Sunday 2 October 2005

It's that time of year...

There's something about autumn that makes runners turn their thoughts to the racing year ahead. As I said recently, I want to stop treating races as running's raison d'être, but it's undeniable that for most of us, they add meaning and structure to what otherwise might sometimes seem to be a curiously pointless activity. And a useful foil for the puzzled derision of non-runners. How much easier to say that we're training for something or other.

I've been trying to convince myself that running targets in general don't really matter... that I'm past the need to motivate myself this way. It's probably rubbish. I've been pondering 2006 races over the weekend, and can already feel the ripples of motivation that these plans are producing.

Some spice was added to the contemplation by another interesting email exchange with Midlife Crisis Man of this parish. It made me wonder how far I should be pushing the boat out. There's been some correspondence on the forum here and there about new challenges. The extraordinary Tim Downie, who knocks off 95 mile races for fun (and writes a mean race report) keeps trying to coax me into the hills for the final humiliation, and I have to admit to a growing temptation to set out across that minefield. But what to aim for? Not knowing is making it hard to make firm plans for other races.

The only definite entry (despatched today) is the Cliveden Cross Country, just after Christmas. It's March and April that are the key race months of the year. The Reading Half on March 5th, and the Silverstone Half 2 weeks later, are traditional fixtures, but I need to find a marathon - or 'worse' - first, then work round it

Comment on this in the monthly forum thread, or visit the main Forum.

Tuesday 4 October 2005

When is a pain an injury? I went for another mild run through the Berkshire twilight this evening, intent on blasting a path through a headful of Visual Basic cul de sacs. That part of the outing went pretty well. I won't know till tomorrow if I've solved anything, but I've come up with some new angles from which to attack the fiends in my code.

Less pleasing was returning home with a pulsating pain above my right heel. Achilles territory.

Running injuries are a mystery to me. Even the names seem like a foreign language. Or newly-discovered stars at the tradesman's end of the solar system. Iliotibial Band Syndrome, Plantar Fasciitis, Achilles Tendonitis. Whatever happened to the Runner's Knee and Athlete's Foot of my youth?

The fact is that in 4 years of running, I've suffered only once or twice from a proper injury. The Reading Half, 2003. I got a bit enthusiastic over the final mile, and managed to overdo it in a thoroughly uncharacteristic way. I'd probably have been alright if I'd not done the Silverstone race the week before, but two half marathons in 8 days had put a strain on the lumbering infrastructure, and this drawn-out semi-sprint was just too much for it. A couple of days later, while out on a recovery run, the calf just went. I took a half-hearted week or two off then tried again and it got worse. It took a few more months to finally kill it. And that's about the extent of my injury history.

But anyway. When is a pain an injury? When it doesn't go away, I suppose. Let's wait and see.

Comment on this in the monthly forum thread, or visit the main Forum.

Wednesday 5 October 2005

A day of hobbling round the office, cursing those famous slings and arrows. Frustrating. After a lethargic summer, I finally manage to heave myself off my backside and into my trainers, only to pick up some sort of injury, or at best, a painful, temporary shackle.

No point in thinking about a run today, and it might even be next week or beyond when I get out again. In the meantime, I'm developing a slightly worrying interest in a local race planned for the end of March. The Compton Downland Challenge winds around the hills above and beyond Pangbourne and Streatley, not far from the greatest pub in England, the Bell at Aldworth. It's a hilly trail race, and said to be friendly and laid back and well-worth doing.

The one thing against it is that it's 40 miles long. Forty hilly miles. It seems more than likely that this time next week I'll have forgotten about it again, so I'd best not over-milk the idea. But I need something to challenge and frighten me again, just like the London Marathon did in 2002. The thrilling thing about that race was that until the day itself, I really had no idea whether I'd manage it or not.

How good it would be to be shaken up like that again...

Comment on this in the monthly forum thread, or visit the main Forum.

Sunday 9 October 2005

The heel is healing, but still annoyingly sore -- sore enough not to risk running over the weekend, but not quite bad enough, mercifully, to prevent me wandering up the road to the Chinese takeaway and the off-licence last night.

Plans for the coming months continue to simmer. The Reading and Silverstone Halfs on March 5 and 19 seem compulsory. Or did do, until 5 minutes ago. Is it laziness and inertia, and a failure of imagination that make me think of them as non-negotiable fixtures? Or have I created a good 'tradition' to adhere to? Hard to say.

The Silverstone race falls on the same day as the Bath Half - a race I hadn't considered until just now, when I discovered that the organiser has offered me a free place in the hope that it will stop me moaning about my experience of 2004. Some of me wants to say "Pah! Bribery!" But let's face it, bribery is one of those things that are bad only when other people do it. It might be the only way of finally killing off the lingering memory of the worst race organisation I've experienced. In fact the race itself was OK; it was all the frustration surrounding it - the inability to communicate with anyone connected with the event - that left a deeper impression on me. It reflects one of the underlying truths of customer service - that bad impressions are more powerful and more enduring than good ones.

