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Fri 4 July 2003The Dublin training is going quite well, though I've achieved my first missed run of the campaign. This is great news - obedience is a greatly overrated virtue. On Tuesday I was supposed to do 3 miles but a post-birthday semi-hangover kept me from getting up at 5:30 to run. I did get out for 3 on Wednesday, then yesterday had a sprightly 5 miles along the canal in the late afternoon. My weekends are beginning to look quite different from previous marathon campaigns. On this Intermediate training, there are two runs to do, and not the one that comes with the Novice schedule. At least the distances at this end of the programme are relatively gentle. I've five miles tomorrow and nine on Sunday. What should I do differently this time? A recurrent theme. So far I've decided I need to be fitter and more disciplined this time round. Added to this is a resolution to try to run without disturbing the household routine much. Getting up early and running is the only solution. M isn't a morning person, which means if I can continue to get up early and run before she's up, she can't complain about running dominating the weekend. Another likely difference this time is fewer website updates. I'm conscious that it's just not that interesting to read the third time around. At least not on a day-by-day basis. I'd suspected this for a while, but it was confirmed when I had an email from an old friend, Roger, who politely told me that the running log was getting dull. I've not seen Roger for many years, but I always listen to him. Just as important, I have a bigger writing project on the back burner, and need to put more energy in that direction. Perhaps I'm all alone in here these days. It feels kind of empty sometimes. Just listen to the echo:
Ooo-er! Oh no! Come back Ian, all is... but he can't hear me. So here I am, all alone. Dum-di-dum-di-dum Da-di-dum-di-da-dum-dum. Think I'll try that echo again: Hullooo! Hullooo! Hullooo! Hullooo! Hullooo! Hullooo! Sat 5 July 2003Some very bad news to report. I'd just glided past the 6 mile point of my 9 miler this morning when I felt something go "snap-crackle-pop" in my left calf, and had to pull up very sharply. The 3 mile walk home won't have helped it much either. This is terrible. It's some kind of calf strain I guess. When I had this trouble with my right calf, after the Reading half marathon, it took me weeks to recover. I really can't afford to lose that sort of time again. The run was going so well, too. I'd headed out along the canal on a great morning for running. The sun was out but there was enough of a breeze to keep me cool. The schedule actually had me down for 6 miles today and 9 tomorrow, but I was enjoying myself enough to decide at the last minute to swap them round. Then this. When I got home I applied the usual 'RICE' treatment (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation). I think this evening I might add the BEER or WINE solution to help heal the emotional damage. Fri 11 July 2003Never thought I'd see the day when I'd find myself on a bus crowded with strangers, spontaneously crying "Banana! Banana!" followed, a minute later by "Strawberry! Strawberry!" then "Tomato!" and "Lime! Lime!" and "Apple!" That day finally arrived today. More later. Let's deal with running first. On Wednesday I visited the local sports injury clinic to be prodded and interrogated by a physio called Alison. The upshot is that this injury probably isn't as bad as I first feared. I might even be back running next week. It's occurred to me recently that I keep going on about the Dublin marathon, but I have some important running dates before then. I've entered, and been accepted for, the Bristol Half Marathon on September 7th, the Great North Run (another half marathon, in Newcastle) two weeks after that, and the Great South Run, a 10-miler in Portsmouth, on October 12th. I should be focussing on these events, and letting the marathon training take care of itself. I had thought I'd do the Burnham Beeches Half in August, but that's only five weeks away -- possibly not enough time if I'm going to have to ease gently back into it after this current setback. After the visit to the physio, I returned home, packed a couple of bags and drove down to Cornwall. We decided a couple of weeks ago that a break was overdue, so here we are, having that very break. The injury fits in quite nicely, it has to be said. I've been on a beer, pasty