Month: October 2023

Run early, and the day is Thine

At St Guthlac’s church in Market Deeping, a pair of sundials are built into the walls of the bell tower. The one on the south-eastern wall says, “The day is Thine”, and measures out the hours from five am. On the north-western face, its twin warns, “The Night cometh”, and marks the few daylight hours from four pm.

I walked past the church this Sunday in the afternoon gloom and smiled, thinking about my run that morning. It was the day the clocks went back, so waking up at 5am to eat breakfast before leaving the house at 6:30am was really waking up at 6am – practically a lie-in for me.

Contemplating where to run, I couldn’t face any route from my house. They are all worn out with overuse, even in their autumn colours. So I cycled west to Nene Park, watching the full moon descend into pink clouds. At the lake, I stopped to take photos of the cormorant tree, surrounded by circling rooks. Mist spread from the river as I crossed Milton Ferry Bridge, and the first rays of sun peered over my shoulder.

I locked my bike to a post at the top of Ferry Hill, and stuffed my coat into the pannier. I jogged slowly down the hill to Castor village, with the sun lighting the treetops bronze and gold above the green. On the road from Ailsworth to Helpston the ploughed fields were flat and brown – devoid of birds and life – but the roadside trees glowed in the morning light. At the edge of Castor Hanglands, I caught a glimpse of a deer as it pranced away from me into the woods.

I chose this route so that I could run along my favourite bend in the road. I can’t remember when I was there last; probably spring. Time telescopes. A Sunday run from 2021 could be yesterday – familiar but strange, with odd things to notice: a gate standing alone with no fence around it; a sign warning that “deer management is in progress”. Last Sunday I ran past a tree with four red kites in it, perched like ancient kings on their wooden throne.

If you run the same route every day, your brain doesn’t see it – it mostly fills it in from memory. It takes a new scene to feel new things, to make new pathways in your mind. The day is Thine. The Night cometh.

Physio killed the cardio star

Physio exercises: I am doing them; I hate them; they’re working. It’s been ten weeks since my second trip to the physio (this injury cycle) and I’m finally ready to jinx it by writing this. My knees are not fixed, my rage is getting a regular workout, but… I’m running.

Nothing is more revealing of how pathetic it is to be human than a page of simple physio exercises, sitting unopened in your inbox, silently shaming you. Why is it so hard to take a few minutes for tiny stretches or little calf raises we can do while watching tv?

I wouldn’t know, because my physio exercises are not those kind of exercises. They’re the kind of exercises that take me as long as a five mile run, and make me nearly as sweaty. Four times four sets of twelve (split squats, hamstring walk outs, squat jumps, hamstring curls on a swiss ball). With weights. With rest between. With plyometrics now added. Plus skipping. And pilates.

If this sounds like strength training to you, that’s because it is, and I resent every single minute that it takes out of my life. To begin with, I did the whole routine every other day. I started to have have anxiety dreams about hamstring walk outs, and put it off until bedtime, then spent 45 minutes in my pyjamas swearing on a yoga mat.

I’m down to three times a week (ok I’ve done it twice this week, plus skipping and pilates), which has helped. Other things that have made it less horrific:

  • wearing trainers rather than wobbling around in bare feet;
  • building up to using weights for all sets by starting with one, then two, etc;
  • doing at least one set in the gym – no idea why it’s easier there, but it is!

Another thing that might have helped is starting HRT. When I mentioned to the physio that I was menopausal now (last period, October 2022), and currently having a hot flush once every 15 minutes, she said this might mean an increased risk of injury as I enter menopause, with slower rates of healing. When I thought HRT might get me running again, I made the appointment.

“Is it menopause?”, is very much like a less fun version of “Is it Cake?”, with none of the satisfying feeling when you get it right. I don’t know if the HRT is working, or the strength training is. But I ran 27 miles last week and every run felt ok. Please don’t let this jinx it.