Well, two visits to the podiatrists later, and it seems that there is good news and bad news
The good news is I haven't got a fracture
The bad news is I have got some random acute injury which hurts to run on, and means I have to stay off my running feet for a couple of weeks until it gets better. The doc even tried strapping my foot up to see if altering the mechanics would help but to no avail. It's rest, anti inflammatories and (im)patience for me for a while
The weather here continues to be amazing, so pretty heartbroken to miss out on all this fairweather training, and will have to resort to my very rickety old bike to get some outdoor cross training in.
Not being able to run has made me fantasize about running somewhat, I've been musing on my marathon experience of 2009 and wondering what it will be like in Berlin this year. Will I have a similar experience? Will it be positive? Will it be negative?
It also occurred to me that my marathon memory is starting to fade. When I try to plan for this year's test, and I look back on lessons learnt, I've realised that I'm starting to forget the experience.
To refresh my memory, and provide a tangible record, this and my next couple of blog posts will be a retrospective of the 5 boroughs 2009. For those of you who've heard it all before, I apologise. And hell, apologies to the rest of you too.
Pre-marathon I remember well, as it basically involved a very long sleepless night. Whoever decided to hold a marathon the day after Halloween, when America par-tays, was a very foolish or very cruel person. Wisdom tells you to get an early night before a marathon. Easier said than done.
Adrenalin and nerves were enought to keep me awake. Not content with the body's ability to keep me alert, the pre-marathon gods had also conspired to make Halloween the night the clocks went back an hour too. I was in utter panic at the thought of my alarm clock not being set to the right time, panic at the thought the hotel would forget my wake call, panic at not getting any sleep. A very restful combination, you will agree.
The final straw was the group of people who decided to par-tay in the corridor outside my hotel room. I thought shouting at a bunch of complete strangers, who felt well within their rights to be shouting and hollering at 3.30 am in a hotel corridor, was pretty much the nadir of my pre-marathon experience. But then I hadn't used a portapotty at that point.
If I remember correctly, we got to the ferry terminal in Manhatten for the trip to Staten Island at about 6am. But it might have been earlier. Who knows, it was unholy, that is certain. There was an amorphous mob of lycra waiting to get on a ferry and you couldn't help but feel sorry for anyone who might have just had a great night out clubbing and wanted to get home afterwards in a dishevelled Halloween costume.
I remember the ferry ride being very serene, with Lady Liberty looking on. I remember the transfer bus to the start being a bit more hectic, but with the added entertainment of seeing what everyone had decided to wear as a disposable pre-race outfit.
When we got to the start area, we found we still had a couple of hours to kill. Thankfully NY is a sensible woman who had brought magazines and a paper to read. We also had plenty of time to visit the delightful portaloos for the ritual pre-race toilet visits. Equipped with toilet paper and hand wipes (get us), we were ready for anything. Even for the misfortune of using a toilet that had been frequented by a fool who thought chilli was a good pre-race dinner.
Pre-start is just a lot of sitting and waiting (sit, don't stand - after all, you're going to be on your feet plenty for the next few hours), watching other people's rituals. Lots of 'thanking your lucky stars you get to wear a sports bra rather than just a loose running vest'. Men have a lot more 'chafables' than we ladies, and for that I am eternally grateful.
And then the moment of truth, where they call you to the start. It had been raining overnight so the start area was fairly muddy and it seemed unlikely that any charity would be able to use the clothes we dumped unceremoniously at the start. A complete stranger took our photo on his BlackBerry to email to us, and we were ready to go. With the cheesy sound of Francis Albert Sinatra blaring out, we set off in a throng towards the Verrazzano Bridge and all of a sudden, that was it. Racing. Across the bridge. With a perfect view of just how far you have to run for the rest of the day stretching out on your left.
As you as you leave the bridge, you enter Borough 2 - the biggie, Brooklyn. A major chunk of the race is run through Brooklyn, which is probably just as well given the amount of visual stimulation it provides. And then there is the support.
Bay Ridge, the residential part of Brooklyn that kicks it all off was lined with complete strangers - all shouting our names. At first, natural manners kick in and you think 'ooh that person must know me' Then you realise 'oh no, I have my name on my shirt' and wave anyway but after about 10 miles you realise that you can't acknowledge everyone who cheers you along.
