May 2011 – Page 2 – Not a Jogger

Free Running

Last night I went for the first ‘free run’ I’ve done in 10 weeks. I don’t mean that I ran up the sides of buildings, leap-frogged dustbins or swung from lamposts, I mean that I was free from the clutches of a training plan and free to run however far and fast (slow) I wanted to.

All trainer-d up, I stood in the hallway plugging in my headphones and Mr N asked me where I was going on my run. “Out”, I said. “Oh, out”, he replied, “I’ve heard of that place”.

It’s been great having a training plan to work to over the last 10 weeks, but I’d forgotten how it feels to leave the house with no idea of when you’ll get back. Running just because you want to, not because you have to. Approaching every corner without knowing which way you’ll turn. Freedom is something I take for granted and experiencing it gives me a little jolt of pleasure.

A cynic might look at the 6 mile route I ran last night and note that it was exactly the same 6 mile route I’ve run many times before. How is it an expression of freedom to repeat old decisions, stick to the same established patterns, make the same choices again and again?

The same choices, I suppose. That they exist, that I make them again each time. Even if I take the same ones each time, the other ones are all there too. If there is a usual decision there must also be an unusual decision. With every extra mile that I start I consider and reject the possibility of turning around and going home, but that possibility exists. I’m not a quantum theorist, so I have no idea if it actually exists, but in my head it does.

Every time I leave the house for a run with Mr N, within the first few steps one of us will say, hilariously, “Ok, that’s enough, great run!”. So every run contains all the possible runs I could do, as well as the possibility of not running at all. That’s a big part of the pleasure, knowing that you have run when you could not have, that you made the right choice.

What I’m not clear about is whether this works in reverse. Could I could sit on the sofa, think about running, and get the same result? Maybe I’ll try that tonight.

Back to Life…

Bump. It didn’t take long to come down to earth after the race. It took two hours to get home from deepest South West London with salt still crusted on my face, by which point the joy had somewhat worn off. By the time we ate lunch I had started to feel faint and sick and my healthy glow had turned into a greenish pallor.

The week after a race is always strange, “you must be so pleased you don’t have to run now”, people say, “put your feet up!”. After my marathon, I was and I did, but a half-marathon’s just a slightly more intense weekend run. Why would i stop running afterwards? I took a day off to recover, but that was enough.

I wanted to get to the gym tonight to stretch my muscles and check everything still worked. I haven’t been there in weeks, the weather’s been so dry. It’s good to be an occasional visitor, I find, rather than a frequent flyer. Exercising on the machines still feels like a novelty and I get excited by the toys (dumbbells! Swiss balls! Lots of other things I don’t recognise and will never use!). All the music videos are new to me too, though I see Hollyoaks is still going. Watching that programme, even without sound, makes me quite depressed. It’s so shallow, meaningless and obsessed with youth, thinness and visible underwear. Perfect for the gym.

Race Report

Hurrah, it is over! I am really enjoying the post-run endorphins and feeling pleased with my performance. I ran 13.1 miles in 1 hour, 36 minutes and 7 seconds, which I think is my third fastest time and only a couple of minutes off my best.

I felt good at the start, so attempted a few miles at target pace (7mins, 15 secs). I knew that my cold would tell towards the end though, and at 8 miles I decided to slow down rather than speed up over the last few. To be honest, that made it a bit more enjoyable. I was hanging on, but not really pushing myself too hard. My main concern was to keep going, not have to stop and not kill my lungs.

It was a good race, I thought. Lovely scenery, fast field and totally flat. On a better day I could have smashed my Pb, but it feels good rather than disappointing to know that. Next time!

Here’s a pic of the medal and my time (my watch is so advanced it can’t measure hours).

Be Prepared

I’m writing this on the train to Richmond, where we’re staying the night before the race. I still have the cold, my legs ache and I haven’t run a decent mile all week, but I’m carrying on as if none of that mattered, in the hope that it won’t (it will).

Whatever, in 15 hours the race will be underway and in 17 hours it will be over. I’m as prepared as it’s possible to be. I have vaseline, sticking plasters, tissues, jelly babies, foam bananas (secret weapon), real bananas, pasta for dinner and my race number.

Wish me luck!

Wake up and smell the facts

No change with the cold.
Ran 3 miles from work, slowly.
Used many tissues.

Two and a half days to go to the race and I need to face facts: I am not going to be able to run a best time if I still feel like this, and I am probably still going to feel like this.

I will finish the race, however, and if I can do it in less than 1 hour 40 minutes that’ll be just about acceptable. Anything over 1.40 and I’ll definitely be questioning the wisdom of Mr Hall and his training plan, phlegm or no phlegm.

It is at about this point before a race that I start to wish I weren’t so competitive. It’s a very handy thing in training, pushing myself to work harder, but more likely to result in self-flagellation than congratulation on the big day. Previously, when a race has gone to plan, rather than being delighted with my new time I just feel relieved I didn’t mess it up.

So, maybe it’s a good thing I’m not on top form. I might actually give myself a break and enjoy the run. A tour of leafy London suburbs with a few hundred sweaty loons on a Sunday morning, what’s not to like?

Like Rain on your Wedding Day

It isn’t ironic, I don’t think, that I have a cough 4 days before the race after 9 weeks of pretty good health. It is, however, really annoying and something of a running cliche.

Attempting a 5 mile run with a 20 minute tempo section today, I only managed 4 and 10. Each of those miles was punctuated by several stops to cough, spit, blow my nose or clear my throat. It wasn’t a good day for pavements. Or passers by.

I have 3 days to get it all out of the system, or sunday’s race will be long and slow. Tomorrow I’m breaking out the wasabi peas.

Weekly Rrrrrround-up

OOPS.

Last week marked the penultimate week of my half-marathon training, during which I managed to go running 5 times and write about it 0 times. In my defence, it was an odd week, bookended by two public holidays, with a royal wedding, a hen night, and a real wedding in the middle. I could and should have squeezed in writing about my running as well as running itself, and will promise to do better in future.

To summarise progress, one week from Race Day:

I ran 31 miles;
my pace is looking good, averaging 7-minute miles during Friday’s 6 mile tempo run ;
my health is looking bad, with a cold contracted mid-real wedding, which continues to gather its own pace;
the weather is still amazing; and
running just before a Royal Wedding begins is a lovely, though quite lonely, thing to do.

Here’s a photo from my 10.30am run on Friday, looking down towards the city from Ally Pally park. I saw one other person in the park, he had a thermos of coffee and a stack of newspapers and looked very pleased with himself. He was not wearing red, white or blue.