Bad Days – Page 2 – Not a Jogger

In praise of the run-commute

It’s the end of a long day and time to leave the office. You ate your lunch five hours ago. You haven’t drunk any water. It’s cold. It’s windy. It’s raining. It’s dark. You just want to get on the train and sleep, but you have to run home.

So why should you? Because the run-commute is the best run you’ll ever do!

It’s a multi-tasking genius of a run which gets you home and gets you fit; it ticks all the boxes without ticking off your partner or kids; it saves you money and it saves you time. You will never regret doing it, even if you arrive home drenched, freezing and exhausted, because as soon as you’ve showered you will have the rest of the evening to sit around and bask in the knowledge that you no longer have to get up and go out for a run.

I will admit that it is a pain working out what to pack in the mornings and remembering your sports bra and not forgetting to wear your trainers and making sure you have smart shoes at work and wearing a light jacket instead of a heavy coat and taking it all home again the next day. But it is all worth it.

I should really get a running rucksack.

Tonight I’m running 7 miles home, via Camden and Regents Park outer circle, and even though I’m molto exhausto, I expect to enjoy it approximately 100x more than last night’s 4 mile plod around Crouch End at 7.30pm. For after I’ve done it, I am going to eat chips and drink rosé on the sofa. So there.

The Week I questioned my Sanity

In December I decided to run the 2014 Milton Keynes Marathon.

Today, I would like to know why.

For some people, juggling a full-time job with an 8 month old baby, an occasional social life, the need to finish the last series of Breaking Bad, sleep for at least 6 hours a night and a contain a nascent caffeine addiction might be enough. Apparently not so for me – I feel the need to train for and run a 26.2 mile race as well.

The sleeping. It would all be going so well were it not for the sleeping. Or the lack of sleeping. Or the sleeping for 1.5 hours at a time.

Oh, sleep.

In every interview I ever read with a top runner, they talk about the importance of sleep. Paula Radcliffe has a nap every afternoon. All the Kenyans do is run, eat and sleep. It’s a way of life. Alas, not my way of life. Instead of a nap, I have a diet coke. My body hates me.

My body is just about holding it together. Three weeks into my training plan, I’ve made it to 33.5 miles, over 5 runs with the longest being 12 miles. I missed my hill session on Thursday – it felt like a bad idea to push it in my zombie state. Weirdly, the easiest run of the week was the 12 on Saturday – mainly because it ended at Monmouth Coffee. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for coffee.

Can I continue in this fragile state? We will find out.

This week:

Monday: rest
Tuesday: 7 miles steady
Wednesday: 5 miles easy
Thursday: 5 miles easy (was supposed to be the hill session)
Friday: rest
Saturday: 12 miles slow
Sunday: 4.5 miles easy

Total: 33.5 miles

When is it going to get easier?

Hmm?

I ran a couple of times last week but didn’t feel like writing about it.

It was literally nothing to write home about – the same as the final run of my first week back: ok for 15 minutes, painful for 20 minutes, slow slow slow.

My legs were heavy and after Thursday’s effort my left ankle was swollen around the Achilles’ tendon.
I decided to rest for a week and went swimming and walked instead. Basically I was back to being pregnant for a week, but without the license to pig out.

Yesterday I tried again and, guess what? It was exactly the same, with a slightly less swollen ankle afterwards.

Ugh. I really shouldn’t complain, but I thought I would see progress faster. I suppose I thought it would only take four weeks to get back to running to Regent’s Park at weekends. At this rate I’ll be lucky to finish a circuit of Finsbury Park without having to walk.

There are positives: my fitness is good, I’m still motivated, it’s great to be out there again and my kit is starting to fit better. On the downside: it really hurts!

And for my second run, back to earth with a bump

Ow.

Oh the first run is bliss, isn’t it? Yes you are short of breath and tight of lungs, but your body is loose and free. You could turn cartwheels on the beach on a windy day.

Oh but the second run – the second run demands you pay the price for those cartwheels. You are not 12 years old; your 30-something limbs will not spring straight back into action. Your actions have consequences and those consequences involve pain.

I ran on Sunday, felt fine afterwards and okay, maybe a bit stiff, on Monday. On Tuesday I noticed a bit more stiffness in the legs. As I went about my now daily routine of carrying, walking and rocking the baby, my knees were a bit creaky but nothing terrible. I was looking forward to the baby/freedom handover when Mr Notajogger got back from work. At 5pm I started putting on running kit a piece at a time.