If I revisit the race it would mean not running Silverstone, and more important, not running the buses from London to Silverstone that I've organised the last couple of years. Maybe that's not a bad thing. It's rewarding, but stressful. Something to think about.

Heard on the radio the other day: The definition of an intellectual. Someone who, left alone in a room with a tea cosy, is able to resist the temptation to put it on his head.

Comment on this in the monthly forum thread, or visit the main Forum.

Wednesday 12 October 2005

Emotional training for next spring's long races has begun in earnest, with last night's concert by an avant garde Norwegian jazz trio in Basingstoke.

Long before the end I was losing the will to go on, but knew I had somehow to dig deep, drawing on resources I didn't know existed within, to see me through to the end. Bursting through the doors at the end, gulping lungfuls of fresh, rainwashed Hampshire air, was as big a relief, surely, as tottering over any marathon finish line.

Has to be reported that my wife reacted differently, gushing to Tord Gustavsen after the show, as he was signing her newly-purchased CDs, that she was "floating in heaven". I've never known her to be so poetic beyond the embrace of her husband.

OK, I admit it -- I'm being less than fair about the band. They were pretty good. In fact, they were probably outstandingly good. I'm just not that skilled at hearing this sort of stuff for the first time. Once I've survived a few renditions of the CDs, I'll probably admit to actually quite liking it.

I'm ambivalent to jazz. It used to leave me cold, but with a wife who's so keen, I've had to learn to live with it, and I even enjoy it sometimes.

I remember waking up at 4 o'clock one morning and, unable to get back to sleep, idly switching the radio on and catching a bit of mesmerising John Surman (pictured) for the first time. Perhaps helped by the liberating sense that I'd 'discovered' him before M, I sort of adopted John Surman as my own. From that day, I started collecting the odd CD and broadcast whenever I could.

Surman's music slows down the whirling of the planet. His music creates time. I recommend him to anyone who has to think for a living. I quite often plug myself into his dreamy, minimalistic saxophone when seeking calm in the middle of a noisy office.

But hark, a C#m7+2+4+6 [fortissimo] to finish up on...... it's still a mystery to me why jazz musicians always look like... like the way that jazz musicians always look.

As for training of the more physical kind, there's not much to report. I can still feel an ache in my heel, and perhaps because I've been protecting it, and walking in a slightly different way, I now have a remote pain creeping up my right calf too. Maybe it's OK. Maybe I should go out for a gentle jog and see where I end up.

What else? Ah yes, good response from an American in a bar when asked what he thought of 'Princess' Camilla. "Man, if I had his money I'd be looking for a hotter gal than that." (As reported in the Guardian.)

I like a bit of straight-talking, as long as I'm not the subject of it. It's rarely flattering. It's also best that I'm not the one doing it, as I'm usually made to regret it. The more sagacious Americans say: "You get more with honey than vinegar". It's a trivial piece of wisdom, but one I should embrace more closely.

You gorgeous people.

Comment on this in the monthly forum thread, or visit the main Forum.

Sunday 16 October 2005

If an evening with a Norwegian jazz trio was good endurance training, a couple of hours with a magician and illusionist would surely be good preparation for helping me set my targets for next spring's races. So we went to see Geoffrey Durham perform in Maidenhead last night, and were well entertained. More mature readers may remember him as The Great Soprendo of our youth. His Newspaper Tear was amazing -- the best I've seen. I must find out how it's done. The man who can teach me that one may also have the secrets of the sub-60 minute 10K, sub-2 hour half marathon and sub-5 marathon.

The miracles continued into this morning, when I managed 4 miles or so along the canal, on a gorgeously warm autumnal day. The highlight was probably the discovery of an excellent place to hide a body. Am I the only runner who whiles away his runs in this way? I'm always on the lookout for new hidey-holes, should the need ever arise. For obvious reasons, I can't disclose the precise location, but it's a deep, overgrown ditch alongside a main road with no pavement. On the other side is a barbed wire fence, then a large, neglected field. A corpse could be concealed down there for ages.

I took it very easy, trying to avoid irking my heel and calf too much. Limited success on that front, as they've been sore again since this morning's run, but I need to press on. I'll take it gently this week, running just 2 or 3 times. If the pain persists I'll get some professional help.

