I've not been particularly dedicated about running this week, with a couple of bare 3 mile runs and no interval training at all, unless you count running up the stairs and over the bridge at North Acton station in a desperate yet successful attempt to catch a late night tube after half a bottle of wine.
But with one week to go, I went out for my last 'long' prep run. I'm still pinning all my fitness hopes on the fact I've been dedicated about the long runs, but I've not really been approaching them with the same dedication to nutrition and hydration as I did when marathon training. Gone are the pasta and veggie sauce, and in with the cakes, curries and alcohol.
Miraculously though, I do seem to be able to get round even after such lousy preparation. God knows what speeds I could achieve if I did actually train properly and eat properly but I think we can consider this a control for the experiment!
Today's 10 miles was not much fun although not for the dietary reasons listed above. It was more to do with the route I chose. In a desperate attempt to try and go somewhere new, I decided to head off to the South-west and Southall. For someone who has lived in this area as long as I have, this was a monumental miscalculation. Getting there was fine, but every local knows that Southall Broadway is always heaving with people. People 8 abreast. Shops have their goods outside the shop, covering half the pavement, and London's biggest and most vibrant Asian community cover the other half.
Negotiating the packed pavements was bad enough but the staring was the worst part. Clearly they do not get a lot of runners on Southall Broadway (because they have more sense and go for somewhere with less people) but those they do get are obviously not white females either. I lost count of the amount of people who actually stopped dead in their tracks just to stare open-mouthed at me and I got shouted at by two men. I don't know much Urdu/Hindi/Punjabi/Gujarati so I was unable to tell whether it was support or abuse but either way, it wasn't the easiest of runs for the self-conscious individual that I am.
On the plus side, it was sunny and I now have had lots of practice at weaving in and out of crowds of people, pushchairs and small children pointing.
I'm actually quite glad that my next extended run will be in a different country, with cleared roads and plenty of other runners, because I am bit fed of up of being a freak for exercising in public. Or exercising at all.
Roll on Brooklyn
LON
Sunday 14 March 2010
Thursday 11 March 2010
Travel tips
I was in conversation with a colleague today, explaining that I wouldn't be able to do something as I would be on leave. She asked,
'Where are you going?'
'New York'
'You're not running again, are you?
'yep'
'Can't you just go there and shop, like everybody else?'
I'll do my best to fit that in too...
LON
'Where are you going?'
'New York'
'You're not running again, are you?
'yep'
'Can't you just go there and shop, like everybody else?'
I'll do my best to fit that in too...
LON
Monday 8 March 2010
Not what I signed up for
I have just found out the start time for the New York half marathon - 7.30 am. What is it with Americans and their inability to lie in?
I realise it is probably this willingness to get up at sparrow fart to do sport that enables them to win so many medals, but still - I'm on my holidays, people. 9am would have done. This is earlier than the actual Marathon, for crying out loud
I blame all these walkers & run/walkers. I suppose they have to close Manhattan for about 6 hours so enable people to walk it. Bah.
And I bet it snows
Am jetlagged just thinking about it
LON
I realise it is probably this willingness to get up at sparrow fart to do sport that enables them to win so many medals, but still - I'm on my holidays, people. 9am would have done. This is earlier than the actual Marathon, for crying out loud
I blame all these walkers & run/walkers. I suppose they have to close Manhattan for about 6 hours so enable people to walk it. Bah.
And I bet it snows
Am jetlagged just thinking about it
LON
Sunday 7 March 2010
Uphill struggle
It's two weeks to go until the Manhattan half marathon and time for the longest training run - 12 miles.
I think it's safe to say I have learnt the hard way that eating your own body weight in scones and biscuits, followed by 3 champagne cocktails, is not the ideal prep for a 12 mile training run. Yesterday I went out for a champagne afternoon tea with two fabulous friends and ended up having two too many additional glasses of bubbly.
The alcohol itself probably wouldn't have been so bad but for the fact that you're essentially eating on an empty stomach. I don't think any sports nutritionist would classify a cherry bakewell and a macaroon as carb loading. But I managed to make it out today for the full distance.
The late winter weather helped. Cold, with a biting wind, but sunny as a July day - it was the perfect long distance weather. I just really need to plan my routes better and not include quite so many hills on a hangover.
It's true that I have not been devoted to my training for this early season half. Work and house selling/house buying has not left me with much free time during the week, so I've been squeezing short easy runs in wherever possible. I've not managed any intervals or speedwork, nor have I crosstrained (unless you count walking or permanently cleaning and tidying the flat ready for prospective buyers). But I have, bar one week when my ribs hurt too much, been religious about doing the long runs at a weekend. I've been pinning all my hopes on the endurance rather than the speed and I'm just hoping now that I don't achieve a personal worst on 21 March.
On the plus side, Manhattan is not going to throw any hills at me. Today, on the other hand, I managed to inlude 4 hills, 3 of which were long and steep. I never learn. I'm going to start factoring local gradient onto my wish list for househunting in the next few weeks, because I'm getting too old for all these hill climbs.
So fingers crossed for a flat course and a kind wind in a fortnight, and I might just make it round in a reasonable, if not record-breaking time.
LON
I think it's safe to say I have learnt the hard way that eating your own body weight in scones and biscuits, followed by 3 champagne cocktails, is not the ideal prep for a 12 mile training run. Yesterday I went out for a champagne afternoon tea with two fabulous friends and ended up having two too many additional glasses of bubbly.
