Running the North Norfolk Coast

I had a short break in the UK over the weekend. I don't really do UK breaks. I am a UK weather jinx, ensuring that any holiday taken within the UK will cause rain, snow or unseasonal temperatures. Often all in the same trip. I must have really confused the weather gods of North Norfolk, though, the weather was really nice for most of the time, with glorious sunshine for all but one of the afternoons I was away. I visit 2-3 times a year and I think this was the first time when it wasn't cold or raining. Ha, fooled you, Norfolk weather god!

Even though I was on holiday, I can't really take a break from marathon training. But that was ok, because I knew that there was a coastal path in North Norfolk that I could follow. Our accommodation in the picturesque village of Blakeney was about 100 yards from the path, so there was no excuse but to run it!

On Friday evening, I headed out for an exploratory 6 mile run. Friday late afternoon/early was quite dull and grey, not showing the coastal path at its best. It also meant that no one was out there walking, which gave me 6 miles of isolated running to enjoy. Just me, a tiny frog and a reed warbler (I had to look up the bird when I got back to the flat, obviously - I'm not a twitcher!). At first, it was unnerving being so alone when running. As a London dweller, this doesn't happen very often and usually not for longer than a few yards. So to go 4 miles before I saw another soul was a strange but pleasant feeling. I didn't need to feel scared or threatened (or maybe reed warblers do mug humans, I don't know), I just felt free.

On Saturday morning, it was back out for a longer 12 mile run. By now, the sun was out again, which meant all the tourists and dog walkers were too. So the first 3 miles of the run were definitely not isolated as before. Unlike London, however, people in Norfolk move to one side when you shout 'excuse me'. They share the path, and even smile, wave and say hello. This makes such a change for me from running the Thames towpath, where sometimes people would rather throw you in the river than budge half an inch to the left. By the time I got to Cley, the next village, I was high on camaraderie and neighbourliness.

After leaving Cley, though, the terrain started to change. The path continues along a vast expanse of shingle beach, alternating between the beach itself and a high shingle ridge. Running along the ridge was ok, as the shingle was compacted, but running along the beach was a new and challenging experience. My feet sank into the deep, loose, shingle with every step, so it became a trudge not a run. To make things a even more difficult, there was a strong wind blowing out to sea, so anything the path curved inland I was running directly into a very strong headwind. Pace went out of the window, with all my effort focussed on moving forward somehow. I couldn't even manage to open my gel while running as it was just a step too far - I had to stop dead to open it, then as I sucked it out the wind caught it and blew it all down my front. Ooh, the glamour of marathon training!

Despite this new and entirely frustrating terrain, I was loving it. With the sea to the left, beautiful rolling countryside to the right and a gorgeous blue sky above , who gives a monkeys about pace? I felt so privileged to be able to run that route, to experience such a beautiful part of the world in that way, I didn't worry about my pace. Besides, my muscles were getting a whole new workout and I was getting some 'running into a headwind' training (which I suspect may be very useful in York at some point) so I figured I was still reaping lots of benefits from my new terrain.

I had arranged to meet my Beloved in a pub for lunch at 12.30 and I realised that my slow pace over the shingle, and my gel stop, had eaten into my timings slightly. Not only that, but my legs were starting to feel like they'd had a much harder workout that 6.5 miles. I think that eating into your holiday time with a long run is one thing, but being very late for lunch is taking the mick a bit, so I decided to run it on time rather than distance, heading back to Salthouse (and the highly recommended Dun Cow) for lunch on time. After the shingle beach, I followed a conservation path up a grassy trail over undulating fields and further inland. This took me past what looked like a couple of artillery guns and lots of poppies! This bit was lovely - hard ground that didn't sink underneath me - and meant I could get a bit more pace back into my run and practice some uphill running. North Norfolk is not quite as flat as you'd think.

