Wake up and smell the facts

No change with the cold.
Ran 3 miles from work, slowly.
Used many tissues.

Two and a half days to go to the race and I need to face facts: I am not going to be able to run a best time if I still feel like this, and I am probably still going to feel like this.

I will finish the race, however, and if I can do it in less than 1 hour 40 minutes that’ll be just about acceptable. Anything over 1.40 and I’ll definitely be questioning the wisdom of Mr Hall and his training plan, phlegm or no phlegm.

It is at about this point before a race that I start to wish I weren’t so competitive. It’s a very handy thing in training, pushing myself to work harder, but more likely to result in self-flagellation than congratulation on the big day. Previously, when a race has gone to plan, rather than being delighted with my new time I just feel relieved I didn’t mess it up.

So, maybe it’s a good thing I’m not on top form. I might actually give myself a break and enjoy the run. A tour of leafy London suburbs with a few hundred sweaty loons on a Sunday morning, what’s not to like?

Like Rain on your Wedding Day

It isn’t ironic, I don’t think, that I have a cough 4 days before the race after 9 weeks of pretty good health. It is, however, really annoying and something of a running cliche.

Attempting a 5 mile run with a 20 minute tempo section today, I only managed 4 and 10. Each of those miles was punctuated by several stops to cough, spit, blow my nose or clear my throat. It wasn’t a good day for pavements. Or passers by.

I have 3 days to get it all out of the system, or sunday’s race will be long and slow. Tomorrow I’m breaking out the wasabi peas.

Weekly Rrrrrround-up

OOPS.

Last week marked the penultimate week of my half-marathon training, during which I managed to go running 5 times and write about it 0 times. In my defence, it was an odd week, bookended by two public holidays, with a royal wedding, a hen night, and a real wedding in the middle. I could and should have squeezed in writing about my running as well as running itself, and will promise to do better in future.

To summarise progress, one week from Race Day:

  • I ran 31 miles;
  • my pace is looking good, averaging 7-minute miles during Friday’s 6 mile tempo run ;
  • my health is looking bad, with a cold contracted mid-real wedding, which continues to gather its own pace;
  • the weather is still amazing; and
  • running  just before a Royal Wedding begins is a lovely, though quite lonely, thing to do.

Here’s a photo from my 10.30am run on Friday, looking down towards the city from Ally Pally park. I saw one other person in the park, he had a thermos of coffee and a stack of newspapers and looked very pleased with himself. He was not wearing red, white or blue.

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Summer is here: Happy Easter!

I’m sitting in my garden on an April evening, wearing shorts and still feeling too hot. Yesterday I actually had to go and buy an ice lolly to cool down. It’s lovely to be outside on this long weekend but it does feel wrong to be worried about your Easter eggs melting in the sun, in April, in England.

This morning, this weekend really, was all about the 12 mile “race-sim”: 6 miles easy, 6 miles fast. I took it seriously enough to forego the booze and eat a decent pasta meal last night. I even bought an energy gel last week to have on the way (I usually just stick to jelly babies). None of this helped. Or if it did, then I dread to think what the run would have been like without them. I felt exhausted from about 2 miles in, the energy gel was like sucking down half a tube of warm orange toothpaste and the last 2 miles were as tough as the end of any real race I’ve done. I guess that is the point of a “race-sim”, but compared to my lovely Dorset run two weeks ago it was grim.

Forcing myself to be positive, we managed the 6 fast miles at a pace of 7min 20 secs per mile, which was good given the temperature and fact that some of them were along the Seven Sisters Road. That road should not be part of any fast run- It was like Ski Sunday today: churchgoers with Easter baskets walking three abreast, bins, lampposts, winos and scampering pitbulls. I should be thankful we made it back in one piece.

Back on the Horse

So I was feeling so down after my terrible run yesterday that I popped down to Camden and scored some heroin. That stuff is moreish!

What I might actually mean by the title of this post is that I got over my terrible run last night by eating some cake and then getting up and going for another one this morning. Another run, that is, not another cake. Although I could go for that too, now that I’ve got a 3.5 mile run under my belt today. That must equal about six cupcakes in calories, right?

It may not have been a long or a hard run, but size is not important. It got me back on the running horse and (sort of) prepared for Sunday’s 12 mile “race sim”. Bring on the Easter eggs.

Pride comes before the Wall

I love these light, bright evenings. Instead of getting home and having to force myself into running kit and out of the door, I walk in and can’t wait to get out back out again, trainers on.

At least, this is how I felt last night. I went for a 5 mile “easy run” around Crouch End and Muswell Hill and it really was easy. Wow, I thought, I’ve reached the point in my training where even when I’m tired my legs can carry me along without too much effort. Running up Mount Doom at the end, I felt like I was being pulled up the hill by an invisible ski lift.

