in light rain is quite nice. Now where was I? I should send an email to those people. They can organise my funeral too. Not now, when it comes. Yes, it better be good. I should tell them. And tell them I want power ballads. For my run, not my funeral. So who is on that list. Yes them, and them. Maybe, no. Actually. Yes.

The gate to the taxi fix it place is open. Ah cute baby coots. Or adolescents anyway. Mmm nature. I need to stop and massage this foot. Ah that's better.

Off again, gosh nearly 8km and I am running out of canal. That freakin' canal ramp is going to kill me. Walk up it, you can't walk down. So I am going to finish on the hill - Kensal Rise maybe? Why are there so many nice delis around here? Mmm banoffee pie. Remember when there was a six pack of lucozade on the bench on a hot day and you stared at it with such longing people had to stop you from drinking it?

Another deli. Cake. I'm going to have to do Kensal Rise. Head down and one foot in front of the other that's how you did Athens and even 'Ron I think I am amazing Hill' said that was hard. You peeked at looked up, head down. Down, down. See, wasn't even a hill. Oh I am going to have to keep going up Chamberlyn Road. That's a hill sort of. An incline. The Lexi - why did we eat awful chicken burgers when there. How times have changed. Like Kati eating a Hesburger!

Remember the hurricane here. Oooh Natasha Bedingfield. I just sang in front of a bus stop. "No one else can do it for you"... I love this song. Why does everyone not like it. It's nice for running "so close you can almost touch it" yes like the end of this run. OK 500 metres now - push. Push! PUSH! It's over, is that it. Cool! Air punch.

Damn I am not quite home though. Bus?

The final countdown

I checked the Istanbul Marathon website for some information today and they have a new website that is mildly more this century. One of the new features is a counter that turns over as the days, hours, minutes and seconds pass to the marathon. Seconds! I ask you, who needs that kind of information?! Because I am sure I'm not alone in finding that days and seconds only seek to instil a kind of thrilling fear that there is not enough time.

I've downgraded from the Marathon to the 15km race so actually you'd think I have plenty of time. Well I got another cold the other day so I've spent three days full of snot and fever. Which has cost me a couple of runs and a swim.

I've got a good supply of decongestants and cold tables for tomorrow for a 10km run, a distance I used to do in my sleep. Having mapped it on mapmyrun, I realise that it isn't going to be easy to not blow my nose for an hour.

But at least 10km is only 5km short of what I have to run in Istanbul to take me from Asia to Europe ("let's meet where the Continents meet" says the website). And my training runs will actually cover a half marathon. So as long as I don't get sick again in the 35 hours 15 hours, 39 minutes and 20 seconds that remains I should be ok.

Change of plan

The Rowena Harding Half Marathon: 1 entrant, 1 DNF.

The other weekend I set out to run 20km. As anyone who has done a half knows, 20km isn’t a half marathon, it’s 21.0975km. But I figured if I got to 20km I could either be creative with the truth or go an extra 1.0975. As it was, I didn’t get that far. So no virtual medal, no virtual finish line just three painful letters for 'did not finish'.

I’m behind on my training runs for Istanbul as it is. But I thought if I could cover the long runs, some muscle memory would kick in and get me feeling good again. But as I started off from Limehouse for the second weekend, that lactic acid feeling started kicking in and I while I glared at the Ron’s Eel sign where I had my big cry the previous week, there just wasn’t enough Weetabix for a long run.

In my head, heart, lungs and legs, I knew that I was not going to be ready for Istanbul Marathon. While I might have been able to drag my arse around 42.195 kms by October that wasn’t really the goal. And I have done that so poorly before (bonking in Berlin) that there was really no reason to repeat such a performance. The goal for Istanbul was to finish and learn about recovery so I could put in solid 20 mile training runs ahead of the London Ultra. So from a goal-setting point of view, I knew I shouldn’t be doing the marathon. Istanbul also run a 15km race, and I could downgrade to that.

I sent out some messages, did a survey monkey and got assurance that no one would feel I was a quitter. I felt like a massive weight had lifted from my shoulders and ran on to Regents Park – finishing only 10km instead of 20. When I got home, Barry and The SRO were trying to talk me down from a very high building but it was ok – I actually felt good about the decision. There’s still a lot to aim for and I will still be running across the Bosphorous and across continents.