and ice cream diet for a couple of days now, and we're shortly off to the Rick Stein restaurant in Padstow for a belated birthday meal. The proper one. So this is yet another final pig-out before serious training sets in. Or is it? My self discipline is shot to pieces at the moment. Yesterday we took in a couple of National Trust houses. We renew our membership every year but don't get round too many of the properties, so when we go away like this we try to catch up a bit. Yesterday we sauntered round Cotehele and Lanhydrock. It was good to see so many Americans groaning ecstatically over the Tudor weaponry and the four-poster beds and the servants' cubbyholes. Seems a much better way of understanding British history than traipsing round Whitehall and St Pauls. Ever wondered what became of Willie Thorne, the professional snooker player who never quite managed to win anything? No, nor had I. But I called into a shop yesterday to buy some white 'trainer liner' socks, and found that for 89 pence I could become the owner of three pairs of Willie Thorne socks. Yes, that's him, grinning from the packaging. I read something recently about celebrity endorsement products, and learnt that Lloyd Grossman - the chap who drags his mid-Atlantic vowels through a variety of bodily orifices prior to delivery - has earned £50 million pounds from those pasta sauces that I've seen in Sainsbury's, but that I've never seen anyone buy. I doubt if Willie Thorne socks are providing the eponymous endorser with anything like that. Each pair worked out at about 29 pence. That's 14.5 pence a sock. Take off the retailer's margin and you're probably left with 10p a sock. How much does it cost to manufacture and deliver a sock in its packaging? Don't know, but whatever's left over out of that 10 pence belongs to Willie Thorne. This must be the cue to relate my other almost-famous snooker player anecdote. It concerns Tony Meo and two cases of Champagne. Hmm. Another time perhaps... Mon 14 July 2003The Eden Project was well worth a visit. Perhaps we were just lucky, but we were there on a day when there were no warring platoons of commando schoolkids to deal with. Just other fat old gits like me. All the car-parks are named after fruits. We found ourselves in the Plum car-park. On the courtesy bus at the end of the day, there was a lot of confusion among the other oldies about where we were whenever the bus stopped, hence the chanting of "Banana!" and "Strawberry!" alluded to in the previous entry. It was kind of surreal. Padstow was full of culinary highlights, though I couldn't make my mind up between the gourmet 5-course Rick Stein meal on Friday night, and the chocolate & banana pasty on Saturday morning. We meandered up the west coast of Cornwall and before cutting inland through the north of Dartmoor. I wanted to dip down to North Tawton to visit the grave of a friend of mine. After finding the church I was mystified by the absence of the gravestone I was looking for. Had her family really forgotten her? We eventually left, rather sadly, and were heading out of the area when M spotted another church up on a remote hillside. We decided to investigate -- and there we found the grave. How did I get that wrong? What an atmospheric place. St James's at Bondleigh. For some reason it reminded me of that scene in Shawshank Redemption where Red goes off to look for the oak tree in Buxton, marking the spot where Andy Dufresne has buried the box. I could almost hear that Tim Robbins voiceover: Dear Red. If you're reading this, you've gotten out. And if you've come this far, maybe you're willing to come a little further. You remember the name of the town, don't you? I could use a good man to help me get my project on wheels. I'll keep an eye out for you and the chessboard ready. Remember, Red. Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well. Your friend. Andy. It was a baking hot afternoon. There was no one around. How quiet and peaceful it was. Anyone who's been reading this stuff for a while may remember that I had an "Adlestrop moment" when running through the Gloucestershire countryside in February of last year. Here's the link. Last time, a couple of people mailed me to ask what an Adlestrop moment was. Hard to explain exactly. Best to start with the Edward Thomas poem, written about an afternoon in June 1914:
Adlestrop
Thomas was killed in Flanders in 1917, and wrote the poem in the trenches. What a remote and cruel memory it must have been to him.
