Good Days – Page 9 – Not a Jogger

Will run for Guinness

I have been slacking again. Not with the running, but with the writing about it. I’ve just got back from a long weekend in Ireland and now have three pieces of running to describe in words. I’ll try to keep it brief.

The first was a good run – a morning jaunt to Muswell Hill on Thursday. I believe it was sunny. I ran 5 miles and walked only once.

The second was a bad run – the first of two in beautiful Kinsale (I think that’s its registered trademark). We were there for a wedding and had two windows of opportunity for running: Friday afternoon and Sunday morning. On the Friday Kinsale didn’t look so beautiful. There was rain. There was wind. On the bridge across the Bandon river there was driving wind and rain of the horizontal variety. It was August but it felt like February. The run itself wasn’t too bad, but even I thought we were crazy for attempting it.

The final run should have been the worst of the three. It was the morning after a Guinness, vodka and wine-fuelled wedding during which I spent many hours on my feet in new high-heeled sandals, dancing to a traditional Irish band playing hits by the Black-Eyed Peas. At 7.30am on Sunday everything hurt, up to and including my eyeballs, but the sun was out and we were by the sea. There was running to be had.

I have just looked up our route on mapmyrun.com, to check the distance and record it in case I ever go back to Kinsale. It was a a truly gorgeous 5 miles, through winding town streets and along the pier wall, around the harbour’s edge, over the water to a 17th century fort. I was delighted to learn that the road we followed around the headland is called “The World’s End”, and that we crossed the river on the Archdeacon T.F. Duggan Bridge.

I didn’t take my camera, but I don’t think I could have captured the scene in any photograph. The morning sun glittering towards the headland, the ruin suddenly appearing beyond the bridge, the water calm and full of sky. None of these things had been visible in Friday’s fog and to have them suddenly revealed now, as if a curtain had been pulled back, was a gift for even the weariest eyes. One of my best runs ever.

Three days, Two runs, Twenty miles

20 (twenty) whole miles.

I ran home from work on Friday night – 7 miles around Camden, Regent’s Park, etc. It was fine, but so uneventful that I couldn’t think of anything to write about it afterwards. Not a bad run, but always just a warm-up for today.

Early last week I made plans to meet my friend in Richmond on Sunday. In a moment of insanity/inspiration, I decided to run there. Door to door it was 13 miles, a full half-marathon with added traffic, crowds and sun.

It wasn’t the easiest half marathon I’ve ever run. I had to take her a parcel of clean clothes in advance, which she had to cycle home for me. There were no mile markers, no signs showing the way, and no-one to offer me drinks or encouragement along the way. Miles 10-12, always the hardest, began in Earl’s Court, which I have never run through before, and hope never to have to do so again.

It was a great run, apart from those two miles. Running through Belgravia, I glimpsed the Serpentine Gallery, Albert Memorial, and was surprised by the Albert Hall, winding my way past the back entrances of museums. I only went the wrong way once, somewhere east of Baker Street. I would not make a good Sherlock Holmes. Unless he was also able to use an iPhone.

Arriving in Mortlake, my amazing friend greeted me with cold water, a hot shower and a bemused smile. No medal, mind.

A New Dawn, a New Day…

I’m Feeling Good.

Last night in London was quiet. Unseen efforts of uniformed police and early boarding up of shops and bars may have created this silence, but it doesn’t matter. We needed it and I am grateful.

Monday night’s run took me down roads in Camden which were to see major looting only hours later. All was then calm. Mid-way through my run my sister called me on her way home in Peckham, convinced something was about to happen there. She was right. Concerned about me and where I was, I dismissed her, “I’m in the middle of a run in Camden!” I gasped, “It’s totally quiet here, people shopping, there won’t be any trouble don’t worry!”. I was wrong.

This morning’s 4 mile run took me up and down the leafy streets of Crouch End. No damage to be seen anywhere along the way, not even many metal shutters to be raised. I ran slowly, painfully, Monday’s 8 miles telling on my legs, taking their toll on every hill. I walked three times, once to change podcast, but twice just because. This is becoming a habit I need to break.

Change is possible. Hope is important.

100 not out

This is my 100th post. To celebrate I went for a run (of course!), taking in an appropriate Islington street in a slow but steady 8 miles.

This post means that I have now been for more than 100 runs in 2011 (I’ve run more times than I’ve written about running). It’s odd to have a record of that number. I now know that I run every other day. 3.2 times a week. I’m not sure if I’m proud of this, embarrassed to have run so much, or annoyed that I haven’t run more.

Running is a relative concept. I’m not aiming for any ideal mileage. How pleased I am with it depends on how fit I am, how far I ran last week, what I had for lunch, whether I’ve got a hangover, how fast Mr Notajogger is at the moment…

However far I run though, however fast or slow, whatever I’m training for, I’m still running. 100 not out.

It’s not a Competition

It has been mentioned (once or twice) in the past that I have a slight tendency towards competitiveness. Sadly this is not matched by a similar level of self-belief or natural talent.