#RunnersWhoSmile

Left: a big cheesy grin

A few days ago I noticed a comment from a fellow runner on how we didn't have a lot etiquette; we don't do that "how do?" that country people do when passing each other on a ramble. Indeed we barely make eye contact despite the fact that cyclists almost dwell in packs and that so many of us runners lurk in social media nudging each other to join ridiculous events.

So we (a loose association!) started a campaign (and even looser sense of the word) to get more Runners Who Smile. Ok it's not really a campaign yet, but that's where my three readers come in (yes we dropped two after I posted pics of my eczema.) When you go out for a run, why not smile at the person you run past?! I mean, why not?! After all, I live in London, where everyone thinks you're a mugger / terrorist / fraudster if you so much as ask directions to a hospital and I gave it a try.

And the result?

Starting point: LimeHouse. Arrival by DLR. On the way down into the station, I pass two lycra-clad people with Garmins and give them a big beam. They look confused, either because they wonder why I am smiling at them, or because they wonder if which one of us is going the wrong way to a race start.

On the DLR, I practice my smile - not too enthusiastic, but gentle, in camaraderie. I try it out on the old man sitting next to me as I ask to see his tube map and he leaps as if I am asking for his wallet. When I give the tube map back he is hesitant: "are you sure, you can keep it?" he suggests, one eye on the door.

At Limehouse I am quickly on the waterfront. There is a man coming over the Basin Bridge looking like he needs some kit; clad in sweaty cotton and wearing a normal backpack. This, I think, is a man who needs a smile. I beam but he is looking at the floor and thuds past.

Undettered I seek out the next runners. A bit of a blur but I do remember coming across some nuns (not running) and gave them a hearty hello, have a nice day etc. They were blue, the nuns. I thought that was just a wine.

It was a warm day and as I plodded past Bethnal Green I had to stop, my heart rate was near 180bpm, my lungs were on fire and I was pumping ventolin faster than a kid inflating a football. I never want to run sick again. So I started off again with a bit of a heavy heart and decided that being a Runner Who Smiles was really going to help me get through 16km.

Man in Berlin Marathon T shirt was the next person to be very smiley (wish I wore mine).

There are a lot of runners on the Regents Canal, and a lot of serious and very good runners. There were not many people having fun I have to say. There was an awful lot of grimacing and groaning and looking generally like people were in a lot of pain. I had always thought it was just me who looked like this. Perhaps it was the heat? Perhaps that is just how people look around these parts when they run, you know, real and gritty. Or maybe I was just paying an awful lot of attention to people's faces because I was trying to catch their eye and make them smile. Just goes to show how much avoidance usually takes place.

At Hackney, near Ron's Eels I had a big cry. Not one of those crocodile tear cries where you think you're hurting but a proper bloody sob. I think it was because Snow Patrol was on (thanks Michael) and I was thinking of everyone I know who was dead and thinking a bit of a tight lung while running was nothing compared to cancer. Cheery stuff. Can you believe I was still trying to smile at people when this happened? Anyway, I crouched behind a block of flats, sucked a gel and wept. The Significant Running Other got me going again via text message and I hit the tow path again with my eye on the pace clock, even if running at a slower pace meant hurting my joints more, it hurt my lungs less.

Hackney's part of the canal with the nice cafes and shops, had been overtaken by a mega diversion inland and by road. A nice man in a yellow t shirt shouted over to get me in the right direction. I couldn't keep up with him and only just kept him in my sights. I felt better later seeing him stop to take a gel and on the home straight near Regents Park he passed me on his way back. He had the biggest and best smile on a runner but probably because it was the recognition that we were both out for a decent sortie.

A similar smile of recognition came from a man in a Paris marathon t shirt. We must have bumped into each other three times, who knows how.

The best smilers were hard core pros who seemed delighted that someone wasn't grimacing. A bloke who could have run for England was super cheery. The women never made eye contact, except one at Camden who sensibly turned back before getting lost in the market food stalls. It was a surprised smile but a smile none the less.

