marathon training – Page 2

In praise of the run-commute

It’s the end of a long day and time to leave the office. You ate your lunch five hours ago. You haven’t drunk any water. It’s cold. It’s windy. It’s raining. It’s dark. You just want to get on the train and sleep, but you have to run home.

So why should you? Because the run-commute is the best run you’ll ever do!

It’s a multi-tasking genius of a run which gets you home and gets you fit; it ticks all the boxes without ticking off your partner or kids; it saves you money and it saves you time. You will never regret doing it, even if you arrive home drenched, freezing and exhausted, because as soon as you’ve showered you will have the rest of the evening to sit around and bask in the knowledge that you no longer have to get up and go out for a run.

I will admit that it is a pain working out what to pack in the mornings and remembering your sports bra and not forgetting to wear your trainers and making sure you have smart shoes at work and wearing a light jacket instead of a heavy coat and taking it all home again the next day. But it is all worth it.

I should really get a running rucksack.

Tonight I’m running 7 miles home, via Camden and Regents Park outer circle, and even though I’m molto exhausto, I expect to enjoy it approximately 100x more than last night’s 4 mile plod around Crouch End at 7.30pm. For after I’ve done it, I am going to eat chips and drink rosé on the sofa. So there.

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

5… 4… 3… (2)…(1)

5 miles run on Monday, marathon pace.

4 miles run on Wednesday, easy pace.

3 miles jogged this morning.

2 tons of pasta to eat tomorrow.

1 race to run on Sunday.

( I tried to find a clip to put here of the scene in Wayne’s World where they do the countdown but don’t say two or one, but I couldn’t find one. Denied.)

A Case of The Figgles

Four days to go until marathon day and I have serious case of The Figgles. This term, coined by the fabulous Holly, is just what I have been looking for to explain my latest taper-related psychosis:

Phantom niggles = Figgles.

The Figgles are figments of your imagination made flesh. Lying in bed, you feel shooting pains in your left thigh. Climbing the stairs, your ankles feel weak and spongey. Sitting at your desk, your right hamstring feels really tight. You stand up to stretch and something clicks in your neck. Oh God, you’ve broken your spine!

This is nothing compared to what happens when you put your trainers on.

Have my legs always felt this heavy? My knees are grating. Are they grating? Now they’re clicking. I’m wheezing! I’m actually wheezing! Oh God, I can’t even run 2 miles, how can I run 26.2?

This morning I ran 4 miles and it felt like 54. I stopped for a wheeze/stretch/panic attack at every traffic light. Sunday cannot come soon enough.

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

No Inclination for Intervals

Yesterday evening I ran my last proper “session” before marathon day. The plan said 10 x 400m with 90 seconds rest. I attempted to be organised. I searched around on mapmyrun for a flat section of road with no cross-streets that was about 400m, found one and set off.

When I got there I soon realised:

a) it was not flat
b) it was not 400m
c) it was frickin’ windy.

It turns out that 0.44km is not 4 metres more than 400m, it is 40 metres more than 400m. 40 metres is quite a long way.

The downhill intervals were run with the wind behind me, super- fast. The uphill ones were not. I only managed 8 in the end, with 4 of them feeling like hill sprints and 4 like gentle jogs.

There is, no doubt, a lesson in this somewhere.

No News is Good News

I’ve been running twice since the weekend. On Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning I put my trainers on, left the house, did some running, stretched a bit, had a shower and forgot about it.

Martin Yelling says you should be “floating” along during your taper, and perhaps that is what I’m doing. I’m certainly not expending any major effort, contracting any major injuries or in fact experiencing anything that is in any way interesting to anyone else.

Sorry.

I have nothing to say. May this continue for the next ten days.

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

Q: When is a Taper not a Taper?

A: When you’re a week into the “taper” and still running the same amount.

A: When your running’s going so well you don’t want to run less.

A: When you tell everyone you’re tapering but really aren’t.

A: When you fear rest and avoid it at all costs.

A: When it’s a tapir.

A: When you really need to get a grip and STOP RUNNING GINA.

I ran 6 miles this morning. In my defense, the plan said 7. In accusation, I could easily have done 4.

My plan seems to have a 2 week taper, rather than a 3 week one. Is this ok? I feel good, but I know I need to slow down. There are 31 miles in the plan for next week, then 10 the final week. Too much? Help!

6 x 800 Metres = Ow

Got to love those intervals.

I left work at 5.30pm in the rain, got home in the rain, got changed (not in the rain) and headed back out for a run. In the rain.

I ran slowly over to Tufnell Park Road, which is straight and about a kilometre long. In an uncharacteristic fit of organisation, I had measured out an 800m section in advance. Of course on one of the intervals I stopped at the wrong cross-street and wondered why that interval was 30 seconds faster than the others, but you can’t expect miracles.

For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to wear my cold weather fleece to run these intervals. I ripped it off after the first one and decided to get soaked instead. 800m intervals are quick. In my case, between 3 minutes and 5 seconds and 3 minutes and 19 seconds (for the last one). If I had done all 10 Yasso 800s, I reckon I would have averaged 3 minutes 20 seconds, so I now have absolute cast iron scientific proof that a 3:30 marathon is possible. Maybe.

In hamstring news, I tried the tennis ball (thanks Holly) in the absence of The Stick (thanks Robinson), but I’m sure I noticed any improvement. My contortions did keep the cats amused, however.