By the time it was time to turn back, I was sorry to leave the path. I was starting to daydream about ultra running and thinking about how nice it would be to run the whole 45 miles of the North Norfolk coastal path (well, not the shingle bit, but that would be near the end, when you might want a slow bit anyway). By the time I had made it back to the pub, with SIS gel dribbled down the front of my top and sweaty salt encrusting my face and arms, I had decided that I am definitely going to run the length of the path next year. Anyone fancy joining me?

Down in the slumps

Summary: I really want to run the Yorkshire Marathon in sub 4 hours. I really am not sure I can knock 16 minutes off my marathon time to do this. However, my training started well, with a significantly improved pace from last year’s training for the ill-fated New York marathon. Running approximately a minute per mile faster on my long slow runs, and hitting race pace easily on some of the middle distance runs, I felt like I was doing all the right things and getting the results I needed.

My plan said to do a half marathon 2 weeks ago, so I signed up to run Burnham Beeches half marathon. It’s not a flat course, so didn’t expect a PB, but did expect to run well and give myself some sort of indicator for York.

The night before was sleepless. Not because of pre-race nerves but because of a persistent cough. And the nagging doubt that maybe I shouldn’t run it if I was coughing. I decided to go ahead anyway, as the race was two laps, and I could drop out halfway if I needed to. I made sure I had a couple of inhaler puffs before I dropped my bag off and headed to the start.

I think it’s safe to say it was the hardest half I’ve ever run. Even more testing than my debut half, with its torrential rain and a foot injury. It felt as long as a marathon, and every time I took a drink I had a massive coughing fit. I basically took it as easy as was comfortable, not pushing for a time, and finished bang on 2 hours, nearly 3 minutes slower than my PB.

On reflection, I realise that this was a great prep race. I ran 13.1 miles at marathon race pace and hit it perfectly. At the time, though, I was thinking what a nightmare it was and wondered why I was even bothering to look at sub 4 targets. And I couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling of failure. Mad I know, but let’s put it down to the salbutamol, shall we?

With bank holiday travels looming, and the training plan requiring 19 miles, I took the Friday morning off to run long. I headed to Richmond Park, a tried and tested route for me, trying not to push too hard as my cough was receding but still there. I went round Richmond Park in the opposite direction from normal, which I will now describe as the ‘uphill way’. All of RP is undulating but for some reason this day (probably the cough - I know, I know) it was like climbing Everest. I had to stop and walk at one point, accompanied by a coughing fit. I never take walk breaks and only stop for toilets, so for me this felt like abject failure. My sub 4 dreams were shattered. About 12 miles in, near Pembroke House on my exit route, I had a total meltdown – I stopped, turning round and round in circles arguing with myself (possibly aloud, like a real park nutter).

My logical self said ‘you’re not 100% fit, you probably shouldn’t even be running’

My stressed marathoner self said ‘you’re quitting. If you quit now, you’ll quit on marathon day. You need to push through this’

My logical self said ‘you might do yourself some damage, maybe we should head out of the park and get the bus home’
My stressed marathoner self shouted ‘Quitter! Failure’

You get the picture. And this went on for a while...
 

My logical self then pointed out I had to catch the 14.06 from Euston to Liverpool, so I realised I couldn’t really stay in the park arguing with myself any longer. I had to get home somehow, get showered and get out. So I ran to the bottom of Kew Gardens, another 2 or so miles downhill, and caught the bus. Garmin said 15.5 miles run. A good distance, I know, but not 19 miles. I had failed. I had quit. I was miserable.

I took the whole of the bank holiday weekend off. We couldn’t go on like this, me and running - we needed some distance from each other. I had a high mileage week ahead of me, which would be the real test – if I could get through that, I would be ok. It was my birthday as well, so didn’t want to be miserable because of running on my birthday. So I ignored my trainers, laid off dairy entirely and hoped the cough would subside by the Tuesday.

