Tag: Running

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…

Cherry cheer

I missed out last week’s update so let me  do that first: 4 runs, skipping Sunday’s due to hangover/tiredness/laziness*, managing 28 miles with two good hard sessions and one rubbish one. 

Tonight was interval day so i ran mine around Regent’s Park – 5 x 1200m at 10k pace with half time recoveries (5 x 5mins fast, with 2.5min recovs). It was ok, not great but not terrible, my legs were still tired from Saturday’s leap for joy.

At the risk of becoming a blossom bore, the cherry trees in the English Garden of the Reg are worth a glance or two. Like nature’s fireworks suspended briefly in full mid-air explosion. Catch them this week or miss out. 

* delete nothing- all three applicable

The happiness of the long distance runner

I’ve just returned from a hen weekend in Dorset,  blessed by the most beautiful weather, flora and fauna England has to offer. Last week was so warm that the waning daffodils stayed a for few days to welcome the cherry blossom, waxing lyrically from hedgerows and gardens along my running route. For run I did, despite the twin temptations of Friday night drinking and Saturday morning lazing about, and I have to say it was about the best 1 hour 23 minutes of my life.

I planned an 11 mile route in advance, from our farmhouse in Puncknowle (highly recommended), along narrow single track roads next to  the tiny River Bride. Running steadily for 6 miles alongside streams and cottages, lambs and rabbits, cattle and carthorses, I passed by villages that described themselves (Little Cheney, Long Bredy, Little Bredy), and hills that crept up unannounced. I turned around at Bridehead and ran 5 of the return miles at a faster pace, supposed to be 7min 30 secs but more like 7 minutes. I couldn’t slow myself down – I was practically whooping for joy at how wonderful it all was. I felt good, my legs were strong and I was so very glad to be alive and able to do this.

I saw 3 other people (two runners and one dog walker) and less than 10 cars over the whole route. Assuming the other runners weren’t holidaying Londoners like me, they are very lucky to live in such a beautiful place, but I really can’t complain. Some people live in the most stunning places  and never leave their garden gate. I can visit for two days, put on my trainers and see enough to keep me happy for the rest of the year. Long Live Running.

Priorities

Between leaving work yesterday afternoon and arriving at work this morning I:

  • Went to the supermarket
  • Watered the garden
  • Went for a 30 min tempo run, plus 1 mile warm up and cool down
  • Had a shower
  • Ate dinner
  • Made a coffee & walnut cake and a batch of raspberry, vanilla & white chocolate cupcakes
  • Made 2 batches of failed icing
  • Did my ironing and packed my bag for a weekend away
  • Sorted out my ipod
  • Slept
  • Got up
  • Fed cats
  • Went for a 4 mile easy run
  • Had a shower
  • Ate toast
  • Resurrected the batches of failed icing and iced the cakes
  • Got back in the shower because I realised I forgot to shave my legs
  • Finished packing

I am quite surprised I didn’t ice my i-pod or iron my legs.

Given this list to prioritise, most normal people would ditch the runs. I know I am odd but I didn’t feel I was making an effort to fit them in. Fitting in the other stuff was the pain.  I can’t remember much about either run, other than that I listened to the same episode of Kermode & Mayo’s film reviews (aka wittertainment) during each and it’s still going, but that doesn’t matter. Sometimes I don’t think about running – I run so I don’t have to think.

Rewards

I got back from the gym an hour and a half ago, since when I have had a hot bath, watched a trashy TV programme (The Model Agency) and eaten a trashy meal (beans on toast). I then ate some cereal straight from the packet. There is a Cameron Diaz film on in the background as I write this. Despite the bath, I feel a bit dirty now.

At the gym I ran the same interval programme as two weeks ago, and the air conditioners weren’t working so I sweated a lot. It went well – I was able to run all the sections at the speeds I planned and I felt like I was pushing myself hard to do it. Sadly, however, I think the reason I felt so good after the run was that I found out that I hadn’t put on any weight this week, after mysteriously gaining 7 lbs since New Year.

It saddens me to spend any time thinking about weight, fatness and thinness. One of the things I love about running is that it frees me from worrying about what I eat. Food becomes fuel as well as something to be enjoyed. I love the protein cravings brought on by high mileage. I love the mid-morning snacks when I’m feeling a bit faint after a pre-breakfast run. I love the pre-run bananas and the post-run energy drinks and the mid-run flapjacks. I love food, and I resent any time spent worrying about whether I’m eating too much of it.

