With a week to go to the NYC half marathon, the weather decided yesterday that my last long run should not be conducted in the breezy Spring conditions of last week, but in proper grey, dank and dreary London weather. I'm hoping that this means I might have kept a bit of weather luck back for Sunday's race but whatever the conditions, I'm as ready as I am going to get now.
Still carrying too much weight, still feeling I missed too much training, still sporting the most disgusting-looking big toe in the history of disgusting toes but nevertheless enjoying the running again - psychologically I'm looking forward to testing myself and seeing just how far I need to progress before Berlin in September. I was reminded yesterday afternoon on my long run of just how tedious distance running can be and thanked my lucky stars I have an unrivalled capacity for daydreaming. It's a skill that gets you to 8 miles before you even realise it's full-on tedium (and one that gets you through the dullest of meetings during the working day). I'm sure I should probably be concentrating on form or pace or some other running-related technique but unfortunately I'm not. Most of the time I can't even remember what goes through my head on my long runs, which I tell myself is a blessing.
I don't get much practice at hills these days, so I decided that my last long run should be a hilly one and headed off to the dreaded Horsenden Hill for an out and back route. Every time I set foot on the bottom of that hill, I berate myself for taking the route - it's a vile steep incline from the start, with a few dips along the way, and really tests the old lungs. It doesn't seem so steep on the way back but I can't quite tell whether that is psychological or topographical. However, I learnt yesterday that not only is it steep, but it's a damn sight nearer my new house than I thought it was, which meant that I had to find an extra 3 mile loop before I headed home.
As a result, I ended up taking in about 5 hills in total. Not all as steep as Horsenden, but enough to feel everything working. No squeaking of lungs, which is good. Some squeaking of hip, which is not so good. I did take in a few new streets as well, and looking at the massive mansions of posh Ealing is quite distracting. I was particularly taken with the huge white house on top of hill 4, which in an ideal world is probably worth a couple of million pounds, but is instead in total disrepair. Every possible bit of paint was peeling off and/or filthy, and it reminded me of Johnny Weismuller's house in Beverley Hills when I took the 'homes of the Stars' tour in LA. Overrun with weeds, run down and filthy, a massive mansion unable to be sold on or developed until Johnny's estate runs out of money - a condition of his will. I remembered thinking that they certainly weren't spending any of the estate money on upkeep, which would have seemed to me a pretty quick way of getting rid of the dosh and being able to sell the house on. It would have costs millions of dollars just to weed the garden.
Look at me, comparing Ealing to LA (not actually possible with yesterday's weather). I should start comparing to Brooklyn first, as that is my destination on Thursday. Will fit one more run in here in London, then the rest of my taper will have to take place on the other side of the Atlantic. What a hardship!
While I wish my running buddy was a bit closer for training runs, it's lovely to think that I'll be running over the Brooklyn Bridge soon in a last minute leg loosener, getting ready for Central Park and Times Square on Sunday. I am privileged to run in such iconic locations, and it makes running round suburban Ealing easier to bear.
NY, here I come!
LON
Monday 14 March 2011
Thursday 10 March 2011
the F word
I realise it's been a while since my last post - I suppose I've just been too busy doing things to blog about them.
Admittedly I did have a little slack period after last week's Lost in South London fiasco but it wasn't all deliberate - honest! First of all, I had a weekend trip to Vienna. Regular readers will know that I am not averse to running in new cities, in fact I love a new route that combines sightseeing. However, Vienna was taken over by European radiologists conferring and confabulating, so we were consigned to a hotel out near the airport. This meant that the local scenery was not so wunderbar but the hotel did have a gym. So I packed some very lightweight running stuff, planning to fit in a quick treadmill session and keep my sightseeing to a more sociable even pace.
Unfortunately the hotel then tried to charge me 9 euros to use the treadmill and I had a Northern moment, refusing point blank to pay for something I actually hate (cf several other posts re hatred of running on rubber belts while watching daytime tv) and regretting not bringing some cold weather kit so I could hit the ring road. Instead I decided to have a extra hour of Vienna tourist time and resolved to fit an extra session in this week when I got back to London.
And how glad am I that I did? While I would have loved to run round central Vienna (a gorgeous city, full of runners and blessed with perfect weather last weekend), I have had an absolute ball running round my local area this week.