Tuesday, post work, I went for a 10 mile run. It was slow. It was punctuated by 3 toilet stops (NB: birthday squid ink risotto = unsuitable pre run food). I heard my first Christmas tune in a pub on one toilet stop. But I made it round. I ran 10 miles without any arguments between my logical and marathoner selves (well, the logical self may have made a sarcastic comment about the squid ink risotto) and felt a little bit happier about running. On Thursday night, I went to club intervals. I didn’t feel particularly fit, but I did the workout, and I survived.

This weekend was the high mileage bit. Hal Higdon’s advanced programme requires you to run 10mile at race pace on the Saturday, followed by 20 miles long slow run the following day. The 10 miles were knocked out at 8:57 min pace, bringing me safely under 4 hours in a marathon. Whether I could hold it for another 16.2 miles is another question but I did it. The 20 miles were a 9:47 min pace, possibly a little too fast, but I felt good. I felt strong. I even ran the bit of Richmond Park where I had my meltdown the week before, so I could shake off the bad memories.

When I look back at the same weekend pre VLM, I was 25 minutes faster over the 20 miles. My confidence is back. I feel like I can do this. Sub 4 hours may be a bit of an ambitious target, but I’m back in a position to give it my very best shot. I was this close to giving up entirely, but so glad I didn’t.

At least, not this week…

New kit for a good cause

I probably don't need half as much kit as I own but can't seem to resist a sale bargain. Recently I have bought a couple of new pairs of Nike and Moving comfort shorts from the Sweatshop sale and a rather fabulously bright Asics vest top, a bargain at a tenner.

In a bit of forward planning, I ordered some leggings from the new A/W collection from Nike. Not really for running (no key pocket, no drawstring) but they are really very lovely so I am keeping them anyway - they'll be fine for intervals and other sessions where I don't need to carry a key with me. Look, I love them, ok - let me make as many excuses as I want!

An unexpected pay rise earlier this week coincided with a visit to the Sweatshop store on Rathbone Place, which still has a host of sale bargains in clothing. I ended up with a new long sleeve Nike top from the sale and another pair of new season Nike bottoms, this time a more functional pair of running capris with a fabulous navy camouflage-esque print. These are already my new favourite running trousers, and I haven't even worn them!

Unfortunately now I've got everything home, my drawer and a half of all my worldly lycra goods is getting a bit full. I need to have a bit of a clear out. Which is handy, because there is something happening this weekend that is the perfect home for my old running kit.

A Mile in Her Shoes is a brilliant new social enterprise set up by Nicola Miller @InHerShoesHQ, which aims to support homeless women get into running as a way of boosting their fitness and self-esteem. On Saturday 17 August in Ealing, there is a fabulous event to raise money for the project, showcasing local bands in a pub that serves an absolutely excellent range of beer, including my favourite Meantime London Pale Ale.
So if you live near Ealing, or can travel to it easily by Tube or train, why not get down to the event and support a good cause?

Nicola is also looking for unwanted but wearable running kit, including shoes, to distribute to the women benefitting from her project so at least I know where to put all those bits of lycra that I need to get rid of to fit in my lovely new trousers!

Putting the Great in North Run

I got my race pack this week for my favourite race - the Great North Run. Some days I waver and think the New York marathon is the best race in the world but really it can't compare to the Great North Run. It's part of our culture. If, like me, you grew up in the northeast of England, it's one of the major events of the year, up there with Christmas and a rare spot of hot weather. It's not even a marathon, yet it generates as much publicity and excitement as a much longer race. For me, the 13.1 miles from Newcastle to South Shields are the best 13.1 miles in the world. And here's why.

Toilets
It's a little known fact that The Great in North Run actually refers to the urge you will experience to go to the loo when you see the length of the queues. With loo waiting times like no other race, it gives you a chance to chat to fellow runners and bond over whether or not that hedge over there would be a suitable alternative if you don't get to the front before your pen closes. Everyone knows that the perfect race prep is queueing for 55 minutes, realising your pen is about to close, abandoning the queue to pee in a bush on a motorway embankment then slithering down the slope to get into your pen with seconds to spare. Isn't it?