The alcohol itself probably wouldn't have been so bad but for the fact that you're essentially eating on an empty stomach. I don't think any sports nutritionist would classify a cherry bakewell and a macaroon as carb loading. But I managed to make it out today for the full distance.
The late winter weather helped. Cold, with a biting wind, but sunny as a July day - it was the perfect long distance weather. I just really need to plan my routes better and not include quite so many hills on a hangover.
It's true that I have not been devoted to my training for this early season half. Work and house selling/house buying has not left me with much free time during the week, so I've been squeezing short easy runs in wherever possible. I've not managed any intervals or speedwork, nor have I crosstrained (unless you count walking or permanently cleaning and tidying the flat ready for prospective buyers). But I have, bar one week when my ribs hurt too much, been religious about doing the long runs at a weekend. I've been pinning all my hopes on the endurance rather than the speed and I'm just hoping now that I don't achieve a personal worst on 21 March.
On the plus side, Manhattan is not going to throw any hills at me. Today, on the other hand, I managed to inlude 4 hills, 3 of which were long and steep. I never learn. I'm going to start factoring local gradient onto my wish list for househunting in the next few weeks, because I'm getting too old for all these hill climbs.
So fingers crossed for a flat course and a kind wind in a fortnight, and I might just make it round in a reasonable, if not record-breaking time.
LON
Friday 5 March 2010
Distractions
I realise I have not been particularly blogtastic recently. Writing time is tight right now, what with half-marathon training plans, house-hunting and flat-selling and having the workload from hell.
My training has not been particularly inspiring. I run, it's cold, I come home, I shower and eat. Yadda yadda yadda. My calf still hurts, my ribs still hurt. But I'll get round the course. It'll be fine.
I'm feeling particularly chastened today though after watching the BBC documentary about comedian Eddie Izzard's multimarathons last summer in aid of SportRelief. This amazing feat has been totally underpublicised so has not raised nearly enough money as it should - for guilty donations now, visit http://www.comicrelief.com/donate/eddie
Basically, Eddie ran 43 marathons in 51 days. He ran 6 days a week for 7 weeks in a row, covering England, Wales, Northern Ireland, Scotland and finished in Trafalgar Square in London on September 15th. He ran over 1100 miles as part of this mammoth fundraising effort. In virtual secret.
Now is not the time to go into the lack of publicity these efforts received, nor to wonder what you have to do to get Cheryl Cole's private life off the front of the UK press . It's more to marvel at the fact that Eddie is not an ultrarunning stalwart - he is a comedian who decided to tackle something huge. Something that he had not trained for and was not particularly fit for.
Last night's documentary (not shown in prime time or on a mainstream TV channel either, to continue the veil of secrecy) illustrated the whole project, from conception to execution, in all its blistered glory.
There was a lot of the programme I didn't really enjoy. I will retain the mental image of a member of his support team extracting the liquid from his blisters for years to come. I would like to also point out to the scaremongering BBC that people with flat feet can run without it being life-threatening (Izzard just wore orthotics in his trainers, like every other runner with flat feet). And there was absolutely no footage of him having an emergency toilet stop, which is not very realistic.
On the other hand, there were so many brilliant moments in the programme, mainly due to the personality involved. Izzard started off running his 30 mile a day in 8 hours, getting it down to nearly 5 hours by the end of the 7 weeks. But the programme showed just why Eddie took so long at the start. Because he is a mental fidget.
Wandering into shops to buy ice lollies, stopping off to give out free ice-creams to wellwishers for an hour in the west country, generally wandering off track (both mentally and physically) - at first Izzard just can't concentrate on the job in hand. Despite his trainer telling him to finish as fast as he can, to give him the maximum amount of rest, Izzard meanders all over the place, on some occasions only get 4-5 hours sleep in between runs.
What is really fascinating is watching him develop the running mentality from scratch - he goes from the sheer boredom to that weird obsessive focus you get after running regularly for a certain amount of time.
In the early stages, he runs much better on the sections where he has company. I suppose as a performer he needs an audience, whereas running is primarily a solitary activity. But, where the BBC and sport relief have bothered to tell people what he's doing, Izzard gets a good level of support from the locals on his route.
God knows what damage he has done to his mind, muscles and joints - probably not as many as the BBC would like to frighten people into thinking - but he certainly did me a lot of good. I was just pleased to see someone else get so distracted - some days I can run for miles and not be able to remember my route at the end of it, I've been so switched off.
And it reminded me that, in the scheme of things, 13.1 miles isn't really all that, is it?
LON
My training has not been particularly inspiring. I run, it's cold, I come home, I shower and eat. Yadda yadda yadda. My calf still hurts, my ribs still hurt. But I'll get round the course. It'll be fine.
I'm feeling particularly chastened today though after watching the BBC documentary about comedian Eddie Izzard's multimarathons last summer in aid of SportRelief. This amazing feat has been totally underpublicised so has not raised nearly enough money as it should - for guilty donations now, visit http://www.comicrelief.com/donate/eddie
Basically, Eddie ran 43 marathons in 51 days. He ran 6 days a week for 7 weeks in a row, covering England, Wales, Northern Ireland, Scotland and finished in Trafalgar Square in London on September 15th. He ran over 1100 miles as part of this mammoth fundraising effort. In virtual secret.
Now is not the time to go into the lack of publicity these efforts received, nor to wonder what you have to do to get Cheryl Cole's private life off the front of the UK press . It's more to marvel at the fact that Eddie is not an ultrarunning stalwart - he is a comedian who decided to tackle something huge. Something that he had not trained for and was not particularly fit for.
