April 2012 – Not a Jogger

Losing the Plot

One week to go until the North Dorset Village Marathon and I feel… I don’t know how I feel.

Or rather, I feel nothing.

Or rather, I feel lots of contradictory things.

I feel like my training has gone well: I’ve been consistent, I’ve run more miles than I did for my last marathon, I haven’t had any major injuries or time off for illness. I think I could run a marathon in 3 hours 30 minutes.

I don’t think I could run a marathon in 3 hours 30 minutes. That’s 25 minutes faster than my last marathon. The course is going to be hilly, my hamstring is still tight. Who am I kidding?

I don’t know if there’s going to be a happy ending or not. If things go badly next Sunday I will point to my tight hamstring and the fact that I went to a nightclub last night (yes!) as proof that things were doomed to failure. If things go well, then dancing til midnight (I know!) was valuable cross-training and the hamstring thing was just a niggle.

I’m in the middle of my story, I’m not in control of the plot now. I can’t turn to the final page and tell you what happens. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Weekly Summary:

Monday: rest
Tuesday: 6 miles (steady)
Wednesday: 5.5 miles (easy)
Thursday: 5 miles (intervals)
Friday: rest
Saturday: 8 miles
Sunday: rest

Total: 24.5 miles

No Inclination for Intervals

Yesterday evening I ran my last proper “session” before marathon day. The plan said 10 x 400m with 90 seconds rest. I attempted to be organised. I searched around on mapmyrun for a flat section of road with no cross-streets that was about 400m, found one and set off.

When I got there I soon realised:

a) it was not flat
b) it was not 400m
c) it was frickin’ windy.

It turns out that 0.44km is not 4 metres more than 400m, it is 40 metres more than 400m. 40 metres is quite a long way.

The downhill intervals were run with the wind behind me, super- fast. The uphill ones were not. I only managed 8 in the end, with 4 of them feeling like hill sprints and 4 like gentle jogs.

There is, no doubt, a lesson in this somewhere.

No News is Good News

I’ve been running twice since the weekend. On Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning I put my trainers on, left the house, did some running, stretched a bit, had a shower and forgot about it.

Martin Yelling says you should be “floating” along during your taper, and perhaps that is what I’m doing. I’m certainly not expending any major effort, contracting any major injuries or in fact experiencing anything that is in any way interesting to anyone else.

Sorry.

I have nothing to say. May this continue for the next ten days.

The Benefits of Passive Running

Yesterday morning I ran 0 miles.

I woke up at 7.30am (a lie-in) and had a leisurely breakfast of normal, non-athletic proportions. I ate no carbohydrate-based gels. I drank no sugary sports drinks. An hour later I got out of bed, sauntered into the living room, switched on the TV, and sat on the sofa for three hours.

I love the London Marathon. I look forward to watching it on the BBC so much that I find myself singing the ‘theme tune’ under my breath for days beforehand. If I ever ran the race itself I would be gutted if they weren’t playing it as I ran through the start. In reality they’re probably playing Rihanna or something. This is one of the many reasons why I’ll never run it. There are at least 37,499 others.

I’ve only ever been to watch it in person once, despite living in London. It was an amazing atmosphere, I managed to see my friend and cheer her on, but to say I’m not good in crowds would be something of an understatement. I have a panic-attack in Tesco on a Friday night if the queues are too long.

Watching the elites, and then the real runners, from the comfort of my sofa was perfect. The elite men, particularly, are really creatures from another planet. I can’t make any kind of connection between what they do and what I’m able to do. This is good for my competitiveness, and means I can relax and enjoy the spectacle. The real runners, however, just make me want to get out there.

A good thing, then, that there are only 13 days until I will be – on the mean streets of Dorset, with my 399 fellow-runners.

This week’s running summary:

Monday: 8 miles (steady)
Tuesday: 6 miles (esasy)
Wednesday: 7 miles (800m intervals)
Thursday: rest
Friday: 6 miles (with 5 at marathon pace)
Saturday: 9 miles

Total: 36 miles

Q: When is a Taper not a Taper?

A: When you’re a week into the “taper” and still running the same amount.

A: When your running’s going so well you don’t want to run less.

A: When you tell everyone you’re tapering but really aren’t.

A: When you fear rest and avoid it at all costs.

A: When it’s a tapir.

A: When you really need to get a grip and STOP RUNNING GINA.

I ran 6 miles this morning. In my defense, the plan said 7. In accusation, I could easily have done 4.

My plan seems to have a 2 week taper, rather than a 3 week one. Is this ok? I feel good, but I know I need to slow down. There are 31 miles in the plan for next week, then 10 the final week. Too much? Help!