Celebrity starters
Running the Great North Run, you get to touch the palms of the British great and good. Where else can you get to high five a collection of British celebrities as wide ranging as Sting and Ellie Simmonds at the start of a race? Not for us, the Ryan Goslings and George Clooneys of this world. We are delighted if we get to touch the palms of Ant or Dec. (Well, just Ant actually, cos they were doing a side each). You wouldn't get to start the race to 'Let's get ready to rumble' with Ryan Gosling, would you? 

The great Mo Farah started the race in 2011. This year he'll be starting it in a very different way, but it will be just as exciting for the runners waiting behind him. We're all giving him a head start. Honest.

Oggy, Oggy, Oggy. Traditions are important, and this one gets everyone off to a flyer. Many have copied, but nowhere does Oggy, Oggy, Oggy like a motorway flyover  in Newcastle. Even when it's soggy, soggy, soggy, the locals are out with the oggy, oggy, oggy. And everyone obediently responds 'oi, oi, oi' in return. It's as much part of the first mile as sorting out your Garmin pace. I don't know where it came from but I hope it never goes away!

Support
The local support for this race is incredible, given the route. Don't run the Great North Run if you want nice scenery. There is a lot of dual carriageway involved in this race. But that doesn't mean that there is only support in residential areas or at the finish by the seaside. There is support everywhere. People bring picnic chairs and put them on the hard shoulder so they can sit, hand out baby wipes (!) and watch the race. Even when it rains. To be honest, if we northeast people didn't go out in the rain, we'd be housebound so we're hardy souls. Which is just as well given the weather last year. It was so wet last year I was thanking spectators for coming out.

Even the little scrotes who hurl stuff at the runners make me smile. But not as much as...

Bus stop hose man
I love bus stop hose man. Every year, he stands on the top of a bus shelter on the outskirts of South Shields and 'cools down' the runners with his garden hose. Even last year, when - quite frankly - we were wet enough off the bloody rain. But I still love him for his constancy and reliability. You don't get bus stop hose man in New York (he'd probably be arrested). In fact, when it's warm and he takes his shirt off, he might even get arrested in South Shields. I just don't stick around long enough to find out.

Community refreshments
The final element of support is the catering. I've posted before on the North East's love of community refreshments. People in the North East are natural hosts, and genetically we are all wired to be worried that our visitors have got/had enough to eat. People going hungry would bring shame upon our house (or region). On Great North Run day, this gene takes to the streets, with its jelly babies, ice pops, orange segments, plastic cups filled to the undrinkable brim with Coke and orange squash. There's even one woman with a tin of digestive biscuits. I mean, if you're doing all that exercise, you must be hungry. Get this bit of cake down you. Ee, pet, you're wasting away...

Fancy dress
I am not a big fan of fancy dress in races. It can be a bit of a hindrance, particularly if people aren't used to running in it. But the wide motorways of the North East mean that there is plenty of room for you run past people, even if they are wearing the most cumbersome of costumes. The organisers do try to get the really big stuff to the back but there's always some sights to behold out the front. One year I say two men attempting 13.1 miles as a push me-pull you from Dr Doolittle. Which meant one had to run it backwards. Yes, that's right, backwards. There was a little gasp of awe from every runner that went past them.

Not all the fancy dress is fun to watch though. Imagine seeing this run ahead of you in the final mile. I don't have to imagine it. The image has been burned onto my retinas since September 2009.

Essay question: mankini back view is worse than front view - discuss

Size. It used to be the world's biggest half marathon until being pipped by somewhere Scandinavian. But when you turn up to go into your pen, it's hard to imagine anything bigger. The pens go back a long way, and there are so many people that it can take over 20 minutes for the people at the back to cross the start line! If you're towards the front, you can't see where the pens actually end. As the locals would say, 'hoo, man, it's massive'. You feel like you are part of something incredible.
Well, that's because you are! Enjoy!