The first couple of miles are all about checking people out, figuring out who your pacemakers are, seeing who is doing the weirdest thing mid marathon (bouncing a basketball all the way round, for example). Fancy dress is not a big thing in the NY marathon, which is a relief if you've ever been slapped in the face by a balloon mid-race at the Great North Run, but there is still plenty of gimmick runs to keep you mentally occupied. Taking in my fellow runners helps me get mentally settled in, establish a vague community, get into a pace. All important stuff at the outset.
Then I had my long race toilet panic - I knew I would have at least one, and I had to stop at about mile 4 in Brooklyn. That one visit to the portaloo ensured I would never need the toilet again during the race, even if I drank in gallons of fluid. I still have Nam-style flashbacks about the inside of that toilet - to the day I die I will not understand how a previous visitor had managed to do what they did that high up the wall - but it had the positive effect of giving me toilet-fright and ensuring I would run to the finish before I stopped again
And it was uphill from there - literally.
Stay tuned for part 2
LON
Thursday 21 April 2011
Monday 18 April 2011
Jealousy, panic and a waste of beautiful Spring weather
It's been a difficult week for me, on a personal and sporting level. The search for freelance work continues apace, and a vague depression is setting in at the lack of immediate income and the current inability to pay my mortgage after May.
I was also heavily distracted by legal stuff and nonsense re my redundancy claim, which sapped most of my energy last week. It's ironic that all this happens when you start spending huge periods of time in your own company - just when you need others to take your mind off things, you actually enter a period of your life where you don't get a lot of company. And I can't keep popping out to meet people for coffee or lunch, as this all eats into work time and income must be found.
Not helping my mood is the added problem of my right foot. Following last Sunday's fiasco, I'd stayed off the pavements to help ease the injury but of course, this prevents me from my regular stress release of a run. So it all builds up.
Yesterday was the London Marathon, and I was green with envy watching everyone experience the wonders and horrors of 26.2 miles. In typical British fashion, a mild sunny day was transformed in everyone's mind to a small heatwave, but I suppose given that most training has been done in the bleak British winter, it probably does class as the warmest running conditions most first-timers have experienced. Personally, I thought it was pretty near perfect weather yesterday, and I hope it actually helped more people than they realised. I will definitely attempt to get a place in the lottery next year, although I steer clear of running in a charity spot. If I get in that should guarantee some fairly foul weather for all those anti-sunshiners out there.
Inspired by the marathon, and feeling little or no pain in my foot, I headed off into the 'dreaded' sunshine for a run round the local 3 parks. I got to the first park, about a mile from home, and felt the foot go into spasm again. The pain was excruciating and I stopped to walk instead to the nearest park gate, trying to be sensible and not run until it stopped. After a couple of minutes walking, the pain completely disappeared so I set off at a jog again - and it immediately resumed 'agony' mode.
Slinking home at a slow walking pace, I realised that this was a biggie, and with a marathon to run later this year I had to be a grown up about it and stop running until it was sorted.
Some Google self help later, I've come up with two options for my foot. It's either a stress fracture or extensor tendonitis. Or something that has never come up on an internet forum before - I could be a ground breaker.
Despite my parlous finances, I'm biting the bullet and visiting a podiatrist in the morning. I haven't got the time to wait for an NHS consultation - it could be two months. So I'm paying £30 and hoping he can give me some relatively good news re diagnosis and prognosis.
Here's hoping Operation Siegesaule can get on track on time and that this isn't too serious. The thought of having a real injury is truly frightening and I don't think I can take any more blows right now, so here's hoping the gods of foot injuries are smiling on me
LON
I was also heavily distracted by legal stuff and nonsense re my redundancy claim, which sapped most of my energy last week. It's ironic that all this happens when you start spending huge periods of time in your own company - just when you need others to take your mind off things, you actually enter a period of your life where you don't get a lot of company. And I can't keep popping out to meet people for coffee or lunch, as this all eats into work time and income must be found.
Not helping my mood is the added problem of my right foot. Following last Sunday's fiasco, I'd stayed off the pavements to help ease the injury but of course, this prevents me from my regular stress release of a run. So it all builds up.
Yesterday was the London Marathon, and I was green with envy watching everyone experience the wonders and horrors of 26.2 miles. In typical British fashion, a mild sunny day was transformed in everyone's mind to a small heatwave, but I suppose given that most training has been done in the bleak British winter, it probably does class as the warmest running conditions most first-timers have experienced. Personally, I thought it was pretty near perfect weather yesterday, and I hope it actually helped more people than they realised. I will definitely attempt to get a place in the lottery next year, although I steer clear of running in a charity spot. If I get in that should guarantee some fairly foul weather for all those anti-sunshiners out there.