I’m not, I don’t think. Why just yesterday I turned down a second piece of carrot cake.

 

Dirty Dozen

12 miles today, by myself due to manflu. 1h 33 mins’ pounding the streets; a football game with no half time. The first 4 miles felt good, the tedium set in during the middle 4, but the pain didn’t really arrive until mile 9, at which point I was leaving Camden and just starting the slow climb north.

I haven’t had a really painful run since finishing my marathon training. When I was regularly running over 13 miles of a Sunday I judged my fitness on the time in the run that my hip joints started to scrape together like chalk on a blackboard. It was a temporary pain and I’m not sure how, but I knew it would go away once I stopped.

On the day I ran the marathon, the hips kept quiet until mile 19. This morning they were 10 miles short of that. It hurt, but I knew I wouldn’t stop running even though I wanted to, very much. I got through it by thinking about the sun, the song that was playing at that moment, the passing strangers who might judge me for stopping, my lunch. Anything, basically, other than the state of my legs or lungs.

It was a slog to crown a week of slogs. 32 hard miles, and I’m half way through the plan. I don’t know how fast I can go yet, maybe this week will give me a clue.

Pull this thread as I walk away

Before leaving the flat this morning I planned the route of my 6 mile tempo run (moderate), with half a mile warm up and cool down. I committed the start and finish of the tempo section to memory and set off. 

All was going well until I found myself on the Seven Sisters Road and realised I was running a completely different route. I’m not sure what’s to blame- maybe the stupor brought on by a massive meal last night, but more likely the EXCELLENT playlist the genius delivered to my iPod. Starting with Weezer’s Sweater Song, the Indie disco in my head was bip bopping away and, like Thom Yorke, “for a minute there, I lost myself”. 

I’m quite glad it happened – it was a dreadful run but I can’t tell how dreadful owing to not knowing how far I actually ran. suffice it to say the first two tempo miles were great and the remaining four were laughable. I walked twice and slowed to a bona fide jog for the last mile. Ho. Riffic. 

Slogging

I went to the gym last night for a cross-training/short run session, then was out again at 6am this morning for a 4 mile “easy run”. After my weedy efforts on the x-trainer and bike at the gym, the already complaining thighs had stepped it up to screaming level  as I slogged around the drizzly streets of Crouch End.

I did a good deal more pavement contemplation than usual. On a good run I observe the passing flowers, birds or clouds. I ponder the lives of weary strangers waiting for the bus; I redecorate front rooms and re-plant gardens. Today the only things I saw were litter and dogshit.

Some of the litter was in fact blossom, dropped from nearby heights to die prettily in the gutter. I could identify with it.

10k or 12 mile?

Ever since I realised that someone I had been calling Tim “Joss” with a hard “J”, actually pronounced his name Tim “Yoss”, I can’t think of my blog without muttering, “not a yogger”. I don’t think I’m a yogger. It does sound like fun though –  perhaps involving a yomp through a Danone factory.

Yesterday I yogged a series of 6 km intervals at 10k pace, with recovery periods of half the time. For ease of adding up I went for 4min 20 secs at 10k pace, 2mins 10 secs recovery (6mins 30 secs per set). I ran around Regent’s Park so don’t really know whether I stuck to the pace, however I did note the start and finish locations of my third interval and using mapmyrun I can tell you that it was 1.06km, so that’s pretty damn close.

Having had a fairly hard week last week, including a hefty run on Sunday, my legs were seriously feeling the pain. In total contrast to Sunday, when I felt like my legs were writing cheques my lungs could happily cash, yesterday my whole system was overdrawn and bankruptcy felt imminent at the end of each fast km.

To spin out this spurious metaphor, I have a dilemma for this Sunday: do I keep withdrawing cash from the bank of the “Ryan Hall Training Plan“, and get both a 6 mile tempo run and a 12 mile run under my belt this week, or should I keep the money in the bank and save it up for a Regent’s Park 10k on Sunday morning?

I have free entry to the race, which is the only reason I’m feeling guilty for pulling out, if I’m honest. I’m really enjoying the training plan and don’t want to miss out on this week’s sessions, which I’d have to do if wanted to prepare properly for a race. Also, I don’t want to have to get up early on Sunday morning. I think the 12 miles is just edging ahead…