Can you see me, mum? I'm the one in yellow! Oh, wait...

 

 

Sub 4 hour marathon - target or pipe dream?

I've been aiming for a sub 4:15 marathon for over a year now. I missed out at London Marathon 2012, with an angry ITB foiling my first attempt. I missed out at New York 2012, due to the race being cancelled. And this year I missed out at London again, by a mere 76 seconds.

I've spent the months since April wondering if I can really improve any more. I'm 40 so I'm not really sure how much improvement I have left. Some reading I've done seems to think I can only hope to maintain my pace, other opinions are that as I haven't been running that long (7 years) I've got a bit more scope for improvement.

On the positive side, since I turned 40, I've PBed twice at 10k and half marathon distance, as well as notching up 5k and 10 mile PBs too. So I like to think that I've actually benefitted from turning 40, rather than gone over the hill.

My next marathon is York on October 20. I'm always more confident about autumn marathons - I like summer training and hate winter training, so always feel better prepared for an autumn race. In the first couple of weeks of training, I had a couple of (accidental) strongly paced runs which indicated that I might be able to run a bit faster than 4:15. I started to wonder, should I aim high and train for a sub 4 hour target?

So I've subtly been doing this. Not publicising it to anyone much, just monitoring my performance and seeing how it maps across to a 9:09 race pace. My inaugural race at 5 mile distance in the anniversary run in July indicated that my PB for a 10k could be reduced by 3-4 minutes again at current form. But I'm experienced enough to know that short distance improvements don't always translate to long distance pace for me.

Last Saturday, I tackled my first 'long run', which for me is anything over 13 miles in marathon training. 16 miles, a long slow run. I know can run a half marathon comfortably below 9:09, (my PB is 1:57:15) so this was my first real test to see if I could maintain a faster pace (for me) over a longer distance.

Miles 1 and 2 were comfortable about 9:39 pace. Maybe even a little too fast for what is supposed to be a long slow run. But I thought I'd keep going and see how long I could maintain it for. Miles 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 - all at a similar pace. Mile 8 saw me drop to 10:08 but this was running up Richmond Hill so I don't feel too bad about this slip. I managed to run 15.5 miles in the end, in just under 2.5 hours, averaging 9:43 pace. In fact, my pacing was really consistent overall.

My speedwork sessions are also encouraging, averaging under 8 mins per mile for long reps. I am noticing that I am able to maintain a faster mile pace than ever before. Which is encouraging me to think big.

The only thing standing in the way of a sub 4 hour marathon time is me. If I don't train for it, I'll never do it. So I am starting to believe. Maybe I can do this sub 4 hour marathon after all.

Chapeau! Ride London 100 - a spectator's review

Today was an inaugural event in London's sporting calendar - the Prudential Ride London 100 mile cycle sportive. Initially set up to celebrate the anniversary of the London Olympics, it has already become a fixture, with ballot details for the 2014 race outlined before this year's debut had even taken place. So why the excitement?

Well, it's a very special sportive in that the roads are closed. Normally, when you ride in a cycle sportive in the UK, you take your place on the road with the rest of the weekend traffic. But not Ride London. Mayor BJ had decreed that the roads should be closed, allowing people to cycle freely and safely - and in massive numbers.

And the chance to ride most of the 2012 Olympic course, to emulate Cavendish and Armistead, was too good for nearly 20 000 people to miss. And so it was that so many turned up at the Olympic Park in Stratford on Sunday 4 August to start their 100 mile ride across London and the South East, with 15833 cyclists finishing the route on Sunday.

Obviously the fact that so many London and Surrey roads were closed was not popular with everyone. Many people complained about the road closures, but many of the complainers were people who spend a good section of their time whingeing about cyclists in general and were glad to have another reason to hate them. It didn't stop 1000s of people turning out to cheer the cyclists along the route, even in NIMBY Surrey. And for tourists and many Londoners, a quieter capital - with free entertainment - is something of a treat. There is a special feeling to be able to cross roads and not have to sprint to avoid an erratic taxi or bus. And I can only begin to imagine how surreal it must be to be able to ride your bike without worrying about cars, buses and lorries. I think the route quite cleverly covered areas with rail or tube links as well, ensuring that only the infirm were really trapped in their homes for the day.