6 x 800 Metres = Ow

Got to love those intervals.

I left work at 5.30pm in the rain, got home in the rain, got changed (not in the rain) and headed back out for a run. In the rain.

I ran slowly over to Tufnell Park Road, which is straight and about a kilometre long. In an uncharacteristic fit of organisation, I had measured out an 800m section in advance. Of course on one of the intervals I stopped at the wrong cross-street and wondered why that interval was 30 seconds faster than the others, but you can’t expect miracles.

For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to wear my cold weather fleece to run these intervals. I ripped it off after the first one and decided to get soaked instead. 800m intervals are quick. In my case, between 3 minutes and 5 seconds and 3 minutes and 19 seconds (for the last one). If I had done all 10 Yasso 800s, I reckon I would have averaged 3 minutes 20 seconds, so I now have absolute cast iron scientific proof that a 3:30 marathon is possible. Maybe.

In hamstring news, I tried the tennis ball (thanks Holly) in the absence of The Stick (thanks Robinson), but I’m sure I noticed any improvement. My contortions did keep the cats amused, however.

Hamstrings of Doom

I’m not categorising this post as “Injury Time”. I’m not injured. I repeat. I am not injured.

I have a thing. A hamstring thing. It’s not painful, it’s not pulled, it’s… I don’t know. It’s basically tense. Like I’m tensing it all the time. And I suppose I am, but I’m trying not to. Though the more I think about it the tenser it gets.

Argh.

I asked the physio about it on Friday. “Should I get one of those foam roller things everyone has?”, I asked. “No”, he said, “they’re no good for hamstrings”.

So, there’s nothing I can do. I’m stretching it but, short of crouching at my desk or touching my toes mid-meeting, I can’t stretch it all the time.

I’m giving it a whole 36 hours between runs, to see if that helps. 6 miles yesterday morning were uncomfortable, verging on unpleasant. Intervals tonight, and hard ones at that (6 x 800m). Oo, I think these might qualify as Yasso 800s.

Hamstring heaven or hamstring hell? We shall see.

TWENTY MILES

Last week I was assailed by a massive wave of tiredness. It had been building for a while, but running 8 miles before breakfast on Thursday was the final push the wave needed to knock me out of my boat and leave me beached on the shores of exhaustion.

I had to take a day off on Friday. I also had to get a massage. My hamstrings have been getting gradually tighter over the last couple of weeks, to the point where I now can’t do my glute exercises (which are supposed to take pressure off my lower back) because the hamstrings won’t let me isolate any other muscles. 13 weeks of training are now setting off a muscular domino effect. Everything is over-compensating for everything else- it’s like a midlife crisis of the legs.

The massage was great, by which I mean horrifically painful. On Saturday morning I was ready for my last long run before the big day- 20 miles. I made it round in 2 hours and 47 minutes and it was fine, even brilliant, until the last 2 miles. Even the massive hill (see below) which took up 3 miles in the middle was fine. Fine, fine, fine, until 18 miles when it felt like my pelvis had caught fire, and not in good way.

On Sunday I had another rest day, so I suppose the taper has begun. No more “long” runs, but I did run 8 miles this morning, so I suppose long is a relative concept.

Weekly summary:

Monday: rest
Tuesday: 6 miles
Wednesday: 6 miles
Thursday: 8 miles
Friday: rest
Saturday: 20 MILES
Sunday: rest

Total: 40 miles

Hills, Hills, Hills

HILLS. They are now all I am thinking about.

I am such an idiot for not doing every marathon training run on the hills that are on my flaming doorstep. I now regret every easy 5 mile run around the flipping flat streets of Archway, which could have led me up sodding Muswell Hill.

This morning I had to run 8 miles and I took the hilliest route I could. Up Crouch End Hill, up again to Highgate, down to East Finchley, up to Muswell Hill, down then up to Ally Pally, down then up to Hornsey, down to Crouch End, up Ferme Park Road, down to home.

It was Hill. I mean HELL.

0 to Terror in 60 seconds

I was relaxing at work after lunch yesterday, checking my gmail (for research purposes only), feeling a bit sleepy, when I noticed a ticking time-bomb in my inbox.

The final instructions for my race had arrived, together with a link to the course profile. I hadn’t quite taken on board the amount of hills. I have not done enough hill training. I have no time to address this. I am frightened.

The instructions themselves are lovely. It’s a small race and they say things like “the race takes place in beautiful country side” and “please allow 5 minutes to walk to the start” – five minutes! I love small races.

Best of all, is this list of what each water station will have. Melon!