Running is fun again! Fun, fun, fun!! (Beach Boys or Housemartins, take your pick for soundtrack to that exclamation)
It's been a combination of factors - perfect weather brought back from Vienna (cold, but bright sunshine), the later sunset giving me some spectacular warm glows over my evening runs, not having to dodge any foxes en route and a general buzz from the running itself
I have loved all 3 runs so far this week and plan to fit in 2 more before the close of the weekend, including a final long run. So what if I'm fat and slow, this running lark is fun! (Maybe not that bit of tonight's speedwork session where my lungs started to make a squeaking noise on the exhale but, hey, that stopped when I started jogging again).
If I can maintain this rekindled love of running until March 20, then NYC will be a blast. I am so excited about the race now, excited to see my running buddy again, excited to get out there and be cheered on by the world's most positive crowd.
Go, fresh air! Go, cancer! Go, Nylon!
LON
Admittedly I did have a little slack period after last week's Lost in South London fiasco but it wasn't all deliberate - honest! First of all, I had a weekend trip to Vienna. Regular readers will know that I am not averse to running in new cities, in fact I love a new route that combines sightseeing. However, Vienna was taken over by European radiologists conferring and confabulating, so we were consigned to a hotel out near the airport. This meant that the local scenery was not so wunderbar but the hotel did have a gym. So I packed some very lightweight running stuff, planning to fit in a quick treadmill session and keep my sightseeing to a more sociable even pace.
Unfortunately the hotel then tried to charge me 9 euros to use the treadmill and I had a Northern moment, refusing point blank to pay for something I actually hate (cf several other posts re hatred of running on rubber belts while watching daytime tv) and regretting not bringing some cold weather kit so I could hit the ring road. Instead I decided to have a extra hour of Vienna tourist time and resolved to fit an extra session in this week when I got back to London.
And how glad am I that I did? While I would have loved to run round central Vienna (a gorgeous city, full of runners and blessed with perfect weather last weekend), I have had an absolute ball running round my local area this week.
Running is fun again! Fun, fun, fun!! (Beach Boys or Housemartins, take your pick for soundtrack to that exclamation)
It's been a combination of factors - perfect weather brought back from Vienna (cold, but bright sunshine), the later sunset giving me some spectacular warm glows over my evening runs, not having to dodge any foxes en route and a general buzz from the running itself
I have loved all 3 runs so far this week and plan to fit in 2 more before the close of the weekend, including a final long run. So what if I'm fat and slow, this running lark is fun! (Maybe not that bit of tonight's speedwork session where my lungs started to make a squeaking noise on the exhale but, hey, that stopped when I started jogging again).
If I can maintain this rekindled love of running until March 20, then NYC will be a blast. I am so excited about the race now, excited to see my running buddy again, excited to get out there and be cheered on by the world's most positive crowd.
Go, fresh air! Go, cancer! Go, Nylon!
LON
Friday 4 March 2011
How many times can a person lose Hammersmith?
I've been neglecting my running this week - work and potential redundancy issues have reached critical mass and distracted me from my normal routine. My early starts have been reserved for staff meetings and one to ones with affected team members, not leaving me much spare time for training.
I did however manage to keep one evening free for a long run. In fact, my longest run. I'm not going to have time this weekend to do a long run - I'm going to Vienna for the weekend with a friend, and it seems unfair to her to take off for an 11 mile run when we are only there for a couple of days. Obviously, a runner knows that this is the ideal way to sightsee, but my travelling companion thinks my running activity is a sign of insanity and therefore I'm going to have to make do with a couple of shortish runs in the hotel gym before breakfast
So I opted to bring my long run forward a couple of days and run home from work. Since I moved house last summer, in theory I am now within long run distance of my place of work. Admittedly it's more of a marathon training long run than a half marathon one - effectively it's probably 14 miles between home and work, maybe a bit less or more depending on the route I decide to take. Running home would be a great way to save time and achieve a training goal - the ultimate in multitasking.
Wrong! I set off happily in the sunshine after work on Wednesday, hoping to get across Battersea, though the park and over to the north side of the river before the sun came down. My final destination was set for B&Q in Chiswick, where I would end my run with the purchase of a new kitchen tap and a ride home in the car by Beloved.
