Training Day – Page 6

That Final Push Out Of The Door

This week I’m finding that just having put my name down for a marathon is not enough to get me up at 6am every day to run.

Motivation doesn’t magically arise from the fact that I have to run 26.2 miles on 6th May. Or perhaps it did for the first few weeks of training, but now I’m tired, so tired. I need to mix up my motives:

1. Background Motivation

I love running. I love being a runner. I love having been for a run. I love telling people I’ve just been for a run. I love eating twice as many biscuits because I’ve been for a run. I love being able to fit into my clothes and not having to buy new ones. I love the feeling you get when you’re 10 minutes, or 40 minutes, into a hard run when it suddenly clicks and you feel invincible. I love seeing the seasons change. I love being outside. I need to remember this in February when it’s dark and cold and I have eaten all the pies and even though I’m running nearly 40 miles a week my jeans are still tight.

2. Training Goal

I am going to run a marathon in 3:30 this year.
I am going to run a marathon in 3:30 this year.
I am going to run a marathon in 3:30 this year.

3. The Final Push

If I get up now and run it will be done and tonight I can come home and fall asleep in the middle of my dinner. If I get up now and run I can eat three slices of that delicious bread I bought from the farmer’s market on Sunday for breakfast, with proper butter not flora light. If I get up and run today it will make it harder not to get up and run tomorrow.

If I don’t run today, I won’t make my mileage for the week. If I don’t run today, I will have to run tonight when I’m hungry and even more tired. If I don’t run today, it will be easier not to run tomorrow.

I wrote most of this yesterday, after I had got up to run – an interval session no less – when I really didn’t want to. I am finishing it today, when I didn’t get up to run. I will run tonight.

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

On Not Flaking Out

I am tired. Have I mentioned that recently? I think I might have, but I can’t remember because I’m so flippin’ tired.

I may be tired, but I am still doing this thing. This marathon thing. Training. I went out last night with my shorts over my tights for a hill session, just before it started to snow. Usually I run about a mile to a hill, do the session and then run a couple of miles afterwards to make up the distance. This time I decided, on a whim, to run 4 miles first, then do the session. I think it was a good idea. I was quite tired (yes) when I got to the base of the hill, but I gave it everything I had, as there was no reason to hold back. The end of the session was the end of the run, bar a jog back to the flat.

I did 9 x 40 seconds uphill, as fast as I could. These are very short reps, so I might extend them in future weeks, but for now they were fine. As usual I felt at my worst on the 7th rep, then the last two were better.

This morning I was tired (again) but a short easy run would get my mileage above 35 this week, so I went out in the snow. I ran mostly on the roads as the paths were icy, though the short pieces of untrodden snow I found were rather lovely to run on. Almost crunchy. I still hope it’s gone by tomorrow though.

Squeezing It In

Life is a hectic beast at the moment.

I’m busy at work, busy looking after cats with tubes sticking out of their faces (ick), busy eating, busy trying to get enough sleep. What did I miss? Oh yes, training for a marathon.

A run usually gives me headspace, time to think, a break from stress. When I’m pressed for time, it becomes a funnel for all the guilt I’m feeling about everything other than running. During last night’s 6 mile stagger I spent 5 worrying about work and the cat and how I was going to fit in the weekend’s running and the other 1 blowing my nose.

These are not vintage training runs. They are tough and slow and cold. I’m churning out the miles in a low gear and I can’t seem to change it. However, as I said to Mr Notajogger last night, if I judge my performance based on effort rather than speed, I am giving it pretty much everything I can. It’s just that everything isn’t very much.

50 Words For Snow: None Of Them Printable

Reading other blogs written by runners in colder climes, I feel like a wimp for complaining about the cold. It is almost as common and dull as moaning about having a cold, but I must get it off my chest.

Thursday’s and Friday’s runs were done at -2 degrees C and -4 degrees C respectively, and Sunday’s 12 miles were slugged out through 4 inches of wet snow. I thought I had something to complain about after Friday morning’s run – in Alexandra Palace Park the freezing fog was like having a bulldog clip clamped to each ear – but after Sunday’s nightmare all is forgiven.

It was, quite simply, the hardest run I’ve ever done. I cried for the whole last mile. I screamed with frustration as I plunged ankle-deep into my 15th icy puddle of meltwater. I was still cross about it when I went to bed last night. It was 1 hour and 55 minutes of hell, if hell is London streets covered in a sloppy swamp of slush. And it is.

You may be wondering why on earth I ran at all. I had three reasons:

I love snow. It’s so pretty. I went for a few snowy runs last winter and the winter before and they were gorgeous.
We left the house early thinking we would avoid any slush, as it was snowing all night.
I couldn’t run on Saturday so I really had to get the miles in.

Unfortunately, it did snow all night but the temperature rose, meaning that new snow was already soft and wet. Even areas untouched by the late night clubbers, kebab eaters and random salt-scatterers of North London proved tough-going. There was none of the lovely crunch and scrunch you get when it’s cold; my feet went straight through the white stuff to the squelchy slime beneath.

In summary, it was like running in mud for two hours. Not as dangerous, perhaps – I didn’t fall over – but, because it took as much energy to pull my legs forward as is it did to push them back, just as exhausting.