I went along to watch my Beloved race. Normally he gets to watch me run plenty of times, but I never get to watch him ride sportives (as I can't be arsed to get up at 5am usually) so it was nice to have the opportunity to return the favour and be on spectating duty. I'd arranged to spectate at two points: near Monument and at the finish. Unfortunately, thanks to a severe delay on the Central Line, I missed him at Monument by just a few seconds, but I did manage to see a couple of other friends there who were in a later start. Determined not to miss him at the finish, I then headed straight to the Mall and got myself in position, just in time to watch the first finishers.

Despite it being a sportive, there was certainly a lot of competition. The first group of riders really went all out to 'win', making for an exciting finish to watch. It didn't work out for everyone, with someone called Joe coming off worst in a final run-in spill, but he got to walk his bike across the line and get his own special cheers. Hope his shoulder gets better soon.

Spectating for a loved one or friends at cycling is difficult, as riders go past so fast it's difficult to pinpoint single riders You need to know what colour top they're wearing and they need to know where you are standing, so they can spot you. I also distinguished myself with a pink hand clacker inherited from Beloved's Giro d'Italia trip earlier this year. Essentially this meant that friends could spot (or hear) me instead of the other way round. It also guaranteed me lots of space in my spot on the Mall, as it is deafening!

But in the end it wasn't just about watching for people I knew. As a frequent race participant myself, I know how big a different support can make so I wanted to support everybody. I ended up with very sore arms from banging boards and clacking my pink plastic hands at everyone in sight. I spent a good couple of hours watching random cyclists finish, waiting for Beloved to show up. And I loved every minute of it.

There were basically 3 main groups of cyclists at the 350m from the finish point:

• the determined sprinters, desperate for the fastest finish, not noticing where they were. These men and women are just focused on their time and their performance, oblivious to the surroundings. They will not look so good on their race photos.
• the grim faced cyclist, with little left in the tank but wearily focused on the last few 100 metres. These men and women looked so tired, like it was taking them every last ounce of energy to get them to the end. Hopefully one grimace will come out like a smile on their race photos.
• the happy cyclist, the 'oh my god look at all these people thumping the boards for me!' rider, engaging with the crowd and grinning like mad. Adrenalin had kicked in and they were loving it. Some were even taking photos and videos of the finish with their smartphones. They'll have some great race photos!

The happy cyclists made it just as much fun for the spectators, and seemed to get extra loud cheers from the crowd. While the crowd was relatively thin, it was definitely making a lot of noise and not for the first time did I wish I was out there riding, not just because it must be a great feeling to ride such an iconic finish.

I was a bit worried at the end that I might have missed Beloved. I'd been tracking him on Endomondo and knew he was close, so I started to get paranoid I'd missed him a second time. Then the speaker started playing the Black Eyed Peas, which is a band he hates with a passion. I've seen him walk out of parties when they get played. Once I heard the music, I was pretty sure that he would turn up while that song was on - and sure enough, he surged out of a small group at the 300m mark. Apparently the noise of the crowd was so loud, he didn't actually hear the Black Eyed Peas playing, which is just as well as it might have caused him to storm off course in protest. I was so excited at actually getting a glimpse of my speedster (100 miles in 5:01 seems speedy enough to me) that I didn't manage a photo, but it was still great to see a loved one so close to the finish.

This was one of the best bits of the sportive - spectators could get right up to the end to watch. It constantly frustrates me in the London Marathon that the last few 350m are just you,  a few photographers and a TV newsreader's family. You could really do with the support right to the end. Luckily for the cyclists, and us, you could follow them right to the line and beyond.