Last night's documentary (not shown in prime time or on a mainstream TV channel either, to continue the veil of secrecy) illustrated the whole project, from conception to execution, in all its blistered glory.
There was a lot of the programme I didn't really enjoy. I will retain the mental image of a member of his support team extracting the liquid from his blisters for years to come. I would like to also point out to the scaremongering BBC that people with flat feet can run without it being life-threatening (Izzard just wore orthotics in his trainers, like every other runner with flat feet). And there was absolutely no footage of him having an emergency toilet stop, which is not very realistic.
On the other hand, there were so many brilliant moments in the programme, mainly due to the personality involved. Izzard started off running his 30 mile a day in 8 hours, getting it down to nearly 5 hours by the end of the 7 weeks. But the programme showed just why Eddie took so long at the start. Because he is a mental fidget.
Wandering into shops to buy ice lollies, stopping off to give out free ice-creams to wellwishers for an hour in the west country, generally wandering off track (both mentally and physically) - at first Izzard just can't concentrate on the job in hand. Despite his trainer telling him to finish as fast as he can, to give him the maximum amount of rest, Izzard meanders all over the place, on some occasions only get 4-5 hours sleep in between runs.
What is really fascinating is watching him develop the running mentality from scratch - he goes from the sheer boredom to that weird obsessive focus you get after running regularly for a certain amount of time.
In the early stages, he runs much better on the sections where he has company. I suppose as a performer he needs an audience, whereas running is primarily a solitary activity. But, where the BBC and sport relief have bothered to tell people what he's doing, Izzard gets a good level of support from the locals on his route.
God knows what damage he has done to his mind, muscles and joints - probably not as many as the BBC would like to frighten people into thinking - but he certainly did me a lot of good. I was just pleased to see someone else get so distracted - some days I can run for miles and not be able to remember my route at the end of it, I've been so switched off.
And it reminded me that, in the scheme of things, 13.1 miles isn't really all that, is it?
LON
Sunday 21 February 2010
Now that's what I'm talking about
It's 10am on a Sunday morning. The rain is lashing down on the car roof. I sit inside, looking out over the playing fields of Harrow School, where over a century of Harrovians have suffered bullying, abuse and humiliation over their lack of sporting prowess.
Judging by the amount of club runners turning out for this local race, I am quite concerned about the potential for me being humiliated for my lack of sporting prowess. Having run a grand total of 6 miles in the preceding 12 days, and still suffering from sorely bruised ribs, I'm not brimming with confidence as I hide in the dry car until the last possible moment. There's a strong chance I could finish last in this one.
Down at the start, the high proportion of 'proper' runners is even more obvious. Despite the temperature of 1 degree and rain coming down like ping pong balls, most people are lined up in the shortest shorts and the vestiest vests. They're freezing to death but they're definitely 'proper' runners.
All masochistic smugness I had about me being a 'proper' runner is starting to wane. Turning out in the rain doesn't make you that hard if you're decked out in tights, hat, gloves and your Team Labreque NYC marathon waterproof. The kudos are nothing compared to those bright pink legs and shoulders that everyone else has on display.
Once the race starts though, it's a totally different game of ping pong. Harrow's playing fields are the lowest point of Harrow School. Harrow School is at the top of Harrow Hill. Harrow Hill is supposedly the only part of Southern England that will not be submerged by the melting icecaps at the end of this century. It's that high. And we're running up it for the first 500 yards of the race.
By the time we reach the first mile marker, I'm definitely not last. I'm not walking either, which seems to be the default tactic for so many runners when faced with a hill. The rain is starting to ease, although we're still at risk of a major soaking from the deep puddles that local drivers insist on driving through when approaching a runner. They're just jealous.
By the time we get to the 3 mile marker, we're taking on the hill from the very bottom. I go past two 'proper' runners at the bottom - all short shorts and corned beef shoulders in their club vests. I go past another club runner halfway up the hill (admittedly I am coughing up one of my own lungs in my now obligatory bout of exercise-induced asthma) and as I get to the top I run past two more runners, one of whom is so 'proper' he is wearing the most conflicting amount of commemorative race tops ever seen on an individual. Show-off. That's me, I mean, going past him.
I drop another two club runners going down the hill again and by the finish, I have overtaken in total about 8 people. I am not going to be last! Hills are my bitch. I may never stop coughing again, but I am deliriously happy. I have just run 6 miles in 56 minutes, and someone has given me a KitKat. Running is brilliant, even in the rain.
I drink a cup of water, turn round and head back to the car to go home and dry off. In front of me, a grown man cries in pain. Perhaps his vest and short shorts are cutting into him.
LON
Judging by the amount of club runners turning out for this local race, I am quite concerned about the potential for me being humiliated for my lack of sporting prowess. Having run a grand total of 6 miles in the preceding 12 days, and still suffering from sorely bruised ribs, I'm not brimming with confidence as I hide in the dry car until the last possible moment. There's a strong chance I could finish last in this one.
Down at the start, the high proportion of 'proper' runners is even more obvious. Despite the temperature of 1 degree and rain coming down like ping pong balls, most people are lined up in the shortest shorts and the vestiest vests. They're freezing to death but they're definitely 'proper' runners.
All masochistic smugness I had about me being a 'proper' runner is starting to wane. Turning out in the rain doesn't make you that hard if you're decked out in tights, hat, gloves and your Team Labreque NYC marathon waterproof. The kudos are nothing compared to those bright pink legs and shoulders that everyone else has on display.