Inspired by the marathon, and feeling little or no pain in my foot, I headed off into the 'dreaded' sunshine for a run round the local 3 parks. I got to the first park, about a mile from home, and felt the foot go into spasm again. The pain was excruciating and I stopped to walk instead to the nearest park gate, trying to be sensible and not run until it stopped. After a couple of minutes walking, the pain completely disappeared so I set off at a jog again - and it immediately resumed 'agony' mode.
Slinking home at a slow walking pace, I realised that this was a biggie, and with a marathon to run later this year I had to be a grown up about it and stop running until it was sorted.
Some Google self help later, I've come up with two options for my foot. It's either a stress fracture or extensor tendonitis. Or something that has never come up on an internet forum before - I could be a ground breaker.
Despite my parlous finances, I'm biting the bullet and visiting a podiatrist in the morning. I haven't got the time to wait for an NHS consultation - it could be two months. So I'm paying £30 and hoping he can give me some relatively good news re diagnosis and prognosis.
Here's hoping Operation Siegesaule can get on track on time and that this isn't too serious. The thought of having a real injury is truly frightening and I don't think I can take any more blows right now, so here's hoping the gods of foot injuries are smiling on me
LON
Monday 11 April 2011
Thames Towpath 10 torment
Yesterday I took my cuts and bruises out for a 10 mile race. Maybe racing 10 miles after only two 3 mile runs in 3 weeks is a bad idea. Maybe I should have given the foot injury another week. Or maybe yesterday wasn't my day.
Tempted out of the house by a beautiful and uncannily warm Sunday in April, and the thought of running along the lovely Thames instead of a traffic-filled road or a dog-filled park, I decided to go ahead and race anyway.
The first warning sign came when I could not get my Clif bar down me at breakfast time. Normally these are a great raceday breakfast, but yesterday I felt like I was trying to eat a brick, with no appetite whatsoever. I forced the majority of the bar down, along with a small coffee, and headed out to the race site.
All started off well, with a good even pace and no real issues with the foot injury. The uneven towpath is not the best surface for running, admittedly, but nevertheless it makes a really pleasant change to be running in glorious sunshine where the only traffic noise is the swish of a rower's oars through some very picturesque bits of the Thames. The surface caused a couple of fallers, so I was glad to get my fall out of the way earlier in the week. Yesterday's stony gritty surface was causing some nasty cuts.
After 6 miles, Beloved turned up alongside me on the bike to shout some encouragement - it was well timed, because it was at this point my faulty right foot was start to voice some serious displeasure at the level of activity I was asking of it. However, Beloved pointed out that I was making good time, so I relaxed a bit and kept on.
Unfortunately, in mile 7, just as I approached Kew Green, the foot went into major spasm. I had to stop completely for a few seconds, then limped a few yards until the pain went off. As soon as the pain subsided, I started running again.
I can hear a voice now saying 'duh, why did you start running again?'. I'll admit to be pathetically stubborn on several points and one of those is definitely race mementos worth winning. I was determined to finish and get my engraved pint glass so onwards I went. Also, from a practical point of view, I had driven to the race start and had to get back to the car so I could get home, so really had very little choice. I am not totally mad.
I managed another half a mile before stopping again. This time I loosened the laces on my right shoe to ease the pressure, and remove a stone that had worked its way in. Off I pressed again and made it safely to the 9 mile market without further incident. As soon as I entered the final mile though, my foot made its final protest and went into spasm again. I part-limped, part-hopped, part-ran the final mile - finishing in a depressingly slow 1:42 - 11 minutes slower than last year. I wasn't totally last, but very nearly.
The patronising tones of the marshals didn't help either. They seemed to be talking to me like I was some simpleton who had decided randomly to run that race because it was a nice day. I wanted to say 'I run faster than this, I do, I do' but couldn't for wincing with pain.
On the plus side, I got the damn glass - so it was not a total failure
I'm back in rest mode with the foot, and hoping to be back out again for another 10 mile race in 11 days. Certifiable - yes. Stupid - maybe.
LON
Tempted out of the house by a beautiful and uncannily warm Sunday in April, and the thought of running along the lovely Thames instead of a traffic-filled road or a dog-filled park, I decided to go ahead and race anyway.
The first warning sign came when I could not get my Clif bar down me at breakfast time. Normally these are a great raceday breakfast, but yesterday I felt like I was trying to eat a brick, with no appetite whatsoever. I forced the majority of the bar down, along with a small coffee, and headed out to the race site.