Yes, I remember Adlestrop -- The name, because one afternoon Of heat the express-train drew up there Unwontedly. It was late June. The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat. No one left and no one came On the bare platform. What I saw Was Adlestrop - only the name And willows, willow-herb, and grass, And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry, No whit less still and lonely fair Than the high cloudlets in the sky. And for that minute a blackbird sang Close by, and round him, mistier, Farther and farther, all the birds Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire. Sometimes just a few lines like this can wrap up a whole load of complex things. Not by explaining anything, but by omitting everything. It's the absence of information that gives so much away. Does that explain it? Perhaps not, but I had my version of one of those experiences on Saturday afternoon, a sweltering July day, standing alone by Amanda's grave, on a remote hillside in Devon. No good thing ever dies. And another Shawshank catchphrase. Get busy living or get busy dying. The Royal Oak at Luxborough, in the middle of Exmoor. This is one of those places that you happen across one time, and find yourself going back to. Plenty of tasty carbohydrate on offer in a variety of forms. We spent the night there, and on Sunday went off for a paddle at Blue Anchor (a rather rude-sounding place if you don't see it written down), before I went for a nostalgic meander along the coast to Minehead, Selworthy and Allerford. I worked here briefly in my late teens. There was just time to squeeze in another National Trust visit so we headed down to Knighthayes near Tiverton, before reluctantly driving off to find the M5. Just time for one more minor adventure. Traffic was at a standstill on the M4 east of Bristol so we decided to thread our way through North Bristol and Wiltshire, rejoining the M4 at Swindon. The detour took us through Yate, where we lived for a few months in late 2001/early 2002. It was here that I did the training for the London Marathon, and I decided to take a quick look up the lanes where I used to run, and where Griff (who posts occasionally on the forum) still runs. Past the familiar old forge and the riding school and the barking dogs and the pink cadillac... The pink cadillac? Gulp. Some things are new. Tues 15 July 2003Some interesting observations that have come my way in the last 24 hours: 1) Lidl, the cut-price supermarket chain, have an aftershave brand called Eruption. 2) A message on the Dead Runners message forum, that somehow sums up what we love about Americans: "A great Tour De France, but I have a question regarding the yellow jersey. Do they wash it between wearings? Or is there more than one? Honestly, all I can think about when someone new takes the lead is the disgusting image of putting on a jersey that someone else has cycled and sweated in for all those miles..." Has anyone else noticed that Americans are either obsessional about health and personal hygiene, or else obese, burger-guzzling Jerry Springer fodder? It's an interesting polarisation. Anyway, someone had better send those cyclists a few bottles of Eruption. 3) You have to feel sorry for Denis Law, the great 1960s Scottish footballer. When I was a student in Manchester, "Denis" was a local word for cannabis/marijuana. It was rhyming slang: Denis Law - draw ("draw" being the normal colloquialism). I've just learnt that "a Denis Law" is now Mancunian slang for a bisexual, on the grounds that he played for both Manchester United and Manchester City. Poor old Denis. Ha ha!! Wed 16 July 2003I've no idea where I am with this running lark. I keep telling myself to get a grip, and I keep refusing to listen. Yesterday I got up at 5:45 and walked/jogged about 3 miles. I could feel the calf but it wasn't quite hurting. Today I overslept for the first time in months, then spent the day devouring crisps and the evening in the pub. But at least while I was there I read most of Runners World, so I forgive myself. One positive step I made today was to create a spreadsheet of the days till the four races I've entered (Bristol Half, GNR, GSR and Dublin marathon), and set some weight targets. It made me feel motivated and renewed. Until I fancied another bag of crisps. It will all work out right in the end, won't it? Won't it...? Sat 19 July 2003Things are not looking too good. This calf injury hasn't evaporated as quickly as last week I thought it might. It's no worse either, but it isn't going away. To make things worse, this enforced sloth has led to tighter trousers syndrome, so even if the injury vanished tomorrow, there would have to be a period of readjustment to get a few pounds off and increase my basic fitness. In short, Dublin in October is beginning