Category: Good Days

I do.

It’s beautiful: big sky, tall buildings, wide river, friendly people, scouse accents. There is a lot to love here. This morning I skipped an 8am session on immigration law to run 6 miles around the city centre and the docks. I ended up in Toxteth at one point because my navigation skills were rather lacking, but that just added an extra frisson to the experience.

The docks are spectacular, great clouded pools of sky. There were hardly any people around – I ran right past the conference centre but saw no police with guns; it was much more relaxed than Birmingham. Like that city, huge amounts of money have been spent here on regeneration but, in contrast, it hasn’t all been spent on shopping centres. Whatever you think of the Museum of Liverpool building, it is at least a whacking great monument to there being more to Liverpool than places to buy stuff.

This week I went to my first party conference. On the train on the way to Birmingham, studying the agenda and working out what to attend, I entertained a brief hope: maybe it wouldn’t be a gathering of political activists, journalists and special advisers? Maybe it would actually be a conference about parties? Or a conference OF parties? Perhaps we would all have to eat birthday cake and take part in organised games for prizes? I was briefly cheered.

Sadly, it really was a party political affair, though there were an awful lot of free sandwiches and many terrible jokes. There was also singing, though the only prize for that seemed to be getting as far away from it as possible, which I was happy to do.

Despite ‘fringe’ events starting before 8am, I managed to fit in a run. I don’t know Birmingham very well and worried about the route. Usual rules seem not to apply there – being able to see your destination is no guarantee that you will actually be able to reach it. Public spaces are suddenly intersected by motorways, roads cut off by shopping centres. I had a look on mapmyrun and saw that most people’s routes in central Birmingham were along canals rather than streets. This made sense – provided I could find a canal there was little chance of getting lost on the towpath.

I chose the Worcester & Birmingham Canal and had a very pleasant, if a little quiet, 4 mile run.  Tall trees and buildings rose directly from the opposite bank, shutting out the morning sun. Under gloomy bridges, the pounding of my footsteps echoed loudly, only to be swallowed up by the dark, still water on my escape. I passed a couple of other runners, a few cyclists whizzed by at a frightening speed, but mostly I had the city to myself.

Arriving back at Gas Street Basin, two armed police with huge black guns waved me back onto the street. Back to civilisation.

Yesterday was the second day on the new plan, and a marked improvement from Tuesday. My legs felt twice as strong and I ran the ‘4 miles steady’ (plus a bit more) at an average of 7.5 minutes per mile. This was only 15 seconds slower than my supposed 10-k pace, but felt completely comfortable.

In less positive news, I nearly got run over by Highbury Corner. I was looking at the green man flashing rather than the traffic and both the oncoming car and I had to make an emergency stop at the crossing. There was some horn blowing and shouting, and not from me. I was at fault, and lucky to get away with just a bruised ego.

It’s amazing that this doesn’t happen on every run. I can be thinking about dinner, looking at my watch, listening to a podcast, looking out for uneven bits of pavement, dodging oncoming buggies and calculating the speed of passing bikes all at the same time. Running down Upper Street at 5.30pm is like a 3D game of Frogger – it can be mentally exhausting working out a route between the crowd, but I love it. I could have a PhD in Pedestrian Dodging.

I’m just not so I’m good with the cars.

I am in search of new routes. Until I am better able to handle running 1.5 miles straight up a hill at 6.15am, I need a new selection of 4 – 7 mile routes which are flat. At least for the first mile.

This morning I set out in the rain without knowing where I did want to go, but knowing exactly where I didn’t, and taking the opposite route. I headed over towards Holloway Road, didn’t want to run down it or up it, so crossed over and went to Tufnell Park. I didn’t fancy running downhill to Kentish Town (sure to involve an uphill on the way back), or uphill towards Highgate (which would be uphill), so went down Tufnell Park Road. I was heading back to the Holloway Road, not ready to head towards Finsbury Park, so I ran down towards Highbury. A longer route could take me around Highbury Corner to Highbury Grove, but I took the shorter route past the Arsenal stadium to Blackstock Road.

This was a good plan. The wind was whistling around the Emirates, but I got a psychological kick from running up the stadium steps, a la Rocky. Every run should have its training montage moment.

I resisted punching the air as I crossed the bridge into Ashburton Grove. Tiredness was setting in at the half hour point, but I set my face into a grimace and headed home. 39 minutes and 15 seconds, about 5 miles dead on. A new route has been put down.

Last night I ran home the long way round – 7.5 miles. I’m not doing many runs this week so I’m making them count. At the South side of Regent’s Park, about 25 minutes in to my run, I felt suddenly weary. As I crossed the bridge over the boating lake, about 3/4 of the way around the Park, I was about to stop to walk. There’s a long slow incline from that bridge to the gate and it is my least favourite section of any run there. It isn’t a hill, it barely qualifies as an incline. Yet somehow the path is awkward to run on, I’m always at my most tired at that point, and I have a history of slowing down to walk it.

Yesterday I did the same, slowed down and was about to start walking – just to the gate, then I would start running again. As my legs elongated into a loping stride and my shoulders relaxed, I changed my mind. No, I would not walk. I would do what I always encourage new runners to do when they are just starting out – slow down, go as slowly as you need to, slow down to a ridiculous level, but never walk.

Running very slowly uses a similar amount of energy as walking briskly, there’s very little difference between the two speed-wise, but the vital difference remains. Running is running, no matter how slowly or quickly you are doing it. Walking is not running.

Yesterday I stuck to running, I slowed down about four times during the run, maybe five. On the hill to Tufnell Park I thought about walking a lot. I’ve walked up that road many times; it’s post-6 miles, I feel I’ve had a good run, I deserve to walk for a bit. Not this time. By slowing down a bit I got my breath back, recovered a bit of bounce in my legs. I didn’t feel any more tired at the end of the run, I didn’t work any harder, but I feel much better about myself now. Running really is at least 50% mental effort and I have been slacking lately. Time to turn it around.

Yesterday’s rain gave way to actual sunshine at 5pm and I soaked up a full 7.5 miles worth of it on my run home from King’s Cross after work.

My legs were tired, there was a twinge in my right knee – I need new trainers – and I gave in and walked up an incline for two minutes in Kentish Town. Despite this, it was a good run. I’m not sure I can put this into words, but it felt romantic to be running last night.

The shadows were long on the pavements, the park was littered with sad corporate pic-nics and passed out drunks. My body was feeling used up but I was pushing on. London looked exhausted, like the end of a party you haven’t really enjoyed. You know you have to clean up or go to bed, and everyone you want to talk to has left, but for a while you’re just going to keep on drinking anyway.

I hope I don’t pay for such hedonistic running today. It hurts to bend my knees and my shoulder is clicking ominously. The rain is back.