Once the race starts though, it's a totally different game of ping pong. Harrow's playing fields are the lowest point of Harrow School. Harrow School is at the top of Harrow Hill. Harrow Hill is supposedly the only part of Southern England that will not be submerged by the melting icecaps at the end of this century. It's that high. And we're running up it for the first 500 yards of the race.
By the time we reach the first mile marker, I'm definitely not last. I'm not walking either, which seems to be the default tactic for so many runners when faced with a hill. The rain is starting to ease, although we're still at risk of a major soaking from the deep puddles that local drivers insist on driving through when approaching a runner. They're just jealous.
By the time we get to the 3 mile marker, we're taking on the hill from the very bottom. I go past two 'proper' runners at the bottom - all short shorts and corned beef shoulders in their club vests. I go past another club runner halfway up the hill (admittedly I am coughing up one of my own lungs in my now obligatory bout of exercise-induced asthma) and as I get to the top I run past two more runners, one of whom is so 'proper' he is wearing the most conflicting amount of commemorative race tops ever seen on an individual. Show-off. That's me, I mean, going past him.
I drop another two club runners going down the hill again and by the finish, I have overtaken in total about 8 people. I am not going to be last! Hills are my bitch. I may never stop coughing again, but I am deliriously happy. I have just run 6 miles in 56 minutes, and someone has given me a KitKat. Running is brilliant, even in the rain.
I drink a cup of water, turn round and head back to the car to go home and dry off. In front of me, a grown man cries in pain. Perhaps his vest and short shorts are cutting into him.
LON
Wednesday 10 February 2010
how the not-so-mighty are fallen
I've not made a good start to week 5 of training. My calf seems to be recovered enough to run again - obviously the decision to only wear flat shoes in this freezing weather has done the trick for my mobility.
However, I seem to have discovered a new winter affliction - night blindness. I set off for an evening run last night and was going quite nicely, all muscles in full working order, despite the freezing cold. As I headed into the final 1.5 miles of my run, up a badly lit hill, I tripped over a raised paving stone and went hard down onto the ground.
Unfortunately, this paving stone was a few yards away from a bus stop, so I had a full audience for the fall. Not satisfied with attentions of this captive audience, I made sure I drew full attention to myself from anyone else nearby by wailing 'Ow' really loudly as I broke my fall with my left arm and shoulder. What a wuss!
I tried to minimise my shame by getting straight up and continuing uphill away from the spectators, relieved that I hadn't hurt my foot or pulled a muscle. My right knee, elbow and hip were pretty vocal about their lack of approval for my new running gait (sideways on the ground, shouting 'ow' - you should try it, Ms Radcliffe) and the right side of my ribcage was a bit sore, but I was convinced the only major damage was to my pride.
I ran home as fast as I could, in order to avoid being passed by the bus full of people who had witnessed my ineptitude, pointing and laughing from the window. Buoyed by just a couple of scrapes to knee and elbow, I vowed to eat more carrots and laugh it off. Then I got in the shower, tried to lift my right arm and felt the real agony of the fall.
I've obviously elbowed myself right in the ribcage as I've fallen, shouldercharging the pavement and pushing my arm into my side. As a result, all lifting and movement is agony, and getting up off the sofa is done in a style that would earn me the scorn of arthritic pensioners across the globe.
Let's face it, this winter training is rubbish - how people train for the London marathon in the dark and the cold is beyond me. They have my utmost respect.
In the meantime, I'm pricing up headlamps. If I'm going to look stupid, I might as well be able to see while I'm at it.
LON
However, I seem to have discovered a new winter affliction - night blindness. I set off for an evening run last night and was going quite nicely, all muscles in full working order, despite the freezing cold. As I headed into the final 1.5 miles of my run, up a badly lit hill, I tripped over a raised paving stone and went hard down onto the ground.
Unfortunately, this paving stone was a few yards away from a bus stop, so I had a full audience for the fall. Not satisfied with attentions of this captive audience, I made sure I drew full attention to myself from anyone else nearby by wailing 'Ow' really loudly as I broke my fall with my left arm and shoulder. What a wuss!
I tried to minimise my shame by getting straight up and continuing uphill away from the spectators, relieved that I hadn't hurt my foot or pulled a muscle. My right knee, elbow and hip were pretty vocal about their lack of approval for my new running gait (sideways on the ground, shouting 'ow' - you should try it, Ms Radcliffe) and the right side of my ribcage was a bit sore, but I was convinced the only major damage was to my pride.
I ran home as fast as I could, in order to avoid being passed by the bus full of people who had witnessed my ineptitude, pointing and laughing from the window. Buoyed by just a couple of scrapes to knee and elbow, I vowed to eat more carrots and laugh it off. Then I got in the shower, tried to lift my right arm and felt the real agony of the fall.
I've obviously elbowed myself right in the ribcage as I've fallen, shouldercharging the pavement and pushing my arm into my side. As a result, all lifting and movement is agony, and getting up off the sofa is done in a style that would earn me the scorn of arthritic pensioners across the globe.
Let's face it, this winter training is rubbish - how people train for the London marathon in the dark and the cold is beyond me. They have my utmost respect.
In the meantime, I'm pricing up headlamps. If I'm going to look stupid, I might as well be able to see while I'm at it.