By 6.15pm I was out on the street, ready to go. By 6.16pm I was ready to cry. The first few steps were agony – my hamstrings felt five inches too short, my knees were jelly. I stopped to stretch, ran a bit more, stopped to stretch, ran a bit more… For thirty minutes.

It was a terrible run. I made it round a (short) circuit of Crouch End but only just. When running up the one hill I didn’t walk, I felt like I was going backwards. Everyone was overtaking me: runners; walkers; a man on a mobility scooter.

I know it will get better. It had better.

Au Revoir to Running

It’s over, fini, done. On 23 December 2012 and 23 weeks pregnant I ran my last run of the year, and the final run until I give birth (eek!).

It was an easy decision in the end. I have been saying I want to keep running until 6 months, but the actual running itself has been less and less fun, and on the final run it moved from simply being uncomfortable to painful.

I ran to the Emirates Stadium, but as soon as I got there, less than 15 minutes’ into the run, the top of my womb (I assume) started aching and kept hurting when I stopped to walk. This can’t be good, I thought, but of course I tried running again a few times on the way back, in between power-walking breaks.

By the time I got back home I knew the game was up. I’ve literally had a good run and really can’t complain. My pregnancy has been trouble-free and I’d like to keep it that way. If running isn’t fun anyway then it’s no great loss to give it up for a while. I am just going to have to learn to enjoy swimming and pretend that I love yoga. Ugh.

I’ve had a fantastic year’s running. In Spring I went sub-3.5 hours in the brilliant North Dorset Village Marathon, and in Summer I got the bus 3 miles down the road to watch the Olympic Men’s and Women’s marathons in the flesh, for free. More importantly, I got my trainers on, left the flat, plodded around the streets and covered the miles on mornings, evenings, weekends, in the rain, in the sun, over short distances and 20 mile shockers, up hills, through parks, with friends and on my own.

Next year will be full of new adventures. I’m signing up to run the Great Eastern Run in Autumn, which will mark my official return to competition. I will be taking it easy, though, and getting my sister round her first half-marathon in one piece.

Now, I think there’s something else to do before then…

Ever decreasing circles

There are only so many 3 mile routes one can run around one’s home. I currently feel like Ms Pac-man, constantly turning and re-turning the same corners again and again in search of the one elusive road I have not yet been down.

This makes it sound like I am out there pounding the pavements every day like Rocky in training. I am not. Last week I ran twice. This week I haven’t yet run at all. I will, though. I am trying to get to 6 months’ pregnant before reassessing the situation, so I still have a month of running to go.

Speaking of Rocky, I have just realised that I haven’t yet done the 1.4 miles from my flat to the steps of the Emirates Stadium to run up and down them and then come home. The reason I haven’t run that route is because it is ugly, and crosses lots of busy roads. The problem with most routes near my house is that they are too ugly, too hilly, too boring or have too many busy crossings. Or that they have slightly uneven pavements. Basically I am just really getting fed up of running 3 mile circuits of my house, and any excuse will do.

Lately the circuits haven’t even been 3 miles long. On Saturday I managed a whole 23 minutes (which at current speed is about 2 miles) of running, not including frequent walking breaks. My legs felt like sandbags and my overwhelming emotion, running on a beautiful sunny bright morning when I should have been full of Christmas cheer, was fear that I would lose control of my bladder.

I didn’t, though.

Running into problems

So I had the inevitable conversation with my mum about running in pregnancy.

I haven’t been lying to her, I just haven’t actually told her I’m running and she hasn’t asked. That is, she hadn’t asked. On Sunday night she was still crying with joy from hearing about the me feeling the baby kick for the first time when she sobbed out, “You’re not running, are you?”.

What could I do? I couldn’t lie to her, she’s my mother. I’m not 16 trying to deny a visit to the pub. I’m a 37 year old woman doing something I believe is good and healthy. Still, it didn’t go well. She loves me and she wants the best for me, and I love her and I want the best for her. I just don’t think that has to involve not running.

On Monday morning I had planned to run before work. The alarm went off. Mr Notajogger got up for his run. I heard the sound of rain on the windows. I thought about my mum. I hit snooze.

This morning I planned to run before work. The alarm went off. Mr Notajogger did not get up for a run. I heard the sound of rain. I thought about my mum. I got up, put my kit on and left the house.

I ran very slowly, perhaps more carefully than normal. I avoided slippery piles of leaves. I tried to avoid puddles, with mixed success. I walked for a few minutes half way around my circuit.