It was an incredible spectacle in general. Cycling attracts young and old, thin and fat, grumpy and happy, and it's wonderful to watch. A lot like the London marathon, but with less chafy fancy dress. And with a much, much, better medal.

So much so it's really inspired me to enter the ballot for next year. It's about time I tried a new challenge, and while I know I won't fit a triathlon schedule in my life, I think I can fit some long cycle rides in. And if that means I get to Ride London, then that would make me very happy! I'll definitely be putting my name in the ballot 'chapeau' next week.

Relax, don't do it

The last couple of weeks have marked the inevitable ‘not enough hours in the week’ point of my marathon training.

Anyone who’s trained for a marathon knows the feeling. If you’re training for your first marathon, you’ll experience it soon enough. You might have a mental week at work. You might be visiting friends. Or, you might just have the perfect storm of training, work and an uncharacteristically busy social life hit in a week.

 
Sometimes, I’ll check Twitter at breakfast and see people have been out and done 10 miles or speedwork and it’s not even 7am. These people can always fit a run in. They are superhuman. I am not superhuman. I have to sleep. Otherwise I find when I run I trip over because I’m too tired to look where I’m going. I have learnt the hard way that tripping over and hurting yourself is bad for marathon training morale.

Marathons do not run themselves so somehow you have to fit in miles. That’s why marathon training is so much harder than the race itself. Sometimes, no amount of planning can help: the simple question is – when on earth am I going to fit in a run?

Here are some of my tricks for fitting in miles and staying sane when the diary gets full.

1.     Concede.

Depending on your race target, your plan will likely have you running between 4-6 times a week. Whatever the training schedule I have set myself, I am unlikely to be able to stick to it for 16-18 weeks in a row. My life will take over at some point. My work will have to take precedent at some point. My loved ones will have birthdays, emergencies or generally demand that at some point they come before the lycra. I will go on holiday or visit friends who think I'm crazy (or antisocial) for running every single day.

Don’t sweat it. So what if one week you only run two, three four times? The training police don’t come and arrest you. Just don’t make a habit of it. Hal Higdon reckons if you do approx. 85% of your training, you’ll be fine. This is a good rule of thumb which I use when I’m feeling stressed about the demands on my time.

If there genuinely isn’t any space to fit in a run, I just shrug it off and try to follow my schedule as normal the following week. Don’t try to squeeze in extra miles to make up for missed runs. That way injury lies.

2.     Quality not quantity.

If you must concede miles or runs for the week, focus on quality not quantity. I always aim to fit in speedwork and a long run, no matter what the week throws at me. For example, last week I knew my total mileage would suffer so I ran a tough testing intervals session on Tuesday evening with my club, Ealing Eagles. It took me a good couple of days to recover properly, but that was ok, because it was a good couple of days before I could fit in a run. I also ran a few miles later in the week at race pace, and did a long run on Sunday. So, although I didn’t tick off 100% of my mileage, I felt like I had achieved some quality sessions that would help my progress.

If I’m on holiday, I do a long run the day before I leave and the day after I come back, so I don’t have to do them while I’m away. Long runs on holiday are only acceptable if you holiday alone. Otherwise they might ensure that you end up holidaying alone.

 3.     Commute.

Ask yourself, can I commute to or from work? Note: not ‘can I be arsed to commute to or from work? That is a different question!

Many people can’t do the run commute because of distance or logistics. But many of you can. So, if you can, do it. It’s a simple way to kill two birds with one stone.

If you have office shower facilities but they get a bit hectic in the morning (which is the case at my work), take your stuff and run part or all of the way home. A couple of weeks ago I ran part way home on Tuesday and all the way home on Wednesday. It was the only way to fit my miles in, but it meant I avoided the stinky BO fest that is the Tube and was still able to attend a social event in the evening.

Run commutes are particularly useful for marathon training long runs, if you’ve got a busy weekend coming up. I’ve scheduled 19 miles for the Friday of the Bank holiday, as I have family christenings and birthdays for the rest of the weekend. By running home to start the weekend, I’ll bank the miles and have the rest of the weekend to recover.