LON
Sunday 7 February 2010
My left foot
After 3 days off running, resting my left calf, I decided that the best way to test out my muscle strain was an 8 mile run. It was either going to hurt straight away or not hurt for a while, so I thought I might as well get as far as I could after missing 3 training days
And it was ok - for 6 miles anyway. Even then, after 6 miles, I just had a bit of tightness. Nothing that stopped me from carrying on for another couple of miles, I didn't even have to break into a walk. I'll need to keep an eye on it, and use plenty of ice and muscle rubs when I'm not running but hopefully it won't get any worse. As a precaution, I'll cut down to 3 runs this week and my long run next week is actually a trail race, so perhaps the grassy surface will help take the strain.
The whole idea of being injured is quite worrying - after all, it's not like I 'm just doing a half marathon a few miles from home. This is another transatlantic project. So I really hope I don't end up being a spectator on the day!
On the plus side, this weekend I've started to see some other runners in my area. I presume they're all in training for the London marathon in April and are starting to log their long runs - they have certainly never surfaced before now, physical exercise is something that local residents normally scorn. But it's reassuring to know that someone else is going to have to share in the verbal abuse from the local teenagers over the next few weeks.
LON
And it was ok - for 6 miles anyway. Even then, after 6 miles, I just had a bit of tightness. Nothing that stopped me from carrying on for another couple of miles, I didn't even have to break into a walk. I'll need to keep an eye on it, and use plenty of ice and muscle rubs when I'm not running but hopefully it won't get any worse. As a precaution, I'll cut down to 3 runs this week and my long run next week is actually a trail race, so perhaps the grassy surface will help take the strain.
The whole idea of being injured is quite worrying - after all, it's not like I 'm just doing a half marathon a few miles from home. This is another transatlantic project. So I really hope I don't end up being a spectator on the day!
On the plus side, this weekend I've started to see some other runners in my area. I presume they're all in training for the London marathon in April and are starting to log their long runs - they have certainly never surfaced before now, physical exercise is something that local residents normally scorn. But it's reassuring to know that someone else is going to have to share in the verbal abuse from the local teenagers over the next few weeks.
LON
Wednesday 3 February 2010
Today is clearly not my day
Today I've hit a hitch in my training.
And it's all been going so well. My weekend runs went like a dream, I ran fast, I ran long - I was in the zone. I was so in the zone on my long run at the weekend that I forgot where I was supposed to be running and ended up a couple of miles further away from home than I even intended.
But today, it's all gone a bit wrong. I headed off to a conference in Birmingham today, at the not-very-salubrious venue of the National Motorcycle Museum. Like all venues in the West Midlands, the venue was on a roundabout, on a roundabout, off a roundabout, on a roundabout and only accessible by car. I got a cab from the nearest station, cutting it fine for the start, hopped out of the cab, accelerated to make it into the revolving doorway without having to wait for the next revolve - and pop went my left calf.
I spent the rest of the day either limping up stairs carpeted with the most lurid print you could possibly imagine or sat on a luridly printed chair desperately trying to stretch out my calf without looking like a lunatic in a room full of civil servants (admittedly this is a big ask, lunatics don't usually stand out in a room full of civil servants. You'd probably have to wear a clown costume to raise so much as an eyebrow).
Once I got back home, I decided to take the calf out for a muscle-warming run. The first three quarters of a mile felt great, the calf seemed to be appreciating the exercise and I felt confident I could run it off. As I approached the mile mark, the calf started to twinge a bit. Then as I passed my first mile marker, the whole lower left leg just went. I felt like a racehorse with a broken leg - in fact, if I'd been on a racecourse they probably would have put screens round me and shot me on the spot, the limp and the pain was so pronounced. After walking for a bit, the leg let me start jogging home and I managed to make it back to the house intact ( I even managed to dodge the rottweiler that lunged for me about half a mile from home)
The calf is now on ice (writing this entry is giving me a craving for veal, for some reason) and I'm hoping that ice, rest, and a good night's sleep will do the trick. It doesn't feel too bad, so don't think it's too serious.
Here's hoping.
And I'll definitely let the revolving door go the next time.
LON
And it's all been going so well. My weekend runs went like a dream, I ran fast, I ran long - I was in the zone. I was so in the zone on my long run at the weekend that I forgot where I was supposed to be running and ended up a couple of miles further away from home than I even intended.
But today, it's all gone a bit wrong. I headed off to a conference in Birmingham today, at the not-very-salubrious venue of the National Motorcycle Museum. Like all venues in the West Midlands, the venue was on a roundabout, on a roundabout, off a roundabout, on a roundabout and only accessible by car. I got a cab from the nearest station, cutting it fine for the start, hopped out of the cab, accelerated to make it into the revolving doorway without having to wait for the next revolve - and pop went my left calf.
I spent the rest of the day either limping up stairs carpeted with the most lurid print you could possibly imagine or sat on a luridly printed chair desperately trying to stretch out my calf without looking like a lunatic in a room full of civil servants (admittedly this is a big ask, lunatics don't usually stand out in a room full of civil servants. You'd probably have to wear a clown costume to raise so much as an eyebrow).
Once I got back home, I decided to take the calf out for a muscle-warming run. The first three quarters of a mile felt great, the calf seemed to be appreciating the exercise and I felt confident I could run it off. As I approached the mile mark, the calf started to twinge a bit. Then as I passed my first mile marker, the whole lower left leg just went. I felt like a racehorse with a broken leg - in fact, if I'd been on a racecourse they probably would have put screens round me and shot me on the spot, the limp and the pain was so pronounced. After walking for a bit, the leg let me start jogging home and I managed to make it back to the house intact ( I even managed to dodge the rottweiler that lunged for me about half a mile from home)
The calf is now on ice (writing this entry is giving me a craving for veal, for some reason) and I'm hoping that ice, rest, and a good night's sleep will do the trick. It doesn't feel too bad, so don't think it's too serious.