This evening, however, the ski lift was nowhere to be found and I was flailing in the gutter. It was the dreaded tempo session (hard): 35 minutes (5 miles) with 1 mile either side. It was hot. It was hell. I managed a pathetic 10 minutes of the tempo section before realising that if I carried on I might actually die of exhaustion. I can’t work out what went wrong, everything hurt at once. I managed to keep running for the whole distance, but could only manage two short bursts of speed and ran the rest at a snail’s pace.

Apparently Kenyan runners are famous for their tempo runs. They run them for 10-20 miles. I don’t think I am a Kenyan.

Giving your all

So Ryan Hall, of training plan fame, came fourth in the Boston marathon on Saturday, with a time of just under 2 hours 5 minutes. Not bad I suppose, but was he running up Shepherd’s Hill at 5k pace this morning before 6.30am? No he was not.

Of all the hard sessions in his excellent plan, interval training is still the one I’m most comfortable with. The thought of a tempo run before breakfast turns my stomach, but I quite enjoyed the intervals this morning. I suspect I was running them (5 x 1k at 5k pace) more slowly than I would have at 6.30pm, but I was going as fast as I could and only cut one of them short (the last, and only by 30 seconds).

It was a warm morning and the sky glowed pink over blue Crouch End rooftops as the sun came up. When I got home I was too hot to face breakfast, but had to force down some toast just before leaving for work to avoid fainting on the tube. This is most unlike me, usually I am eating within 5 minutes of finishing a run.

I really felt for all the London marathoners on Sunday, running in unseasonable heat. It’s the one thing you can’t do anything about – I saw two elite runners vomit after they crossed the finish line, one of them pretty copiously. Good for her, I thought, there’s no doubt now in anyone’s mind that she gave it her all. The proof is in the puking…

Weakly round-up

A weak pun for a poor week. It finished well with a 13 mile run on Sunday, but with only two other runs, and a total of 24 miles, it wasn’t the peak of the training schedule that it should have been. Three weeks to go ’til the race and I’m still not sure how fast I’ll be able to run it. I’d say a pb is possible, but unlikely.

This week’s plan calls for at least 33 miles and the tempo and ‘race-sim’ sessions look tough. The weather forecast looks sunny which is great for the soul, but bad for the hayfever. So my main prediction is that Kleenex will be making lots of money from me this month. I wonder if Paula Radcliffe carries a packet of tissues on every run like me – she could pop it down her compression socks.

Going the extra mile (or not)

So, it wasn’t a cold, but instead a weird fevery-virus type affair that lasted a couple of days and completely wiped me out . I went for three days without running, the most since my post- marathon recovery week in November. On Saturday morning I was still feeling shady, but decided to risk a short run in the spirit of  ‘kill or cure’. As I’m not writing this from an afterlife where ghosts sit around drinking wine and blogging  (imagine that), it was happily the latter.

I don’t think running is generally to be recommended as a cure for illness, but it definitely does wonders for my mental wellbeing. I am not good at being ill, by which I mean that a) I’m not ill very often, thankfully, and b) I struggle to embrace the advantages of illness. On normal days I fantasize about sitting at home or in the garden with my book, sipping cold beverages or painting my toenails while watching episodes of Monk. When I am ill I feel too guilty to switch on the TV and draw the curtains for fear that the view of the garden might prevent my headache from reaching its true potential. Illness destroys all my positivity; running restores it.

This morning no trace of illness remained and I thought, what better to aid full recovery than a 14 mile run? It’s the longest run in my training plan and I might feel like a fraud if I didn’t at least attempt it. As it was, we didn’t manage it. Mr Notajogger and I plodded around our old half-marathon route and, from about 6 miles in, the idea of tacking on the extra mile at the end began to feel more and more extravagant. I mean, what would it actually achieve? We will never know, as we stopped our watches outside Nando’s on Stroud Green Road (the traditional end of our 13 mile runs during marathon training) at 1 hour 46 minutes. I want to knock 12 minutes off that in three weeks’ time – maybe we should have done that extra mile…

The difference between a cold and hayfever

At the moment I think it’s that you can run with hayfever, but not with a cold. Or at least, that’s my excuse. I think it’s a cold. I haven’t had one all year! I woke up on Monday with the telltale constant feeling that I’m going to sneeze that comes with hayfever, but today my head feels like a medicine ball and I can barely keep my eyes open.

The result of this malingering is that I didn’t run yesterday and I’m not going to run tonight. I don’t want to, which is a good sign that something is awry. I’m on such a roll lately I’m like a puppy scratching at the door when it comes to running time.  There is a 14 mile run in the diary for Sunday, which I really really want to do, but I might just really really have to calm down instead. Harrumph.