Month: April 2011

Rewards

I got back from the gym an hour and a half ago, since when I have had a hot bath, watched a trashy TV programme (The Model Agency) and eaten a trashy meal (beans on toast). I then ate some cereal straight from the packet. There is a Cameron Diaz film on in the background as I write this. Despite the bath, I feel a bit dirty now.

At the gym I ran the same interval programme as two weeks ago, and the air conditioners weren’t working so I sweated a lot. It went well – I was able to run all the sections at the speeds I planned and I felt like I was pushing myself hard to do it. Sadly, however, I think the reason I felt so good after the run was that I found out that I hadn’t put on any weight this week, after mysteriously gaining 7 lbs since New Year.

It saddens me to spend any time thinking about weight, fatness and thinness. One of the things I love about running is that it frees me from worrying about what I eat. Food becomes fuel as well as something to be enjoyed. I love the protein cravings brought on by high mileage. I love the mid-morning snacks when I’m feeling a bit faint after a pre-breakfast run. I love the pre-run bananas and the post-run energy drinks and the mid-run flapjacks. I love food, and I resent any time spent worrying about whether I’m eating too much of it.

I’m not, I don’t think. Why just yesterday I turned down a second piece of carrot cake.

 

Dirty Dozen

12 miles today, by myself due to manflu. 1h 33 mins’ pounding the streets; a football game with no half time. The first 4 miles felt good, the tedium set in during the middle 4, but the pain didn’t really arrive until mile 9, at which point I was leaving Camden and just starting the slow climb north.

I haven’t had a really painful run since finishing my marathon training. When I was regularly running over 13 miles of a Sunday I judged my fitness on the time in the run that my hip joints started to scrape together like chalk on a blackboard. It was a temporary pain and I’m not sure how, but I knew it would go away once I stopped.

On the day I ran the marathon, the hips kept quiet until mile 19. This morning they were 10 miles short of that. It hurt, but I knew I wouldn’t stop running even though I wanted to, very much. I got through it by thinking about the sun, the song that was playing at that moment, the passing strangers who might judge me for stopping, my lunch. Anything, basically, other than the state of my legs or lungs.

It was a slog to crown a week of slogs. 32 hard miles, and I’m half way through the plan. I don’t know how fast I can go yet, maybe this week will give me a clue.

Pull this thread as I walk away

Before leaving the flat this morning I planned the route of my 6 mile tempo run (moderate), with half a mile warm up and cool down. I committed the start and finish of the tempo section to memory and set off. 

All was going well until I found myself on the Seven Sisters Road and realised I was running a completely different route. I’m not sure what’s to blame- maybe the stupor brought on by a massive meal last night, but more likely the EXCELLENT playlist the genius delivered to my iPod. Starting with Weezer’s Sweater Song, the Indie disco in my head was bip bopping away and, like Thom Yorke, “for a minute there, I lost myself”. 

I’m quite glad it happened – it was a dreadful run but I can’t tell how dreadful owing to not knowing how far I actually ran. suffice it to say the first two tempo miles were great and the remaining four were laughable. I walked twice and slowed to a bona fide jog for the last mile. Ho. Riffic.