Good Days – Page 6 – Not a Jogger

Marathon Pace, and other mysteries

The marathon is still eight weeks away, but it’s like a mountain in the distance. You see it every day, it’s part of the landscape, you might even have climbed it before, but one day soon you’re going to wake up at the foot of it staring upwards in panic.

One of the main ways to counter the marathon panic is to plan. I love to plan. Training, logistics, fuelling, outfits. The only important thing to plan though, really, is the hardest of all: how fast to run it.

I decided my marathon pace before I ran a step of my training plan. I wanted to finish in 3 hours 30 minutes, therefore my marathon pace would be 210 minutes divided by 26.2 miles: 8 minutes per mile. Last time I did the same, with 4 hours and 9 minute miles.

They’re not quite the same, though, are they, 8 minute miles and 9 minute miles? There might be a tiny flaw in my logic here.

Recently I listened to a marathon talk podcast “training talk” about marathon pace. It was comprehensive, bordering on confusing: pace of your last marathon is important but you shouldn’t set your sights too low; current training performance is key but you shouldn’t get carried away if it’s going well and set your sights too high, you need a race strategy but you should be flexible on the day. Hmm.

The best piece of advice, and the one I’m taking with me up the mountain on the day, was that your marathon pace should feel too easy at the start, and hard at the end. I think that fits well with my experience of running at 8 minutes a mile so far. I am trying to ignore the fact that 9 minute miles felt very tough at the end of my last marathon, assuming that any miles feel tough at the end of a marathon. Right?

With marathon pace in mind, I set out on Sunday to run a comfortable (but not easy) pace over 13.1 miles. I finished in 1 hour 38 minutes. I have no idea what that means.

Anticipation, Procrastination and Dread

I ran 18 miles yesterday. It was the first ‘proper’ long run of this marathon training schedule, meaning longer than 13 miles. A mere half-marathon? Pah! I laugh in your face. I could take you on any day. An 18-miler, however, means preparation.

I had planned to run mine on Sunday. Actually, I didn’t plan it, the plan dictated it and I didn’t question it. On Friday night, however, I checked the weather forecast: sun and mild on Saturday, rain, wind and cold on Sunday. At this point I had already drank two beers. I had to stick to the plan. On Saturday morning I went for a miserably lovely 5 mile run in the sun. I ate toast and bread and pasta and cake. I drank litres of water. I spent all day in a bad mood.

On Sunday morning I woke to the sound of rain. I cheered myself with the thought that every minute that went by was a minute closer to it being over. I got out the vastly expensive pink rain jacket I never wear and my camelpak water bottle holder and put them on the bed. While I brushed my teeth, Bill S Preston Esq sat himself on them and looked up at me. ‘Who goes out in this?’, he seemed to be saying.

It wasn’t a bad run. It was wet, my running gels were disgusting, but I stuck to my pace of 8 minutes 30 seconds a mile and it felt ok. It was a lot better than the same run when I trained for a marathon in 2010, when I can remember thinking my legs were going to snap off my hips like a broken barbie. Having already run 26.2 miles, you know that in a long run things will hurt, you will panic about being injured, then mysteriously they will stop hurting. Then something else will hurt. It really is just pain, and it really will go away.

Getting back home, filthy, soaking and stiff, I was elated. It was over! I could actually start to enjoy my weekend; the relief was instant. I have now learned my lesson. Sunday long runs are out, Saturday long runs are in. Subject to weather forecasts.

This week’s numbers:

Tuesday: 6 miles (intervals)
Wednesday: 4 miles (easy)
Thursday: 6 miles (steady)
Saturday: 5 miles (with 3 mile tempo)
Sunday: 18 miles (2 hours 32 minutes)

Total: 39 miles

Early Bird

I seem to have become a morning runner.

I have always been a morning person – when I was a kid I used to get up at 6am on a Sunday to spend two blissful hours scraping through my pile of lego before anyone was up to moan about it. I’ve never been a morning runner, though. When not training for a race I never darken the streets until after breakfast, at least. I run about 30 seconds to a minute slower per mile on any run completed before I’ve had some tea and toast and a bit of a sit down.

Morning runs used to be torture. Even on mornings when I hadn’t drunk any wine the night before, I felt hungover. Attempting any kind of speed session led to nausea and, well, other natural urges.

I started running in the mornings out of necessity. Fitting marathon training into your life is difficult, and getting a run out of the way first thing leaves you free to slot in the little things like meals, a social life, a job. More importantly, it stops your run from being derailed at 6pm by a sudden deadline or urgent visit to the pub.

I realised recently that I now start almost every run, even the weekend ones, before 9.30am. I run most without breakfast and they’re fine. They aren’t amazing sessions – those still only tend to happen once I’ve eaten – but they’re nothing to throw up about.

In an ideal world I wouldn’t have to go to work and I could run at 10:00am every day, after breakfast and while still feeling positive about the day. That’s what it must be like to be a full-time athlete, I sometimes think mid-run, I could do that no problem. Then I have to stop and walk up a hill.