Less than a mile from the office, I set off merrily down the wrong road in south London. This applies literally and figuratively. God forbid London councils should include road signs at the start of every road, are we all supposed to just have a TomTom in our head now? I passed Nine Elms Sainsburys, blithely assuming this meant I was on Nine Elms road. Nope, I was on Wandsworth Road which, instead of hugging the river to Battersea Park, heads south west away from the river and the park.
If they ever wanted to film The Wire somewhere in England, Wandsworth Road would be a nice place to start - 'projects' on either side of the road, interspersed with desolation and some of the scariest looking pubs I have ever seen. There was the odd quirky bar or shop, for those middle class south Londoners who like to 'keep it real', but that was it. I did think about getting my phone out to check where I was but clearly Wandsworth Road doesn't get many runners and the entire population seemed to stop and stare at me as I hurtled past, so I didn't feel too confident about stopping and flashing an iphone around. I did however get a lovely mouthful of very strong dope smoke, just to make the run a bit more interesting. To make matters worse, Battersea Power Station loomed large in the background, mocking me with its ever increasing distance from my route.
So when I finally reached the bottom of Queenstown Road, meaning I knew where I was and how I could get to the park, I was deliriously happy. I was also conscious that my detour was going to significantly impact on my overall mileage but the sun was still shining so I just stopped worrying and sped up to reach the park while it was still light.
As I got into the park I got out my phone to see how far I'd run and bloody Endomondo hadn't worked! So I had to start tracking my run there and then, feeling totally deflated that I couldn't even take comfort from the fact I'd knocked a few miles off the distance already.
After being chased through the park by two yappy dogs and one careless owner, I was starting to feel a bit harrassed about the whole running home lark. The sun was going down, the temperature was plummeting and I remembered I had brought no food with me at all. At this stage, if I was an emoticon, it would be 'Frowny face'.
Relieved to see Chelsea and familiar territory, I went heading off north and onto the Kings Road. Knowing that this was essentially taking me south west again, I thought I had better start heading in the right direction and headed off north towards Parsons Green. With a quick pitstop for some emergency JellyTots in Parsons Green co-op, I headed off towards Fulham, with a view to running though Hammersmith and then into Chiswick.
Those of you who followed the marathon training in 2009 might recall the 'losing Hammersmith Bridge' incident. This week I went one step further and lost the whole of Hammersmith. Some might call this more efficient, but emoticon-wise, this took me into 'tears running down face' mode
As I went further and further down Fulham Road, distracted by very nice looking cafes, restaurants and posh butcher shops, I found myself heading South West yet again. Like a faulty compass. Given that the whole point of choosing the Battersea route was to avoid running through Putney the sign saying 'Putney' (straight ahead) was enough to drive me to a stiff drink. Instead it was more likely that it was me that was stiff, getting colder and colder as the evening wore on and by now running in circles.
As Fulham Road is much more suited to getting out an iphone and looking lost, I finally stopped for as short a time as possible, to find Hammersmith before I froze into an ice statue. Pointed in the right direction by GoogleMaps, I made one final phone call to advise Beloved that B&Q Chiswick was now a pipe dream and 'could I have a lift home from the tube station instead?'
Running the final leg back to Hammersmith, I have never been so cold. I could almost feel my thigh muscles stiffening as I moved, the temperature had dropped so dramatically. I have never been so pleased to see Hammersmith tube station in my entire life. Anyone who has been through the station will know that this is a sign of utter desperation.
Cold, miserable and fearing the worst for stiff muscles the next day, I prowled the shops of the tube station to find a suitable recovery foodstuff. I made do with the world's sweetest chocolate milkshake - though I could only finish half, it was so sugary.
Home, showered and feeling very sorry for my navigation skills, I vowed never to run south of the river again unless accompanied by a native. We northerners really need to know our limitations.
LON
I did however manage to keep one evening free for a long run. In fact, my longest run. I'm not going to have time this weekend to do a long run - I'm going to Vienna for the weekend with a friend, and it seems unfair to her to take off for an 11 mile run when we are only there for a couple of days. Obviously, a runner knows that this is the ideal way to sightsee, but my travelling companion thinks my running activity is a sign of insanity and therefore I'm going to have to make do with a couple of shortish runs in the hotel gym before breakfast
So I opted to bring my long run forward a couple of days and run home from work. Since I moved house last summer, in theory I am now within long run distance of my place of work. Admittedly it's more of a marathon training long run than a half marathon one - effectively it's probably 14 miles between home and work, maybe a bit less or more depending on the route I decide to take. Running home would be a great way to save time and achieve a training goal - the ultimate in multitasking.