My rage knew no bounds. Poor Mr Notajogger got the worst of it. He runs in a very upright way, with a short gait and straight stride. I do not. At the end of every step on the slushy bits (ie half the run), my right foot slipped off behind me and had to be reigned in before the next step, making me very slow. Mr N trotted away, unperturbed by the shifting ground. This made me cross. All the other runners (there were surprisingly many of them) looked jolly and rosy cheeked and bouncy. I felt like I was running at half-speed, stuck in a slow-motion crime scene reconstruction. I was certainly feeling murderous.

Totals for the week:

Monday: 7 miles (un-steady)
Tuesday: 6.5 miles (hills)
Wednesday: (5 miles easy)
Thursday: 7 miles (steady-ish)
Sunday: 12 miles (very very slow indeed)

Total: 37.5 miles

The Anti Freeze

It’s great weather for running at the moment. I confess I wasn’t thinking that at 6:30 last night, hopping about in my bedroom putting my running tights on under my coat because I was still so cold from the journey home.

When I was outside pegging it down the freezing streets, however, I had a revelation. At 7:00pm in London yesterday it was -2 degrees C, but the pavements were firm and safe. No frost, no ice. On the BBC forecast this morning they said that the air is so dry at the moment that we’re getting all the cold of a cold snap with none of the crunch of frosty grass or slide of sneaky ice. And that, for a runner – especially one with poor vision – is great news. I even managed a hill session last night, without falling over once.

This cold dry weather means I get to witness skies like this from my office early in the morning:

Sadly, however, my view while running is still like this:

I want to put more pictures on this blog, but the sad fact is that I’m going to be running in the dark for a good month yet. Roll on March.

Making a Spectacle of Myself

I am short-sighted. I wear glasses all day, every day.

I squint with envy on those who can wear contact lenses. I do have some but unfortunately my eyes are too dry for me to wear them for long. I save the lenses for special occasions: a long weekend run, a race, an event where people are likely to take photos and put them on facebook without my knowledge. For everyday running I am ashamed to admit that I wear an old pair of glasses, the right lens of which has a big scratch, and which I keep in place using a red rubber band. Like the ones that postmen use to bind letters (because it is one).

In my defence, the band is usually kept hidden a cap, or at least by my hair. No doubt there are proper running glasses and/or bands to keep them in place that I could buy, but I am too tight-fisted and more importantly too lazy to do this when I already have something that works perfectly well.

Well, perhaps not perfectly. Last night my home-made running glasses let me down. Literally. It was cold and I was running a 7 mile “steady run with a few fast surges”. The glasses were fixed tightly in place. Leaving the office, it was easy to pick up the pace just in order to warm up in the freezing air. Twenty minutes’ in, I was averaging 7:20 miles and feeling good. The trouble started at Old Street tube station, where wandering pedestrians forced me onto the road a couple of times, then brought me to a dead stop. Waiting for an opening to push past them, my steaming breath fogged up my glasses. This happens quite a bit, but usually clears once I’m running again and the wind hits my face.

Heading up City Road, it seemed very dark. I was struggling to make out the edges of paving slabs. I’m not sure what happened next, but one minute I was bounding past a bus queue and the next I was lying face-down on the pavement, legs akimbo. It was more embarrassing than painful, though my right knee and elbow were bleeding. I levered myself up, limped for a few yards, then jogged carefully home.

On entering the flat, I took off my glasses. They looked strange. I have quite long eyelashes, and their mascara-ed lengths had obviously been brushing up and down against the lenses, combining with the foggy air to create black inky patches in front of my eyes.

Perhaps it’s time to invest in those proper running specs?

On the Seventh Day, She Rested

In 6 days, you could get a lot done. You could read War and Peace. You could walk from London to Edinburgh. You could drink 12 glasses of wine and eat 51 KitKats (if you were a woman obeying UK guidelines). You could even create the Heavens and the Earth.

I couldn’t. What I could do was run every day and give my training plan a good kicking. A mid-week interval session gave me thigh burn of the first degree, but I pushed through it with two consecutive days of slow ‘recovery’ running and made it to Sunday’s long run feeling surprisingly fresh.

A summary of the week is below. Annoyingly, life might get in the way of this week’s running, making me struggle to get to 35 miles. I want to be running 40, but I do have 14 weeks to go, so think what I could achieve in that…

Tuesday: 5 miles (easy)
Wednesday: 6 miles (steady)
Thursday: 5 miles (with intervals)
Friday: 4 miles (slow)
Saturday: 6 miles (easy)
Sunday: 10 miles (slow)

Total: 36 miles

The Return of the Burn

My thighs hurt.

On Thursday morning I did not get up at 5:55am. I stayed in bed, took gym kit to work, and headed there at 5:55pm.

Running intervals in the gym is odd. I have no idea if I’m replicating the speed I would run them out of doors or not. The plan was to run 4 x 3 minutes fast, 2 minutes slow. A fairly easy interval session, which I sandwiched between 10 minutes each of warm up and cool down running, some cross-training and weights.

I’m not sure if it was the cross-training, the intervals or the weights, but my thighs were killing me as I attempted to climb the stairs out of the gym. Getting on the bus home for my mammoth three minute journey, my legs buckled and I had to sit down.

Did I push too hard? I have no idea. When I run intervals outside I’m fairly good at judging the fastest pace I can run each interval and still finish them. In the gym I have to pick a speed and hope I’ve got it right. Even half-way through the interval I just can’t tell if I’m running faster or slower than I should be.

There is no way to solve this mystery. It’s not like I could measure how fast I run the intervals outside, then choose that speed in the gym. Oh, wait.

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.