Here's hoping.
And I'll definitely let the revolving door go the next time.
LON
Sunday 24 January 2010
Cold discomfort
January in London is proving to be unremittingly grey. The only colour on my weekend morning runs are the large pools of fresh sick that Friday and Saturday nights' drinkers have deposited around my running routes.
Perhaps they should take up running too - it really concentrates the mind as to how much alcohol you can consume in a night when you know you have to get up and run 6 miles in the morning.
On the plus side, at least it's not snowing or raining, so I'll have to live with the grey colour scheme for now.
Unfortunately, with the grey comes the cold. Despite running for over an hour, in long tights, the lower half of my body seems unable to warm up. The rest of my body is fine but the tops of my legs and my bum are still red with cold when I finish. I'm going to have to try running with a pair of shorts on top of the tights because I'm sure I'm not supposed to be that cold. Or maybe I should change my running style to make those parts of the body work more!
The cold also has one additional side effect for me - coughing. I think the medical term is 'exercise-induced asthma' - I have read about it on several forums and in running magazines and apparently it's quite common in the cold weather, as your lungs don't warm up as quickly as the rest of you. It doesn't happen while I run, only when I finish. I sound like an asthmatic with a 40 a day habit.
It's pretty hard to convince any audience that exercise is good to you when you have a two hour coughing fit after you finish running. But it is good for me, honest. Chapped skin and lung strain are what it's all about...
LON
Perhaps they should take up running too - it really concentrates the mind as to how much alcohol you can consume in a night when you know you have to get up and run 6 miles in the morning.
On the plus side, at least it's not snowing or raining, so I'll have to live with the grey colour scheme for now.
Unfortunately, with the grey comes the cold. Despite running for over an hour, in long tights, the lower half of my body seems unable to warm up. The rest of my body is fine but the tops of my legs and my bum are still red with cold when I finish. I'm going to have to try running with a pair of shorts on top of the tights because I'm sure I'm not supposed to be that cold. Or maybe I should change my running style to make those parts of the body work more!
The cold also has one additional side effect for me - coughing. I think the medical term is 'exercise-induced asthma' - I have read about it on several forums and in running magazines and apparently it's quite common in the cold weather, as your lungs don't warm up as quickly as the rest of you. It doesn't happen while I run, only when I finish. I sound like an asthmatic with a 40 a day habit.
It's pretty hard to convince any audience that exercise is good to you when you have a two hour coughing fit after you finish running. But it is good for me, honest. Chapped skin and lung strain are what it's all about...
LON
Friday 22 January 2010
The lengths people go to
I've not run anywhere today - I have spent most of it on the English rail network, marvelling at other passengers' general lack of common sense (you've booked a seat - so go sit in it and stop making the carriage look untidy).
But I feel the need to write about today's big running story - the Xiamen marathon mass cheating incident. Apparently almost a third of the first 100 runners have since been disqualified for cheating. From hiring an imposter to run the race for them to getting someone faster to carry their chips round the course, they employed a range of techniques to record a fast time. Some even used the old chestnut of getting a lift part of the way round.
And all because their finishing time counted towards their university entrance points. We might think that A-levels are getting easier and higher education is being devalued in the UK. We talk about how we need to compete with China's manufacturing record and economic output. Maybe that's the answer - impose marathon finishing times as a criterion for university entry. In Xiamen, you need to finish in under 2h 34 mins to get extra points in your application - this beats any personal statement or teacher reference, let's face it.
I can see it now. Miss Smith of Pikeyville Comprehensive reports, 'Kaylea has struggled to get to grips with English language this term, is unable to concentrate in class and potentially suffers from a learning disorder. However, she can run for the 95 bus in under 11 seconds so we would recommend her highly for any undergraduate course'
This, of course, would never work in the UK. With our ever-increasing obesity levels, running 26.2 yards is feat enough for many university candidates. Everyone knows you can't run in leopard skin Converse high tops - it totally ruin your shoes, innit?
On the same day we report this epic cheating tale from China, the press also report that cases of rickets are rising in the UK because kids don't spend enough time outside. Maybe that's the trick, make them run half-marathons to count towards their GCSEs while raising their Vitamin D levels.
By the time they're doing their AS levels and filling in their UCAS forms, they've stepped up to the marathon distance. In true Western teenager style, they are given a lift by Dad to mile 25, where he is forced to drop them off so they can get to the finish the rest themselves and not embarrass them in front of their mates.
LON
But I feel the need to write about today's big running story - the Xiamen marathon mass cheating incident. Apparently almost a third of the first 100 runners have since been disqualified for cheating. From hiring an imposter to run the race for them to getting someone faster to carry their chips round the course, they employed a range of techniques to record a fast time. Some even used the old chestnut of getting a lift part of the way round.
And all because their finishing time counted towards their university entrance points. We might think that A-levels are getting easier and higher education is being devalued in the UK. We talk about how we need to compete with China's manufacturing record and economic output. Maybe that's the answer - impose marathon finishing times as a criterion for university entry. In Xiamen, you need to finish in under 2h 34 mins to get extra points in your application - this beats any personal statement or teacher reference, let's face it.