I don’t feel triumphant about my run. I don’t feel guilty either. Ok, maybe I feel a little bit guilty.

Sitting here at my desk thinking about it, I’m aware that I haven’t sorted it out in my brain yet. I wish there was some proper research out there I could quote to my mum to make her feel better, but there really isn’t. Even if there were, it wouldn’t be into my pregnancy, or my baby, or my running, so I don’t think it would help.

I want to be a good mother, but my mother is a good mother. So what does that make me?

The baby has been kicking me all morning, reminding me that everything is fine.

It is fine, I think.

Junk Miles or Golden Wonders?

I have been running lately, I really have. I just haven’t felt like writing about it. What could I say that I haven’t said before, or that you haven’t thought before? I haven’t done any new training sessions or run any races. I don’t even have any new trainers. Is there anything new to say about running?

Of course there is. It’s tricky though. I know this is a blog but I try not to be too personal on it. I may write about me, myself and I but I don’t think this is the place to discuss my multiple personality disorder.

After my marathon came the inevitable comedown. The stiff hamstrings I picked up during training kept grumbling and, to be honest, I let them. I should have stopped running for a couple of weeks to give them the chance to recover.

I didn’t, though. I didn’t stop running because I have to stop running.

Soon, probably in a couple of weeks’ time and not for long, maybe a couple of months. Not for anything terrible either. I just can’t run during some medical treatment. I’ve done it before and I know it won’t kill me, but it’s become a big mental block, stopping me writing.

I’ve loved so many of the runs I’ve been on lately so much that I don’t want to share them. I haven’t run at faster than marathon pace. I haven’t pushed myself, thought about my performance or planned my sessions. I heard miles like these referred to lately as “junk miles”.

During last week’s junk miles I paused to appreciate wet roses in a morning shower. I watched storm clouds clear to blue sky and back in ten minutes. I ran up Highgate West Hill without stopping.

They’re not junk, any miles you can run without thinking or worry. They’re golden. No rules, no responsibility, no plans, no targets.

I’m going to miss them.

A Wet Weekend

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

I exaggerate. It was the better of times, it was the less good of times. It was the passable of times, it was the sub-standard of times.

What am I talking about? I am talking about my weekend. My lovely four day weekend with four diamond opportunities to run in a sparkling celebratory fashion around the streets of London town. My jubilant, joyful firework display of a weekend which was, in reality, partly a damp squib.

It started well – a 13 mile run with Mr Notajogger on Saturday morning took in Regent’s Park and Highgate, and was planned specifically to pass by the Highgate Pantry in order that we could purchase two ginormous iced doughnuts (with hundreds and thousands on top). It is something of an unreconstructed bakery, favouring artifical colours over artisan cupcakes, and for that reason perhaps the doughnuts are ridiculously good. We feasted on them, full of the self-satisfied glow of those who have run an unnecessarily long way for no reason.

On Sunday it rained. I did not run.

On Monday it did not rain until I started running. I forced myself out onto the streets for a weak, slow and painful 7 miles. It hurt. I ran out of podcasts. My left sock had a hole in it. I had run out of clean sports bras and had to wear a tight white vest which is a size too small and slightly see-through.

On Tuesday I was hungover. Mr N dashed out of the house for a 10 mile run. 2 cups of tea, 2 breakfasts and 2 extra sleeps later I crawled out for a 5.2 mile run. It was supposed to be 5.5 but by 5.2 I was off the main road and no-one could watch me limping sadly home.

It rained.

When all else fails, resort to a cute animal picture

I have been having hamstring problems for a while. Not bad enough to stop me running, but enough to keep me moaning. Sometimes it’s the right, sometimes the left. Sometimes my left knee feels weak too. And also, the ball of my right foot has started to hurt.

Ugh. I know I should probably stop running for a while but I will have to do this anyway in a month’s time and I want to run now dammit! So, I’ve been alternating running days with rest days. I’ve been taking it easy, no speedwork, few hills.

It has not worked.

Last night I ran home from work via Regent’s Park. It was a lovely evening. It was not a lovely run. All of the aforementioned pains in the legs were present and correct, along with a nice blister on my left heel which may be related to silly summer sandal-wearing.

Mid-way through the run, I ground abruptly to a halt and considered getting the bus home. Then I saw this lovely scene, took a photo, stretched a bit and decided to suck it up and carry on home.