All started off well, with a good even pace and no real issues with the foot injury. The uneven towpath is not the best surface for running, admittedly, but nevertheless it makes a really pleasant change to be running in glorious sunshine where the only traffic noise is the swish of a rower's oars through some very picturesque bits of the Thames. The surface caused a couple of fallers, so I was glad to get my fall out of the way earlier in the week. Yesterday's stony gritty surface was causing some nasty cuts.
After 6 miles, Beloved turned up alongside me on the bike to shout some encouragement - it was well timed, because it was at this point my faulty right foot was start to voice some serious displeasure at the level of activity I was asking of it. However, Beloved pointed out that I was making good time, so I relaxed a bit and kept on.
Unfortunately, in mile 7, just as I approached Kew Green, the foot went into major spasm. I had to stop completely for a few seconds, then limped a few yards until the pain went off. As soon as the pain subsided, I started running again.
I can hear a voice now saying 'duh, why did you start running again?'. I'll admit to be pathetically stubborn on several points and one of those is definitely race mementos worth winning. I was determined to finish and get my engraved pint glass so onwards I went. Also, from a practical point of view, I had driven to the race start and had to get back to the car so I could get home, so really had very little choice. I am not totally mad.
I managed another half a mile before stopping again. This time I loosened the laces on my right shoe to ease the pressure, and remove a stone that had worked its way in. Off I pressed again and made it safely to the 9 mile market without further incident. As soon as I entered the final mile though, my foot made its final protest and went into spasm again. I part-limped, part-hopped, part-ran the final mile - finishing in a depressingly slow 1:42 - 11 minutes slower than last year. I wasn't totally last, but very nearly.
The patronising tones of the marshals didn't help either. They seemed to be talking to me like I was some simpleton who had decided randomly to run that race because it was a nice day. I wanted to say 'I run faster than this, I do, I do' but couldn't for wincing with pain.
On the plus side, I got the damn glass - so it was not a total failure
I'm back in rest mode with the foot, and hoping to be back out again for another 10 mile race in 11 days. Certifiable - yes. Stupid - maybe.
LON
hitting the wall
It hasn't really taken me over three weeks to finish the New York half marathon - I have merely been neglecting the blog, for reasons that will become clear
The New York race was fantastic. As usual, the city was very kind to me, giving me lots of sunshine and no rain on race day. Admittedly it was cold, and my mistake was not to wear enough clothing for the race (I think I have only just managed to repair my chapped knees in the last couple of days) but apart from that, everything went really well.
I managed to knock 4 minutes off last year's time, even including a toilet stop, and feel really confident again about my ability to progress in my running. I know Berlin is a long way off, but it's important to me at my age to not feel like it's all downhill and for that, I am really pleased with my NYC half time.
Since the race though, things have not been so rosy. I managed to run once on the Wednesday after the race, but on the Thursday I pulled a muscle in the top of my foot going downstairs (the shame). I've done this before but on the other foot and I know that rest is the answer, so I just took a week off and tried to stay off the foot as much as possible. On top of that, my work decided it would be a good idea to make me redundant, which proved a fairly time-consuming distraction from foot injuries and running.
It's been a tense time, with lots of downs and very few ups, and there is still a whole mess to sort out and God knows how it will be sorted. However, there are positives that I am trying to take from the situation.
I've decided to go freelance and work from home. This should give me much greater flexibility with my running and mean that it is easier to fit in training, as I won't have to be commuting into London every day. I'll miss the long runs home, but there is nothing to stop me finding another route nearer the time, and it will be two hours of my life I will get back on a daily basis
Secondly, I think it is going to have a really good effect on my weight. I've already lost four pounds on the stress diet, but working from home has already meant lots of healthy lunches and no temptation from the office cake and biscuit mountain. So that should also have a positive contributionn to my marathon training
My first redundancy run, however, has not worked out so well. I headed out midweek around 5.30, after closing the computer down for the day. I was feeling quite stressed by the events of the day, and thought a run would clear my head. By 5.37 I was lying flat on my back about half a mile from home, wondering where my glasses had landed and worried that I had actually lost part of my head, rather than cleared it.
I'm still not sure what happened, whether I tripped over myself or a paving stone, but all of a sudden I was conscious I was heading towards the floor. More importantly, I could see a waist level brick wall heading towards my face, as I hurtled towards someone's front garden wall. My first reaction was to protect my face (vanity = king of the emotions) and somehow managed to twist myself round in a corkscrew fashion so I landed on the wall with the length of my left side. I then ricocheted back off the wall and rolled onto the ground in a Starsky and Hutch style, glasses flying off my face in god knows what direction.