The Unfortunate Brevity of the Running High

I went for a beautiful run this morning. Dawn broke as I sallied forth along the more charming roads of Crouch End, turning the sky pink behind the terraces and trees, lending a rosy glow to the faces of passing commuters.

Two runners smiled as they passed; two cars waved me across at traffic lights. I took it easy, running smoothly up and down the hills and enjoying the growing feeling of comfort and happiness as it became clear that this was going to be a Good Day.

Back at the flat, I held on to that happiness throughout breakfast, ironing, and five minutes playing with the cats. On the 91 bus crawling along the Caledonian Road, it reduced by about half, but was still keeping me afloat. Opening the office door, I walked in and my happiness stayed outside in the hallway.

I made myself a coffee and ate a biscuit. Perhaps that would bring it back? No. By 9:30am, it had gone. I found myself contemplating an extra run tonight.

This is how it starts. One minute you’re a woman who likes a jog, the next you’re putting your name down for Badwater.

On Reaching 40

Week Six of my marathon training programme is over and that’s the best thing I can say about it. It was not a vintage week, with one horrific run and no really good sessions to make me feel I’m working hard. I am working hard though. To prove it, here are the numbers:

Tuesday: 7 miles
Wednesday: 6 hellish miles
Thursday: 7 miles (intervals)
Friday: 3 miles
Saturday: 4.5 miles
Sunday: 13.1 miles

Total: 40.5 miles

It’s all about the 0.5. Actually, I jogged about a mile home after my long run on Sunday, so it’s probably all about the extra 1.5. I had planned out a perfect 13.1 mile route, ending at the corner shop near my flat so that I could buy a lucozade sport and limp the few yards home. Of course I then forgot all about the plan and just ran my regular 10 mile route on autopilot, only waking up to my mistake an hour later. I added on an extra loop of Regent’s Park, but got carried away.

The extra Park loop was lovely. The sun was out, the crocus were croaking (thanks, Dad), and I saw my first blossom. I also got shat on by a bird, but them’s the breaks.

All Your Bad Days Will End

One bad run does not make you a bad runner.

It had all been going so well. I had kept up with my training plan with borderline obsessive-compulsive accuracy. I was feeling stronger, fitter and more confident. Yes, I was tired. Yes, I had a fleeting and mysterious pain in my left foot, but nothing to stop me training.

I was late leaving work on Thursday, but headed out to run at around 7pm. 7pm is not a good time to run around my neighbourhood unless you love terrifying dogs. I passed four bull terriers, without leads, out on their evening lurch. I’m sure they’re lovely dogs with the right owner, but I did a lot of crossing the road.

The dogs were the least of my worries. This run was one of the worst of my life. It was 5.8 miles of hell and it took every ounce of will power in my body not to stop, walk, or cut the run short. I slowed to a plod, I tried to think positively, I told myself it would get better in the next ten minutes. It did not. From start to finish, this was painful and unenjoyable. It was the kind of run that makes you question not just your training plan, but why you are even running in the first place.

On Thursday morning everything hurt, from my finger joints to my chest muscles. Holding on to the rail on the tube train on the way to work, I could barely stay upright. Even my eyelids were tired. Was I overtraining? Should I have a rest week? I felt really low.

At lunchtime the sun came out over London. Temperatures pushed the high teens. I went out for lunch and bought brownies on the way back to the office. As 5pm approached the sky faded from blue to orange on the horizon. A perfect evening. I had my kit in the office. Dare I use it?

Thursday’s run was everything Wednesday’s was not. I ran intervals and enjoyed them. I felt fresh and strong. I ran an extra mile without meaning to.

Hills, Half Marathon and a Recovery Run

There’s a lot of catching up to do, so I’ll start with my weekly summary:

Tuesday: 6 miles (intervals)
Wednesday: 6.5 miles (start slow, finish faster)
Thursday: 6 miles (hills)
Friday: WIMP OUT
Saturday: 13.1 mile “race”
Sunday: 5.5 miles (plod)

Total: 37 miles

I had intended for last week to be the first 40 mile week of my training. A piffling 3 mile jog on Friday morning was all that was needed to achieve this, but I just couldn’t manage it. Thursday night’s hill session was a killer – only one more rep than last week, but my thighs were suffering from the third rep onwards.

Saturday’s plan dictated a half-marathon race. I interpreted this not as 13.1 miles “run as fast as you can” (i.e. a race), but “run at marathon pace” which, for me, is 8 minutes a mile. The good news is that the pace felt fine. The bad news is that I cannot imagine running it again today, never mind immediately afterwards.

However, I’ve been here before. Running this very training programme in 2010, I remember feeling exactly like this after the first half-marathon in the plan. By week 14 of the training, 13.1 miles will seem like a short run. Gulp.

