This week in running – Not a Jogger

January: the month for taking motivation wherever we can find it

Speculoos & cream cheese: motivation in a biscuit

It’s getting near the end of January (hurrah!), and resolutions are fraying along with tempers. We are all hanging out for payday, for lighter days, and warmer weather. But running can’t wait, at least not for me. If I am going to run London marathon this year – and I think I am – I need to get out there now.

Usually I have a training plan, and use that to hold myself to account. But not this year. At least, not yet. I had so much time off running in late 2022 that I never got to build a good marathon running base. My past three months’ running still look like a rollercoaster with big dips for Covid and The Cold, and I haven’t strung together three weeks’ good mileage yet. Once I can do that, I will call it marathon training.

Running without a plan is tempting in the spring or summer, when just being outside is a delight. Right now, ploughing through the mud in -4, not having a plan is a big risk. With energy bills so high, my house is cold, and just getting changed into my running kit is the hardest part of going for a run.

January is the toughest month for running. It’s mad that this is time most people start training for their first marathon. And honestly, if nearly thirty years of running has taught me anything it’s this: find motivation wherever you can. Looking forward to a bath when you get home? Want to wear that new headband? Have to go to the post office? Want to see the seals in the River Nene? All reasons I have used to go for a run in the past two weeks.

The king of motivators – always – is the one I use least: running with other people. I run alone because it’s convenient, but also because there’s nobody else to worry about. Even when I’m running with friends and family I get anxious: am I talking too much? Too little? Am being boring? Am I going too fast? Too slow? I wish I could turn off these fears, because running with other people is brilliant. Time goes more quickly, I get to hear all the gossip, and – most importantly – I always turn up.

(p.s. I did not see the seals)

Do I seem like I’m marathon training to you?

Deciding to run a marathon is easy. Signing up to run a marathon is easy. Running a marathon… isn’t easy exactly, but at least it’s quick. The bit that really isn’t easy is every single day between signing up for a marathon and actually running it: the training.

The training is the hard bit. And training for a spring marathon is the hardest. It’s dark, it’s cold, I’ve been here before. This year feels harder though, and I’ve been trying to work out why. It’s not any darker and it’s a lot less cold in the UK this year. It is wetter and a whole lot windier, but it’s not the weather that’s the problem.

What is the problem, then? I am five weeks away from Peterborough marathon – my ninth – and I am still stuck knee deep in denial. I signed up late, after New Year. I dusted off last year’s training plan. I added on a few miles a week. I’ve done a handful of sessions. I’ve done some long runs, some races. It looks to the outside world like I’m putting the miles in: 45 a week. Fewer than many, but more than most. Not great, but not the problem either.

If marathon performance = training + belief + luck, is the problem lack of belief? I’ve had some issues making my peace with getting slower, and a few weeks off with posterior tibial tendinitis in late summer knocked my confidence a bit. But that’s not it. I’m still dreaming of a 3:15 marathon. Not just dreaming, I still believe I can do it (not this year, obviously!) because that injury came after a summer of proper speed. A summer where I smashed my mile, 5k and 10k pbs even though I’m in my mid-forties.

So, it’s not the training or the belief. And I can’t do anything about the luck. The real problem this year is that… whisper it… running a marathon is just not that important.

Things that are more important than marathons this year: my daughter, my relationship, my family, my job, my friends, my colleagues, cross-country races, my sleep, cooking food, junior parkrun, a good book, NetFlix. Did I mention sleep?

I still love you, marathon, but I’m phoning it in this year and we both know it. Cross your fingers for a lot of luck on 5 April 2020.

The good thing about competing against yourself, is that you always win

When we were little, my dad was the King of Competitiveness. Racing us up the street, he would hang back until just before the kerb and then pull a Mo Farah and beat us to the pavement at the last minute. When playing cards, he always used his superior skill to trounce our measly efforts and, when he couldn’t, he cheated. He hated games of chance. “There’s no skill involved!”, he would moan, as our tiny hands won at snap.

I say all this with affection. Never has there been a lovelier man, but the thing that he loves most of all is to win. He used to have a duffel bag full of trophies which we occasionally emptied onto the bed, practising our Oscar acceptance speeches with the one for ‘G Flight Darts Champion, 1979’. The man had a trophy for every sport: football, cross-country, boxing, ice hockey (ice hockey!), squash, cricket. There was nothing he couldn’t win at.