I am only competing against myself, but I am a rival who never retires. I’m not just talking about achieving new personal best race times. Even on days when I don’t run, I make sure I am there to remind myself of past glories and serve up an extra helping of guilt, just in case I am not feeling lazy enough already.

I only ran twice last week. This was partly due to feeling faint, but mainly to going away for a hen weekend where running wasn’t an option, but staying up until 3am eating chips and dancing to Meat Loaf was.

Whenever I left the house or office last week runners swished by, trailing shame and envy in their wake. Every morning Mr Notajogger bounded in from his run, dripping the sweat of the righteous, as I groped blearily for the kettle. In York for the hen weekend I watched a runner run the length of the river bank in the time it took my hungover brain to work out how to get the coffee out of my takeaway cup.

Last night I joined the ranks of the runners again and my guilt was silenced. I ran 6 miles around Regent’s Park from the office and it was a lovely run. Slow, very slow, but steady. Compared to last week’s effort, this week is already winning. Not that it is a competition.

Good Day!

Yes! Today merits an exclamation mark. I finally managed a good run, outside, on a sunny day without feeling faint.

As runs go, it was far from perfect. Half way up the first ascent of Crouch End Hill my chest started to feel tight and by the summit I was gulping breath into my lungs in painful gasps. 25 minutes and a few trembling ascents later, I decided to walk up the last two hills.

Usually I feel guilty about not running (or even jogging), but today I felt like walking gave me more time to look at the gardens, to listen to This American Life and to feel the sunshine on my face. I was bright red, sweating, out of breath and exhausted. I felt weeks away from being able to run a good 10k time, but I didn’t care. Running races and training for them is something I enjoy, and miss, but after a few days of feeling like I couldn’t run at all, a bad run on a beautiful morning was good enough for me.

Wake-up call

Back to work today, and to rising at 6am for a run.

I was tired, but after the initial shock of the alarm and a fight to open my eyes, a smile started to wake up my face. Into the kitchen to feed the weaving cats, back into the dark bedroom to pull on my kit, a quick brush of the teeth and out onto pavements dark with last night’s rain, glittering in the sun. It was a beautiful morning, even on the Holloway Road. I passed several other runners who looked deep in thought, pondering the day, the week, or perhaps just breakfast.

I myself have eaten two breakfasts and am about to go for my second lunch, as it is time to give blood again and after last week’s croissant festival, I will take any excuse to fill my face.

Au Revoir

I’m off to Paris for a few days this week and I am not taking my trainers. I have filled my travelbag with floaty dresses rather than sweaty t-shirts; it’s packed, the deed is done. I will have to use the time I would have been running to eat macarons and have afternoon naps. Quel domage!

In all seriousness, I am feeling a bit nervous about a few days without running, which is an indication that this might be a good idea.

Yesterday I prepared for the oncoming rest with a 10.5 mile run. It seems this summer thing is actually going to keep happening, so I made myself take the camelpak and choose a route which took in as many parks and the shade of as many trees as possible.

I stopped to take this photograph of the angel in Highgate Cemetery as I ran down the hill. I like to keep track of how he’s doing; I was quite jealous of his shady bower.

The stillness of the Cemetery was quickly broken. I set off late and the pavements were punctuated by runners. There were charity events in Hampstead Heath and Regent’s Park, and every patch of grass was filled with cricket players and dogs, sunbathers and Ricky Gervais (now there’s a celebrity spot for you, Michelle).

Until Friday, au revoir mes amis.

Crazylegs Crane

Mr Notajogger expressed awe at my 6 mile run this morning, which made me feel better about being late for work as I rushed around the kitchen.

I wasn’t sure I’d manage an East Finchley circuit when I left the flat, but some mornings just make it easy to run. My legs were tired but the sun was out, wispy fair weather clouds were floating overhead and I was in a very good mood. This was mainlydue to my trip to see the Home of Metal exhibition the previous evening, which is brilliant and rock-tacular. I particularly enjoyed the photographs of old gigs and metal fans. Fans of metal I mean, not fans made from metal.

It’s going to be hot this weekend and I’m looking forward to getting out the vest and flappy shorts on Sunday and putting them to the test with a long run. I may have to pull out the camel~~toe~~pak if it’s properly sweaty. I have no idea why this seems exciting to me, but for some reason it is. I have Friday fever.

Sunday Service resumed

I am happy to report that yesterday morning I went for a run of about 9 miles, untainted by the need to atone for any previous or planned over-indulgences. The fact that I then ate a massive roast beef Sunday lunch and plateful of cakes at my book club is unrelated.

It took less than two hours for Mr Notajogger and I to agree on a route long enough for me and short enough for him. A trip to Regent’s Park was out, and I couldn’t face the hills of our regular Ally Pally run, so we compromised on a route from last year’s marathon training. Calculated to include the most miles for the fewest hills, it’s not pretty. From the urban splendour of Archway roundabout and the Seven Sisters Road, it snakes past chicken shops and housing estates, under railway lines and down bus routes, up stadium steps and across snarling junctions. When the most attractive parts of your run are the occasional trees of Finsbury Park, you know it’s not a thing of beauty.

Still, it was great to be outside and running without guilt. My mileage last week was low, so this took it to 23, almost respectable.