Wrong! I set off happily in the sunshine after work on Wednesday, hoping to get across Battersea, though the park and over to the north side of the river before the sun came down. My final destination was set for B&Q in Chiswick, where I would end my run with the purchase of a new kitchen tap and a ride home in the car by Beloved.
Less than a mile from the office, I set off merrily down the wrong road in south London. This applies literally and figuratively. God forbid London councils should include road signs at the start of every road, are we all supposed to just have a TomTom in our head now? I passed Nine Elms Sainsburys, blithely assuming this meant I was on Nine Elms road. Nope, I was on Wandsworth Road which, instead of hugging the river to Battersea Park, heads south west away from the river and the park.
If they ever wanted to film The Wire somewhere in England, Wandsworth Road would be a nice place to start - 'projects' on either side of the road, interspersed with desolation and some of the scariest looking pubs I have ever seen. There was the odd quirky bar or shop, for those middle class south Londoners who like to 'keep it real', but that was it. I did think about getting my phone out to check where I was but clearly Wandsworth Road doesn't get many runners and the entire population seemed to stop and stare at me as I hurtled past, so I didn't feel too confident about stopping and flashing an iphone around. I did however get a lovely mouthful of very strong dope smoke, just to make the run a bit more interesting. To make matters worse, Battersea Power Station loomed large in the background, mocking me with its ever increasing distance from my route.
So when I finally reached the bottom of Queenstown Road, meaning I knew where I was and how I could get to the park, I was deliriously happy. I was also conscious that my detour was going to significantly impact on my overall mileage but the sun was still shining so I just stopped worrying and sped up to reach the park while it was still light.
As I got into the park I got out my phone to see how far I'd run and bloody Endomondo hadn't worked! So I had to start tracking my run there and then, feeling totally deflated that I couldn't even take comfort from the fact I'd knocked a few miles off the distance already.
After being chased through the park by two yappy dogs and one careless owner, I was starting to feel a bit harrassed about the whole running home lark. The sun was going down, the temperature was plummeting and I remembered I had brought no food with me at all. At this stage, if I was an emoticon, it would be 'Frowny face'.
Relieved to see Chelsea and familiar territory, I went heading off north and onto the Kings Road. Knowing that this was essentially taking me south west again, I thought I had better start heading in the right direction and headed off north towards Parsons Green. With a quick pitstop for some emergency JellyTots in Parsons Green co-op, I headed off towards Fulham, with a view to running though Hammersmith and then into Chiswick.
Those of you who followed the marathon training in 2009 might recall the 'losing Hammersmith Bridge' incident. This week I went one step further and lost the whole of Hammersmith. Some might call this more efficient, but emoticon-wise, this took me into 'tears running down face' mode
As I went further and further down Fulham Road, distracted by very nice looking cafes, restaurants and posh butcher shops, I found myself heading South West yet again. Like a faulty compass. Given that the whole point of choosing the Battersea route was to avoid running through Putney the sign saying 'Putney' (straight ahead) was enough to drive me to a stiff drink. Instead it was more likely that it was me that was stiff, getting colder and colder as the evening wore on and by now running in circles.
As Fulham Road is much more suited to getting out an iphone and looking lost, I finally stopped for as short a time as possible, to find Hammersmith before I froze into an ice statue. Pointed in the right direction by GoogleMaps, I made one final phone call to advise Beloved that B&Q Chiswick was now a pipe dream and 'could I have a lift home from the tube station instead?'
Running the final leg back to Hammersmith, I have never been so cold. I could almost feel my thigh muscles stiffening as I moved, the temperature had dropped so dramatically. I have never been so pleased to see Hammersmith tube station in my entire life. Anyone who has been through the station will know that this is a sign of utter desperation.
Cold, miserable and fearing the worst for stiff muscles the next day, I prowled the shops of the tube station to find a suitable recovery foodstuff. I made do with the world's sweetest chocolate milkshake - though I could only finish half, it was so sugary.
Home, showered and feeling very sorry for my navigation skills, I vowed never to run south of the river again unless accompanied by a native. We northerners really need to know our limitations.
LON
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