I have inherited this competitiveness gene. My daughter is still too little for me to test it in full – about the same age as me in the photo – but I suspect my turn to cheat at Hungry Hippos may not be far off.

On the whole, I’m grateful. You say competitiveness; I say caring. For what is the point of playing a game of cards if you don’t care who wins? Non-competitive people make very dull playing companions. They forget who is dealing. “Who is next?”, they ask time and again, “what’s trumps?”, “oh, does that mean I win?”. ARgh.

Sometimes, though, I will admit that it is not a blessing. The desire to beat your personal best running times can be a great motivator, but it cannot be switched off. In Spring 2012 I ran a marathon in 3 hours 28 minutes. In Spring 2013 I had a baby. In Spring 2014 I’m running another marathon, and I have just had to accept that I should not attempt to better my best.

A small voice inside, even now, is still saying “really? Why not??!!”, but it must be ignored. On Saturday I ran what my training plan called a “half marathon race” and what in reality was a steady 13.1 miles. I completed it in 1h 43 minutes. Not bad, if you ignore the fact that it nearly killed me. The thought of doing that, at that speed, twice, is unimaginable. I could try it, but I would surely fail. If I tried to run the Milton Keynes marathon in 8 minute miles I could possibly manage 15, maybe 20 miles, before blowing up like a pulverised balloon at my daughter’s first birthday party. For the first time, my desire not to do this is stronger than my desire to win.

So, my new goal: finish in 3 hours 45 minutes and ENJOY THE RACE. Still a bit competitive, obviously. I’m not giving up who I am, after all.

Weekly stats:

Monday: rest
Tuesday: 6 miles with 200m bursts
Wednesday: rest
Thursday: 7 miles with hill reps
Friday: 4.5 miles easy
Saturday: 13.1 miles “race”
Sunday: 4 miles recovery run

Total: 34.5 miles

Motivation: delicious carrot or vicious stick?

Sometimes all it takes to make me run is the promise of coffee and cake at the end. Here is Sunday’s. It was warm, tasty and swiftly inhaled at The Spoke on Holloway Road after a fast, hard 10 miler.

Most of the time there are no cakes at the end of a run, though, are there? There are no prizes for running 6 sodding sodden miles home on a dark Tuesday night, only dripping trainers and beans on toast again.

This week I ran five times. Twice I came home in the pouring rain, picked up my daughter from nursery, gave her warm milk and a lovely bath, then put on my kit and went back out into the rain to run 6 or 7 miserable miles in the dark. After doing this on Friday night, on Saturday and Sunday morning all I wanted to do was stay in bed, even though the sun was shining.

So why didn’t I? No-one is forcing me to run. I signed up to train for a marathon with absolutely no cajoling from anyone. Most people, including my family, think I am mad. So what is forcing me out of the door?

I don’t need to “lose the baby weight” (and nor does anyone). I’m not unfit. I’m not unhappy. I don’t need a goal. I’m not being pushed by anything negative. I’m motivated by the biggest, most delicious slice of cake and cup of coffee imaginable: finishing a marathon a year after having a baby. Just doing that – proving to myself, and no-one else, that I’m still here. I’m still a runner.

Monday: rest
Tuesday: 6 miles with 8 x 40 secs hill reps
Wednesday: 7 miles
Thursday: booze
Friday: 6 miles easy
Saturday: 5 miles with 2.5 mile tempo in the middle
Sunday: 10 miles steady

Total: 34 miles

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!

Returning to running: week one

Things I have learned in my first week of running after having a baby:

1. Running will not make you more tired. You are already so tired that would not be possible.

2. The first run will be the best. The second and third runs will hurt a lot more so if the first run is agony it’s probably a good idea to wait a few days before attempting a second, or go for fast/hilly walk instead to get your muscles working.

3. The week that you are (sadly) stopping breastfeeding is not a good week to go running. At least not without a sports bra several sizes larger than your usual one, and a whole lot of painkillers.

4. Walking is great preparation for (or replacement for) running in the first weeks after birth, and in late pregnancy. My muscles still feel strong despite not having run for 6 months thanks to lots of walks.

5. Your running gear will be tight and your belly will wobble. You will feel like people are staring but, if they do, you can shout “I just birth to a human being, what’s your excuse?”

6. It is great that you don’t wet yourself mid-run but that doesn’t mean your pelvic floor is back to normal. Try doing some star jumps and you’ll see what I mean.

7. Don’t work too hard to fit your run in to your day. Something will probably have to be sacrificed but it shouldn’t be your sleep, your dinner or your sanity. You could eat a ready meal though, and does the baby really need a bath? She smells lovely to me.