Remember, if you can’t fit the miles in one week, it’s not the end of the world. If you can’t fit the miles in for two weeks, it’s not ideal but it’s fixable. If it gets to 3-4 weeks, and you’re not able to run even though you’re actually fit to do it, you might need to consider a different training plan or race target that fits better with your lifestyle. Running should be a pleasure, not a chore.

Running in the footsteps of legends, next to a bellend

Today a lucky few of us that made it through the website crashes to get a place in the National Lottery Anniversary Run got a chance to finish a race in the Olympic Stadium. For just over 300m, we could be Mo, we could be Jess, we could be Jo, we could be Hannah, we could be David. It was an incredibly special experience, one I am lucky to have and would want to repeat over and over again.

Most runners will never get to experience a stadium finish, a crowd roaring you on towards the finish line. Those of us that could run, walk, guide or be guided, push or be pushed today can say we have heard the cheers. I can only begin to imagine how much the noise of a full stadium, roaring them on, must have propelled our Olympians forward to their haul of gold.

The crowd waiting in the stadium was a welcome relief from the total lack of support on the rest of the course. The Olympic Park is essentially a building site at the moment, a work in progress, and members of the public can’t move about freely, let along cheer on their loved ones on the course.  So it’s the first time I’ve ever run a race with no supporters, and it’s an eerie sensation.

Arguably, the run up to the track was more exciting than the final 300m. Before you head onto the track, you run into the stadium and inside, through a tunnel, to get into the centre. The organisers had come up with an ingenious idea to keep the runners motivated in the echoing tunnel space – while I ran through, speakers played the Chariots of Fire theme, cut through with Steve Cram’s commentary on Mo’s first Gold at London 2012. For me, who has ‘Steve Cram commentating on my race finish’ at about no. 11 in my bucket list, this was incredibly inspiring. I spent most of my time in the tunnel either laughing like a loon or grinning like one of those Special Brew-addled loonies on the 207 bus, but I didn’t care. I loved every second.

The race was so much fun, even Mr Condescender couldn’t spoil it. Everybody has seen these people in a race, and many women will have suffered them (I don’t why, but the ones I see seem to think women are in greater need of their encouragement). You know the one: he runs next you, telling you how far you’ve run or how far you’ve left to go (because you can’t see the mile markers and do the maths, as you’re a woman). He tells you ‘you’re doing great’ or assures you ‘you can do it’. Most of the time, I think this is misguided but quite sweet. Today I was on the end of it, and I didn't feel quite so charitable.

I’d already heard him doing his mile marker impersonation to a couple of women at the 3 mile mark. After that, I’d gone past and thought I’d seen the last of him, But then he came up alongside me for the first time.

‘good pace, good pace’

It was good pace. I was bloody delighted with it, actually. So I accepted this compliment cheerfully and gracefully, then gradually accelerated to leave him and his neon headband behind.

Then he came up alongside me again under the Helter Skelter construction,

‘You’re breathing a bit hard, you should save a bit for the end’

Ok, complete stranger, I thought. Thanks for the coaching. I’m just off trying to maintain my pace on an incline so yes, I’m breathing a little bit heavier than usual but feeling great, thanks.  But I told myself he meant well and I assured him I was fine. For this, I got another round of ‘good pace, good pace’ so I left him behind again for a bit of peace.

But there he popped up again, just before the 4 mile marker.

Him: ‘You ok?’

Me: ‘Yes, thanks’

Him: ‘good girl, good girl’

It’s a testimony to what a wonderful time I was having and how excited I was about my impending arrival into the stadium that I didn’t a) smack him round his neon headband or b) scream ‘I’m a 40 year old woman, not a bloody pet dog.

I wasn’t going to let a bit of casual sexism ruin my day.

Because it was a bloody marvellous, once-in-a-lifetime one.