I can see it now. Miss Smith of Pikeyville Comprehensive reports, 'Kaylea has struggled to get to grips with English language this term, is unable to concentrate in class and potentially suffers from a learning disorder. However, she can run for the 95 bus in under 11 seconds so we would recommend her highly for any undergraduate course'
This, of course, would never work in the UK. With our ever-increasing obesity levels, running 26.2 yards is feat enough for many university candidates. Everyone knows you can't run in leopard skin Converse high tops - it totally ruin your shoes, innit?
On the same day we report this epic cheating tale from China, the press also report that cases of rickets are rising in the UK because kids don't spend enough time outside. Maybe that's the trick, make them run half-marathons to count towards their GCSEs while raising their Vitamin D levels.
By the time they're doing their AS levels and filling in their UCAS forms, they've stepped up to the marathon distance. In true Western teenager style, they are given a lift by Dad to mile 25, where he is forced to drop them off so they can get to the finish the rest themselves and not embarrass them in front of their mates.
LON
Thursday 21 January 2010
nowhere to run to, baby
The first weeks of half-marathon training are proving testing.
It's not ideal that my job has gone totally bonkers in terms of workload all of a sudden, and I'm looking forward to the Manhattan half now just in the sense that it gets me a few days' annual leave!
The weather doesn't help. Cold, fine, torrential rain= nightmare. Running any sort of distance means wet feet and, for me at least, the inability to get warm again for about 24 hours
The biggest test though is the dark. Last week's Rocky-style runs through Central London worked ok, mainly because Central London is garishly lit. My local area is pitch black in the morning, pitch black in the evening, with only the occasional street light. It's starting to dawn on me how many people, of both sexes, wear head to foot black clothing. I've run into at least two pedestrians who've just sneaked up on me - all the running wisdom is about making yourself visible running at night but really it's everyone else I need to worry about. They're all dressed like the Milk Tray man.
Midweek runs are done, so I'm looking forward to some runs in broad daylight this weekend. It's time to go long again, and start to rack up some weekly mileage. It might also help me relax away from the frenzy of work, or at least give me some problem-solving time.
LON
It's not ideal that my job has gone totally bonkers in terms of workload all of a sudden, and I'm looking forward to the Manhattan half now just in the sense that it gets me a few days' annual leave!
The weather doesn't help. Cold, fine, torrential rain= nightmare. Running any sort of distance means wet feet and, for me at least, the inability to get warm again for about 24 hours
The biggest test though is the dark. Last week's Rocky-style runs through Central London worked ok, mainly because Central London is garishly lit. My local area is pitch black in the morning, pitch black in the evening, with only the occasional street light. It's starting to dawn on me how many people, of both sexes, wear head to foot black clothing. I've run into at least two pedestrians who've just sneaked up on me - all the running wisdom is about making yourself visible running at night but really it's everyone else I need to worry about. They're all dressed like the Milk Tray man.
Midweek runs are done, so I'm looking forward to some runs in broad daylight this weekend. It's time to go long again, and start to rack up some weekly mileage. It might also help me relax away from the frenzy of work, or at least give me some problem-solving time.
LON
Thursday 14 January 2010
Training, movie-style
The big freeze continues in west London and the pavements are still iced up. Central London thankfully laughs in the face of snow and is just damp from the big melt.
So today's four miler was a circuitous route from the office to Bond Street tube station, to take me nearer to home while getting in the training miles. It's been a series of firsts for me: the first time I have run with a backpack, the first time I have run past Buckingham Palace, the first time I have travelled to work dressed like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl (trainers and tights - yuck).
It was fun, overall, but some key running lessons learnt.
Lesson 1 - always make sure you've zipped your backpack properly. Unbelievably, I made it 4 miles without losing anything out of a wide open backpack - the gods are being kind today.
Lesson 2 - there are too many tourists on Bond Street to run properly
Lesson 3 - there are too many posh blonde birds standing outside pubs in Mayfair having a fag to run properly
Lesson 4 - the Mall to Piccadilly - it's all uphill
So as long as I remember that I shouldn't run through posh areas, running back to the Tube from the office could be a fun way to get some miles in. I can take in the scenery (moonlit Houses of Parliament from Lambeth Bridge anyone?) without having to use the cold shower in the office. A few weird looks on the Tube are a small price to pay.
There is one final lesson I've learnt this week and that is running in central London involves a lot of steps. A lot of running up steps. Basically I feel like Rocky - surely the next training modes for me must be catching loose chickens and boxing with sides of meat?
LON
So today's four miler was a circuitous route from the office to Bond Street tube station, to take me nearer to home while getting in the training miles. It's been a series of firsts for me: the first time I have run with a backpack, the first time I have run past Buckingham Palace, the first time I have travelled to work dressed like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl (trainers and tights - yuck).
It was fun, overall, but some key running lessons learnt.
Lesson 1 - always make sure you've zipped your backpack properly. Unbelievably, I made it 4 miles without losing anything out of a wide open backpack - the gods are being kind today.
Lesson 2 - there are too many tourists on Bond Street to run properly
Lesson 3 - there are too many posh blonde birds standing outside pubs in Mayfair having a fag to run properly
Lesson 4 - the Mall to Piccadilly - it's all uphill
So as long as I remember that I shouldn't run through posh areas, running back to the Tube from the office could be a fun way to get some miles in. I can take in the scenery (moonlit Houses of Parliament from Lambeth Bridge anyone?) without having to use the cold shower in the office. A few weird looks on the Tube are a small price to pay.