8. Don’t try and write a blog about your running at 4am. Even if you manage not to publish a blank or half written version (sorry about that) what you do manage to write will not make sense to anyone, including you when you read it the next day.

Losing the Plot

One week to go until the North Dorset Village Marathon and I feel… I don’t know how I feel.

Or rather, I feel nothing.

Or rather, I feel lots of contradictory things.

I feel like my training has gone well: I’ve been consistent, I’ve run more miles than I did for my last marathon, I haven’t had any major injuries or time off for illness. I think I could run a marathon in 3 hours 30 minutes.

I don’t think I could run a marathon in 3 hours 30 minutes. That’s 25 minutes faster than my last marathon. The course is going to be hilly, my hamstring is still tight. Who am I kidding?

I don’t know if there’s going to be a happy ending or not. If things go badly next Sunday I will point to my tight hamstring and the fact that I went to a nightclub last night (yes!) as proof that things were doomed to failure. If things go well, then dancing til midnight (I know!) was valuable cross-training and the hamstring thing was just a niggle.

I’m in the middle of my story, I’m not in control of the plot now. I can’t turn to the final page and tell you what happens. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Weekly Summary:

Monday: rest
Tuesday: 6 miles (steady)
Wednesday: 5.5 miles (easy)
Thursday: 5 miles (intervals)
Friday: rest
Saturday: 8 miles
Sunday: rest

Total: 24.5 miles

The Benefits of Passive Running

Yesterday morning I ran 0 miles.

I woke up at 7.30am (a lie-in) and had a leisurely breakfast of normal, non-athletic proportions. I ate no carbohydrate-based gels. I drank no sugary sports drinks. An hour later I got out of bed, sauntered into the living room, switched on the TV, and sat on the sofa for three hours.

I love the London Marathon. I look forward to watching it on the BBC so much that I find myself singing the ‘theme tune’ under my breath for days beforehand. If I ever ran the race itself I would be gutted if they weren’t playing it as I ran through the start. In reality they’re probably playing Rihanna or something. This is one of the many reasons why I’ll never run it. There are at least 37,499 others.

I’ve only ever been to watch it in person once, despite living in London. It was an amazing atmosphere, I managed to see my friend and cheer her on, but to say I’m not good in crowds would be something of an understatement. I have a panic-attack in Tesco on a Friday night if the queues are too long.

Watching the elites, and then the real runners, from the comfort of my sofa was perfect. The elite men, particularly, are really creatures from another planet. I can’t make any kind of connection between what they do and what I’m able to do. This is good for my competitiveness, and means I can relax and enjoy the spectacle. The real runners, however, just make me want to get out there.

A good thing, then, that there are only 13 days until I will be – on the mean streets of Dorset, with my 399 fellow-runners.

This week’s running summary:

Monday: 8 miles (steady)
Tuesday: 6 miles (esasy)
Wednesday: 7 miles (800m intervals)
Thursday: rest
Friday: 6 miles (with 5 at marathon pace)
Saturday: 9 miles

Total: 36 miles

TWENTY MILES

Last week I was assailed by a massive wave of tiredness. It had been building for a while, but running 8 miles before breakfast on Thursday was the final push the wave needed to knock me out of my boat and leave me beached on the shores of exhaustion.

I had to take a day off on Friday. I also had to get a massage. My hamstrings have been getting gradually tighter over the last couple of weeks, to the point where I now can’t do my glute exercises (which are supposed to take pressure off my lower back) because the hamstrings won’t let me isolate any other muscles. 13 weeks of training are now setting off a muscular domino effect. Everything is over-compensating for everything else- it’s like a midlife crisis of the legs.

The massage was great, by which I mean horrifically painful. On Saturday morning I was ready for my last long run before the big day- 20 miles. I made it round in 2 hours and 47 minutes and it was fine, even brilliant, until the last 2 miles. Even the massive hill (see below) which took up 3 miles in the middle was fine. Fine, fine, fine, until 18 miles when it felt like my pelvis had caught fire, and not in good way.

On Sunday I had another rest day, so I suppose the taper has begun. No more “long” runs, but I did run 8 miles this morning, so I suppose long is a relative concept.

Weekly summary:

Monday: rest
Tuesday: 6 miles
Wednesday: 6 miles
Thursday: 8 miles
Friday: rest
Saturday: 20 MILES
Sunday: rest

Total: 40 miles