So that was my first run as a Runner Who Smiles. We have a hashtag, and soon will have merchandise (at the moment, I could afford to give every member a t shirt). I have contacted two running journalists in the hope of spreading the word but not got a massive response. I think celebrity involvement could change that. And some great sponsorship. And some less miserable runners.

And my smiling? Well I managed to either be poised to smile, or did smile at the hundreds of runners passing alongside me that made eye contact. But my individual smiling was pretty limited. There was a lot of grimacing until I got back to Baker St, when I ended my run with the Biggest Smile Ever. And that's why I do it. It feels good when you stop.

Mysterious blister folk: you have come to the right place

Warning: if you're a runner look away. But if the above heading means something to you, read on my cursed reader...

So a quick scan through the hundreds of visitor statistics for this blog reveals that, of the five people who read this blog, one does so under duress and the other four are here searching for "weird blisters on the soles of my feet and hands". And I want you four to know, you are not alone and you've come to the right place.

For I am, and probably now forever will be a Person with Pomp: I have pompholyx eczema. And like you, I had to surf the net with my symptoms, which we all know is dangerous because on Google, you're never more than three clicks from genital warts. Having been misdiagnosed with warts and verucca - rather alarmingly as my hands and feet were covered, I too entered the blister search term and brought the diagnosis to my medical clinic. Alas, the staff there also had to google.

So here's my top tips for people who have suddenly found themselves with The Pomp.

• What are you doing differently? And if you aren't doing anything differently are you really really really stressed? Because I've noticed that now The Pomp is triggered, it flares under stress. You may not feel stressed but if you're carrying a lot in your head or smoking a lot, that will probably count.
• Have you been using any Dettol or similar disinfectant? Did you know that dettol can cross react with a common preservative in nearly every moisturiser, even the natural ones? And the reaction can be Pomp.
• Are you using lots of chemicals like phenoxyethanol and butylphenol? Again they can trigger a pomp flare. And these are really common chemicals especially phenoxyethanol which is again also in natural type cosmetics because it's a really common and useful preservative.

These are just the things that triggered me and everyone is going to have different causes but if I can help one person, that would be great because I know what it's like when you can't walk, let alone run, can't sleep, are burning your skin with the wrong treatments and look like you have some sort of bubbly leprosy.

In terms of what helped me:

• I reduced all chemicals and moved to products that had none of the above preservatives. I had to become an amateur scientist breaking down compounds, breaking down sales jargon ("dermatologically tested" just means tested on skin), breaking down all the scare mongering cliches ("contains chemicals found in anti-freeze" - yes well so is water) and spend hours pouring through chemist or natural health shelves. You also spend a fortune in revised products. I can recommend Faith in Nature and Aveeno as the more cheap range.
• I treated with a cortisone cream over the counter and betamethasone and a LOT of it. Your skin on your feet is tough. Lather it on. Forget the 7 days only warning, you need to get better and run right.
• Finally, once you've got your skin back to normal, you need to learn to walk again. This sounds silly but if you have had it as bad as me, I wasn't able to walk properly for six weeks and so some muscles compensated and others withered. And I am still trying to correct that in my right foot.

Finally, I guess you want proof that you have got the right thing... so as to spare anyone who has stumbled on here intrigued, I shall now link to the pics... Shudder.

Now you're diagnosed, please stay!

See Jane Run.

Thanks to the good people at the Running School I can now share with you the before and after shots of me running... Grab some popcorn and settle down!

I had 12 lessons at the Running School. Here's what I took home from the experience:

• How to get more power from your arms: chin to pocket, chin to pocket. My arms are more straight and my fists are loose. Gone is the ninja hands from before cutting across the body.
• Legs hit the ground in parallel tracks, not crossing over like I am sashaying down the catwalk.
• Legs kick back much higher and cycle as if on a bike, without the bike instead of a long oval shape and a minor lifting of the foot. Contact time with the ground is reduced - yay, less chance of knee injuries through impact. They also land under my body as a result, not somewhere else and then I have to drag the rest of me into alignment.
• Posture: more straight up with a proud chest.
• Work that arse: activated glutes - I was mostly running with my quads, and had a series of simple but difficult exercises to engage them.