There is one final lesson I've learnt this week and that is running in central London involves a lot of steps. A lot of running up steps. Basically I feel like Rocky - surely the next training modes for me must be catching loose chickens and boxing with sides of meat?
LON
Tuesday 12 January 2010
Back in training
Although this blog began as a marathon training diary and therefore reached a natural hiatus when I completed my marathon, I've missed writing about my running and my attempts at post-marathon training. I've missed having a transatlantic running partner as well.
As the new year started, I started to think about targets for the year. I'm the kind of runner who needs a race to aim for, an incentive to get out of bed in the dark mornings and go for a run. In my post-marathon adrenalin rush, I'd entered the lottery for a place in the Manhattan half-marathon in March. This may seem a bit extreme, but there are no real options for half marathons early in the year here in the UK, as all the London Marathon participants snap up the places.
But last week, when I woke up to an email confirming my half marathon place, I'll admit to a dilemma. I was thrilled to think the opportunity to run in New York had come up so quickly, but immediately panicked when I realised it was only 10 weeks away and I needed to rack up the training miles fast. But when I found out that my speedster NY running buddy had a place too, and that Virgin and BA were offering ridiculous prices for flights to New York until the end of March, my mind was made up. I was going for the Manhattan half, and I was resurrecting the training diary.
It won't be half a diary for half the distance but I'll have to work out what my race goals are. This will be my 4th half marathon, as opposed to a first full marathon, so it's different in the sense I know I can run the distance. I'd love to run a faster half marathon, although this may be too early in the year and too much of a shock to be the PB of the year. So in the meantime, I'll settle for having the chance to run new parts of New York City while getting back into a regular training programme.
In the short term, training is going to prove interesting. Britain is in the grip of a big freeze (shocker - who would have thought it would get really cold in winter?) and in typical British style we have mishandled everything in spectacular style. There is not enough grit to go round, so smaller roads and those in rural communities remain impassable, while urban pavements are icy and treacherous. This has made running incredibly difficult over the last few weeks as you can't get any grip. It's like Bambi's first steps - your left leg moves out to the left, your right leg moves out to the right and the next thing you're doing the splits, and hanging onto to a fence like your life depends upon it. Or else you end up running in a strange tiptoe fashion, sliding back a few millimetres with every step. The worst is when you start off running thinking you've found a great, ice-free, route then you run into a massive sheet of ice that won't let you progress and you have to turn round and head for home on your tiptoes.
Fortunately for my training plan, central London is way too cool for snow, so it is a different world - mostly free of snow or ice, with plenty of options for running routes that won't guarantee a major injury. So this morning I ran before work, along the Thames, taking in two bridges, two stations, a Royal Festival Hall, one Houses of Parliament, an obelisk and a water works. It's not all glamour, you know.
Then I showered at the office. Where there is no hot water. With minus temperatures outside, and icy cold water in the shower, it dawns on me that this is why people think runners are bonkers. The madness begins again...
LON
As the new year started, I started to think about targets for the year. I'm the kind of runner who needs a race to aim for, an incentive to get out of bed in the dark mornings and go for a run. In my post-marathon adrenalin rush, I'd entered the lottery for a place in the Manhattan half-marathon in March. This may seem a bit extreme, but there are no real options for half marathons early in the year here in the UK, as all the London Marathon participants snap up the places.
But last week, when I woke up to an email confirming my half marathon place, I'll admit to a dilemma. I was thrilled to think the opportunity to run in New York had come up so quickly, but immediately panicked when I realised it was only 10 weeks away and I needed to rack up the training miles fast. But when I found out that my speedster NY running buddy had a place too, and that Virgin and BA were offering ridiculous prices for flights to New York until the end of March, my mind was made up. I was going for the Manhattan half, and I was resurrecting the training diary.
It won't be half a diary for half the distance but I'll have to work out what my race goals are. This will be my 4th half marathon, as opposed to a first full marathon, so it's different in the sense I know I can run the distance. I'd love to run a faster half marathon, although this may be too early in the year and too much of a shock to be the PB of the year. So in the meantime, I'll settle for having the chance to run new parts of New York City while getting back into a regular training programme.
In the short term, training is going to prove interesting. Britain is in the grip of a big freeze (shocker - who would have thought it would get really cold in winter?) and in typical British style we have mishandled everything in spectacular style. There is not enough grit to go round, so smaller roads and those in rural communities remain impassable, while urban pavements are icy and treacherous. This has made running incredibly difficult over the last few weeks as you can't get any grip. It's like Bambi's first steps - your left leg moves out to the left, your right leg moves out to the right and the next thing you're doing the splits, and hanging onto to a fence like your life depends upon it. Or else you end up running in a strange tiptoe fashion, sliding back a few millimetres with every step. The worst is when you start off running thinking you've found a great, ice-free, route then you run into a massive sheet of ice that won't let you progress and you have to turn round and head for home on your tiptoes.
Fortunately for my training plan, central London is way too cool for snow, so it is a different world - mostly free of snow or ice, with plenty of options for running routes that won't guarantee a major injury. So this morning I ran before work, along the Thames, taking in two bridges, two stations, a Royal Festival Hall, one Houses of Parliament, an obelisk and a water works. It's not all glamour, you know.
Then I showered at the office. Where there is no hot water. With minus temperatures outside, and icy cold water in the shower, it dawns on me that this is why people think runners are bonkers. The madness begins again...
LON
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