This Day of Energy day continued through the afternoon with more pondcraft. Have I mentioned that I'm creating two wildlife ponds? One is large and irregular in shape, the other much smaller (12 feet in diameter). The smaller one is nearly there, though there was an unscheduled delay today with the discovery of a seam of broken beer bottles about 2 feet down. Broken glass and pond liner are likely to argue at some point. Ironic that I had to work hard to clear away the debris of someone else's relaxation. Life's like that though, eh? After finishing the digging out and tamping down, came more exertion -- conveying a ton and half of sand in wheelbarrow-loads, 120 feet across bumpy grass. This became the underlay for the pond. Shifting it was quite some job, and it made me realise how lucky I am not to have to do a real job to earn a crust.

We'd hoped to get the liner down and fill it with water today, but the discovery of the glass knocked the plan off the track once more. The Champagne moment is postponed again.

Comment on this in the monthly forum thread, or visit the main Forum.

Sunday 30 October 2005

Right, that's it. In four years of running, this has been my worst period for inactivity, pessimism and lack of motivation. There are one or two flimsy excuses to snatch at, but even if I can persuade others to buy into them, it's almost impossible to convince myself that they offer much justification for my lazy summer and stuttering autumn.

Today offered yet another new beginning, and I'm trying to grab it before it drifts past again. It's as good a time as any to get back into the habit. The clocks went back last night; winter is around the corner. I need those beta endorphins to get me through the long dark days ahead.

I was woken early this morning by the heavy patter of rain and a shaft of grey light through the curtains. There was something "now or never"-ish about it. Good Sunday running weather, I told myself, despite the moderate hangover. So I got up and, over a cup of black coffee, considered what to do. Then Here Comes The Sun came on the radio, and there was no longer any choice. Taken literally, it might seem like a deeply inappropriate song, but in terms of a renewed optimism and determination, it was as good a boot up the bum as any. I pulled on those near-redundant trainers and got out the door.

It was a shock to step outside. I'd braced myself for a cold, grey, sploshy morning but it was actually astonishingly warm, considering we're only 2 days away from November.

In keeping with my renewed resolve, I tried a new variation to the usual route today. I live close to a pub, and behind the pub is a footpath sign and a gate through which I had never passed. This morning I opened the gate.... and found a large field that separates, and therefore joins, the school, church, health centre, village hall and pub; the cornerstones of a typical English rural community. It was quite a surprise. I panted round the field for a bit and headed off up my normal route, pleased to have found a good new short cut.

As expected, a pretty painful plod. Only 3.5 miles, and never out of first gear. It didn't matter. Getting out there was the important thing.

A big concern in recent weeks has been a painful right heel and calf. It's my one authentic excuse, and on today's evidence, it hasn't wholly gone away, though it's better than it was. I can only hope it won't get worse. Three weeks today is the Brighton 10K -- a good inducement to keep going this week. Just doing the race is enough of a target at this point. If I can do 4 runs a week until then, without aggravating my heel, I'll be satisfied.

Avoided the temptation to lounge on the sofa all afternoon. Today was the great day when the pond was finished and filled. It was totally dark by the time I'd finished, so I've not yet had the pleasure of admiring it. I've been impressing my boss in recent weeks by insisting on taking home the office copy of the Financial Times. The truth can now be revealed - it makes a good pond underlay.

Note the Chicago marathon teeshirt.

Comment on this in the monthly forum thread, or visit the main Forum.

Monday 31 October 2005

Another panting effort early this morning. The highlight was being sandwiched between two 4x4s in a narrow lane. We were all terribly English about the situation, and are lucky not to be there still, gesturing to each other to plea-ease go first.

These early morning outings are almost surreal. You are of this world alright, but it's a kind of meta-world in which you constantly question what you're doing and why you're doing it. It's all strangely remote, like I'm watching myself through a porthole in hell, never quite certain which side of the wall I'm on.

The day's moment of insight came as I plodded past the deer by the lake. It was the realisation that the Abramovitch curse on football is a bit like life under the Tories. It's some nightmare you can't do anything much about. So you just have to shrug your shoulders and dig in for what's bound to be English football's 18 years of corrosion and corruption; the gradual dismantling of the world you thought you knew and could rely on. There's something about the sneering of the classless rich, the lottery winner who thinks he's done something to deserve it, that would turn us into murderers without much extra prodding. The consolation, the thing that keeps us on the right edge of sanity, is the certain knowledge that it will end in tears and disgrace and cat-fighting.

We have a pond. It took 6 hours to fill with about 2000 litres of water yesterday evening, but I couldn't admire it until this morning's daylight came; no great crested newts to report yet. As I think I mentioned, we have a much bigger pond project to keep us warm over the winter. This one has been a good rehearsal.

Here's to tomorrow morning. Let it blow; drench the earth and make it shiver and shake. It's what bare arms and legs are for. It's what 06:30 is for.

And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Comment on this in the monthly forum thread, or visit the main Forum.

<<< last month | next month >>>