Of course, this had to happen on a main road. My vanity kicked in immediately and I got straight up, picking up my glasses and (pathetically) stopping my GPS. I let out a very loud 'ow' and looked down to see blood pouring out of about 5 points on my left hand. My left ear felt like it had been sliced in half, and my left shoulder was protesting fairly loudly as well. So I slouched off towards home, feeling embarrassed, agonised and generally chastened by the whole experience.
Remarkably, I have only a mild graze on my right knee and elbow, and the left knee and elbow are intact. However, there is not much left of my little finger on my left hand apart from blood and scabs. I somehow have managed to cheese grate the inside of my ear, leaving the outside intact (don't ask, I'm never going to figure that one out). I have also cheese grated the back of my left shoulder, and have a big hole in the front of the same shoulder that, bizarrely, resembles a bullet hole.
Hell, maybe that's it, maybe I was shot and that's why I went down! Yes - that's my story and I am sticking with it...
LON
The New York race was fantastic. As usual, the city was very kind to me, giving me lots of sunshine and no rain on race day. Admittedly it was cold, and my mistake was not to wear enough clothing for the race (I think I have only just managed to repair my chapped knees in the last couple of days) but apart from that, everything went really well.
I managed to knock 4 minutes off last year's time, even including a toilet stop, and feel really confident again about my ability to progress in my running. I know Berlin is a long way off, but it's important to me at my age to not feel like it's all downhill and for that, I am really pleased with my NYC half time.
Since the race though, things have not been so rosy. I managed to run once on the Wednesday after the race, but on the Thursday I pulled a muscle in the top of my foot going downstairs (the shame). I've done this before but on the other foot and I know that rest is the answer, so I just took a week off and tried to stay off the foot as much as possible. On top of that, my work decided it would be a good idea to make me redundant, which proved a fairly time-consuming distraction from foot injuries and running.
It's been a tense time, with lots of downs and very few ups, and there is still a whole mess to sort out and God knows how it will be sorted. However, there are positives that I am trying to take from the situation.
I've decided to go freelance and work from home. This should give me much greater flexibility with my running and mean that it is easier to fit in training, as I won't have to be commuting into London every day. I'll miss the long runs home, but there is nothing to stop me finding another route nearer the time, and it will be two hours of my life I will get back on a daily basis
Secondly, I think it is going to have a really good effect on my weight. I've already lost four pounds on the stress diet, but working from home has already meant lots of healthy lunches and no temptation from the office cake and biscuit mountain. So that should also have a positive contributionn to my marathon training
My first redundancy run, however, has not worked out so well. I headed out midweek around 5.30, after closing the computer down for the day. I was feeling quite stressed by the events of the day, and thought a run would clear my head. By 5.37 I was lying flat on my back about half a mile from home, wondering where my glasses had landed and worried that I had actually lost part of my head, rather than cleared it.
I'm still not sure what happened, whether I tripped over myself or a paving stone, but all of a sudden I was conscious I was heading towards the floor. More importantly, I could see a waist level brick wall heading towards my face, as I hurtled towards someone's front garden wall. My first reaction was to protect my face (vanity = king of the emotions) and somehow managed to twist myself round in a corkscrew fashion so I landed on the wall with the length of my left side. I then ricocheted back off the wall and rolled onto the ground in a Starsky and Hutch style, glasses flying off my face in god knows what direction.
Of course, this had to happen on a main road. My vanity kicked in immediately and I got straight up, picking up my glasses and (pathetically) stopping my GPS. I let out a very loud 'ow' and looked down to see blood pouring out of about 5 points on my left hand. My left ear felt like it had been sliced in half, and my left shoulder was protesting fairly loudly as well. So I slouched off towards home, feeling embarrassed, agonised and generally chastened by the whole experience.
Remarkably, I have only a mild graze on my right knee and elbow, and the left knee and elbow are intact. However, there is not much left of my little finger on my left hand apart from blood and scabs. I somehow have managed to cheese grate the inside of my ear, leaving the outside intact (don't ask, I'm never going to figure that one out). I have also cheese grated the back of my left shoulder, and have a big hole in the front of the same shoulder that, bizarrely, resembles a bullet hole.
Hell, maybe that's it, maybe I was shot and that's why I went down! Yes - that's my story and I am sticking with it...
LON
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