to recede, the closer it gets. Am I officially pulling out of the Dublin marathon? No, not yet. Miracles occasionally happen, I'm assured. QPR fans rarely experience them however, so I'm not too hopeful. At least I haven't parted with any cash yet for Dublin, though I have for the Bristol Half, the GNR and the GSR. My best hope must be to try to get back to a position of being able to run at least one or two of these events, and see if Dublin manages to rematerialise in the process. It's not a disaster. As a reason for anxiety, I have some much juicier candidates lined up. Injuries happen, plans change. If I can get back to running within a week or two, and manage to take part in some of these autumn events, I can always hope to do a marathon later in the year, or hold off for a really well-planned London in April 2004. The Havana Half, incidentally, is officially not on my schedule any more. We'd planned to be in Cuba later this year, but couldn't find what we wanted for the dates we have available. So Cuba will now happen in June 2004 (flights already booked), leaving a couple of weeks in November or December this year to fill. Russia is still a possibility, but November seems like a good time to seek out some sunshine. Eilat's been mentioned, but if finances permit, top of the list are South Africa and Rajasthan. Though as just about to embark on a Spanish class, perhaps Spain or South America might gather in appeal as time goes on. I did notice there's a marathon in Mexico at the end of November... Tues 22 July 2003No running to report, but the calf feels better today. What's encouraging is just how much I'm missing not being able to run. Guiltless relaxation is one of those things I long for, but this time it's frustrating. Part of that is the awareness that I've entered a number of events that I don't want to miss out on, but there's something else. Running over the past few months has been hit-and-miss, but despite that (or perhaps because of it) the benefits have become clearer. Waking up early, and getting out there to do 3 or 4 miles before work, is just a great way to start the day. It's not the run itself but the afterglow, the energising quality, that's so valuable. It's like a pill. For half an hour after you take it, your heart rate shoots up and your legs ache and you feel breathless and sweaty. Pretty horrible side-effects, but wait... they gradually disappear, and instead you begin to feel awake and clear-headed and enthusiastic. The feeling lasts for hours. Pretty much all day. That's why I miss it. Work is somewhat nightmarish at the moment, and I need a fix to get me through the day. Soon, perhaps. Soon... Mon 28 July 2003Last Friday I was sitting at the end of the main platform at Reading station, waiting for my train to appear. Being rush hour, it was hardly Adlestrop, but the overwhelming Fridacity of the occasion was compensation enough. After gazing at my crossword for a while, I casually looked up, noticing with alarm that my once-an-hour train was waiting at the far end of the platform. A guard stood alongside, flag raised. Without thinking, I jumped up and belted down the platform. I just made it. It was only while I was sitting down, panting like a steam train, that I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to be injured. Ooo-err. What had I just done to my calf? Well, interestingly... not very much. I stretched and prodded it a bit, but there was no reaction at all. It's feeling OK. That was 2 or 3 days ago. I resisted the temptation to run over the weekend, just in case. But tomorrow? Tomorrow, I plan to give it a go. A few people have mailed me to ask what's happening with the Dublin Marathon. The unsatisfying answer is that I don't yet know. All I can do is get on my feet again, build up some fitness, knock off some fatness, and try to get to the Bristol Half in 5 weeks time, then the GNR a couple of weeks after that. If I manage to slip past those ugly fellows, well, who knows? If Dublin doesn't happen, there's always the possibility of something later on in the year. Wandering listlessly round Berkshire's premier shopping street on Saturday, I picked up a copy of Marathon News. This is pornography for the runner. No publication is more likely to set the heart pounding than this one. It appears, like the clematis, and the red admirals that are everywhere at the moment, from July to October, and lures the unwary. It also lures the wary. Like me. I think I'll enter the ballot, and hope to god I don't get a place. Talking of pornography (well, I mentioned it a couple of paragraphs ago) I've just remembered a sign that I saw outside the Ann Summers shop on Saturday. July 31st, it informed me, is National Orgasm Day. Come again? |
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