Sunday’s run should have been the easiest of these three. It was the shortest, the sun was out and it was a beautiful day. Not so. A run around Archway, Holloway and Highbury on a Sunday morn’ is rarely a thing of beauty. Blue skies may loom overhead, but pavements are littered with Saturday night’s hangover. Broken bottles glitter from gutters, polystyrene burger cases bloom in hedges, and benches and bus stops have yet to lift their skirts of vomit.

This week the mileage should hit 40. Life begins there, I hear.

Base Layers

My training is all about base layers at the moment: those next to my skin (god bless Helly Hansen), and those miles pounded out on the streets.

I’m four weeks in to my marathon training plan, with twelve to go. This week I notched up 37.5 miles over six runs and it’s the first week that the mileage has felt comfortable (unlike the runs themselves, which were mostly spent with shoulders hunched up to ears in an attempt to combat the cold). I do feel like I’m ready for some longer, harder runs now.

On Saturday I headed out in -6C for a 10 miler to Regent’s Park. My mapmyrun app failed to work, leaving me with only a vague notion of pace. This might have been a blessing. I was listening to my body instead of the Voice of the App and managed to keep a steady even rhythm, averaging 7.5 minute miles. I’m really happy with that, particularly as the previous night I had drunk two vats o’ wine, as well as half a beer and a glass of 43 (“cuarenta-y-tres” – yum).

All part of the plan. Ahem.

The week’s totals:

Tuesday: 6 miles (intervals)
Wednesday: 6 miles (easy)
Thursday: 6 miles (hills)
Friday: 4.5 miles (slow)
Saturday: 10 miles (hungover, but quick)
Sunday: 5 miles (easy)

Total: 37.5 miles

Steady as She Goes

My first week of marathon training is over and, despite minor ill-health, it went well. I ran 33.5 miles over five runs and it felt like a good ‘foundation’ or ‘base’ running week. Nothing too strenuous, no run longer than 8 miles.

I got scared on Thursday, listening to a Marathon Talk podcast about training, which assumed that ‘intermediate’ marathon runners start from a base of 40 miles a week. That’s before they really start training. I am aiming for that kind of mileage, but it’s going to take me a couple of weeks to get there. I ran zero miles per week for most of November so I need to be careful.

Having recovered from my cold, I was able to make up for lost time on drinking front on Friday and Saturday, so both weekend runs suffered as a result. Saturday’s was worst: an evil headwind + hilly route + minor hangover = grim 6.5 miles. I meant to run 7 but confess to walking the last half.

Sunday’s was the best run of the week, despite a woolly head. The plan dictated a “steady 8 miles” and I obeyed. I love a “steady” run – which I interpret it as “how I usually run when not training”. I run fast, but make sure that I’m not straining to catch my breath and that my head is always up. I go easy on the uphills and swiftly on the downhills. Basically, I try to enjoy it, which for me means running quickly without killing myself.

The first 6 miles were great – my pace was at 7 minutes 20 per mile, the fastest I’ve run in a while. As mile 7 started, however, I could feel everything slow down and start to hurt, from my lungs to my hips to my feet. What had been easy became a struggle. At this point in my route there’s a slow incline – probably over a mile long. When I first started running around Crouch End I used to hate it, but I hadn’t noticed it lately. Until yesterday. By the time I turned the corner onto Park Road I was exhausted and ready to throw in the towel. A week’s running had taken its toll and I had already run 32 miles – why not just stop?

I slowed down a little bit to catch my breath. I dropped my shoulders and shook my hands to get the tension out of my neck. I sped up past the shops. I ran very slowly up Crouch Hill, then pounded down the other side and made it home in just under 1 hour. My face was hot for the rest of the day – a literal glow of self-satisfaction.

I’m Running up that Hill

Last week I ran four 5 mile runs, using two different routes: one flat, one hilly. I didn’t fancy either route this morning, so I left the house without a plan. I ended up zig-zagging around Crouch End for 6 miles over a mixture of hills and flat bits.

Over Christmas a friend expressed surprise that I, Not A Jogger, would ever give in and Walk during a Run. He was right, I’m always advising people to “run really really slowly but never walk”. In my defence, I’ve lost fitness and it’s really hilly, but that’s no excuse. As I was struggling up the first hill this morning I remembered something I had heard in a marathon talk podcast over the weekend. On the show, Tom and Martin had a ‘training talk’ segment about hills and how to tackle them in races. Tom discussed how, during his best ever race, he decided to run hills with an even heart-rate – not going above 162 on the way up, and not below 158 on the way down. To do this, he had to run very slowly on the way up, and really fast on the way down.

I don’t have a heart-rate monitor, but I decided to give this a go based on how out-of-breath I felt.

It worked!

I ran solidly for the whole 6 miles and managed to feel good at the brow of each hill instead of struggling to get my breath back all the way to the bottom. I also loved pelting it as fast as possible on the way down.

Highly recommended.