Author: notajogger

I run. Running is fun. I'm not a fun runner, though.

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. 

Slogging

I went to the gym last night for a cross-training/short run session, then was out again at 6am this morning for a 4 mile “easy run”. After my weedy efforts on the x-trainer and bike at the gym, the already complaining thighs had stepped it up to screaming level  as I slogged around the drizzly streets of Crouch End.

I did a good deal more pavement contemplation than usual. On a good run I observe the passing flowers, birds or clouds. I ponder the lives of weary strangers waiting for the bus; I redecorate front rooms and re-plant gardens. Today the only things I saw were litter and dogshit.

Some of the litter was in fact blossom, dropped from nearby heights to die prettily in the gutter. I could identify with it.

10k or 12 mile?

Ever since I realised that someone I had been calling Tim “Joss” with a hard “J”, actually pronounced his name Tim “Yoss”, I can’t think of my blog without muttering, “not a yogger”. I don’t think I’m a yogger. It does sound like fun though –  perhaps involving a yomp through a Danone factory.

Yesterday I yogged a series of 6 km intervals at 10k pace, with recovery periods of half the time. For ease of adding up I went for 4min 20 secs at 10k pace, 2mins 10 secs recovery (6mins 30 secs per set). I ran around Regent’s Park so don’t really know whether I stuck to the pace, however I did note the start and finish locations of my third interval and using mapmyrun I can tell you that it was 1.06km, so that’s pretty damn close.

Having had a fairly hard week last week, including a hefty run on Sunday, my legs were seriously feeling the pain. In total contrast to Sunday, when I felt like my legs were writing cheques my lungs could happily cash, yesterday my whole system was overdrawn and bankruptcy felt imminent at the end of each fast km.

To spin out this spurious metaphor, I have a dilemma for this Sunday: do I keep withdrawing cash from the bank of the “Ryan Hall Training Plan“, and get both a 6 mile tempo run and a 12 mile run under my belt this week, or should I keep the money in the bank and save it up for a Regent’s Park 10k on Sunday morning?

I have free entry to the race, which is the only reason I’m feeling guilty for pulling out, if I’m honest. I’m really enjoying the training plan and don’t want to miss out on this week’s sessions, which I’d have to do if wanted to prepare properly for a race. Also, I don’t want to have to get up early on Sunday morning. I think the 12 miles is just edging ahead…

Whoop!

I am really happy to report that last week I ran a total of 32 miles, over 5 days, and that my final run of the week was the best of the lot.

We ran 10 miles as a ‘race-sim’, with 6 miles at an easy pace (for us, this was 8 minute miles), and 4 miles at race pace plus 20 seconds (which was supposed to be 7 and a half minute miles, but was actually 7m 15 secs). I am permitting myself an exclamation mark in the title in recognition of this pace. I am so impressed my legs managed to turn out that kind of speed without my heart feeling like it was going to burst. This is particularly notable as the 4 miles at the end of the run was mostly uphill.

Elevation

I’m not sure I even need to add the other good things about the run:

  1. no hangover
  2. sun was shining
  3. saw a heron in Regent’s Park
  4. blossom galore

It was such a good run, it’s made me want to ignore my day off today and go out again anyway. I won’t of course.

Booze Britain

Last night I drank 3 glasses of wine, ate half a bowl of chips and went to bed drunk. As preparation for a run, it wasn’t the best.

Thankfully I’d already decided to switch today’s 10 mile ‘race sim’ for tomorrow’s 5 mile ‘easy run and, amazingly given the headache and acid stomach I have now at 6.41pm, the run was great.

The sun was shining, a day off had put some power back in my legs and I ran past Simon Pegg. A classic saturday morning run in Crouch End.

I used to rely on the hangover curing powers of running and extol them to friends in a self-righteous fashion. I’m not sure if this is karma or old age but lately I’ve found I feel better for about 3 hours after a run and then I’m straight back to feeling seedy. However, I’m not going to allow the memory of my perfect run to be spoiled by the pain of the present.

Booze is bad, kids.

Tempus Fug It

I wonder how long it’s going to take me to run out of tempo-related puns.  Not very long if today’s effort is anything to go by.

Yesterday I ran home from work, incorporating a 25 minute “hard” tempo run section into a 6 mile route around Islington. I ran about half of the tempo section up and down Liverpool Road because it’s over a mile long and relatively traffic, people and crossing free. It’s not the most beautiful of streets, but scenery wasn’t high on my list of priorities as I scoured the paving slabs with my eyes, longing for the 25 minutes to be up.

Despite my moaning, I coped better with the tempo element than I did on a similar run 2 weeks’ ago, averaging 7 minute miles and feeling a lot more comfortable in the process. Is this progress? It’s possible.

Whilst my glass is half full, I should also note that the run was completed to a joyous soundtrack of Kvelertak, by Kvelertak, which is my new favourite metal album to run to. Recent favourites have included The Blue Album, by Baroness, and Blood Mountain by Mastodon (still the king, in my opinion). They just can’t be beaten for motivation – I think it’s the drums, there’s no way you can slow down when all hell is breaking lose inside your head. Oddly, however, my second favourite album to run to, after Blood Mountain, is Tigermilk by Belle & Sebastian. Make of that what you will.

Easy Tiger

This training schedule really means business. I now think that the key to coping with the interval, tempo and race-sim runs is to take the easy runs easier; I must try harder at trying less hard.

This morning I was tired and aching from yesterday’s interval-a-thon. It was going to be a beautiful day –  I noticed frost on a playing field as I plodded by, with a mist hanging low over the grass. The four storey townhouses on Coolhurst Road were looking more than usually majestic in the pearly light as I climbed the hill, panting in an undignified fashion.

About 4 minutes in to my run, I realised that they only way I would be able to run 4 miles today would be to slow down drastically. I was practically crawling by the time I approached the Broadway, put on a bit of a show of speed as I passed the W7 bus queue, but had to stop to walk up Mount Doom after I’d passed Marks and Spencer.

Is it ever ok to walk? I might have to change the name of the blog to “notarunner”, if this keeps up.