Mon 22 July 2002

An hour in the gym (including 30 minutes of intensive cardiovascular) and 3 hours gardening yesterday. Sandwich for lunch, salad for evening meal. Result? A weight gain of 2 pounds. Explanations gratefully received. And it'd better be good...

The gym has been neglected recently. The plan was, and still is-ish, that Thursdays and Sundays should be gym days. The Thursday session to follow my run, rounding off the week's activity before the rest day and the weekend long run; and the Sunday session would be the hour of cross-training required by the programme to drag me back to life after the previous day's exertions. But like all the best plans, this one has little to do with reality. Let's face it, a plan is often a substitute for action, not a preparation for it.

Though I do have a good excuse for last Thursday. It was bad enough that there was a tube strike in London, forcing me onto the slug-fast Waterloo-Reading train, rather than the sleek, clean, air-conditioned, eccentrically populated Paddington one. But just outside Twickenham someone decided to kill themselves, and stepped in front of the train.

An hour and a half later we were still sitting there, by this time bored with the show. It had started off promisingly enough, with 2 air ambulances, several ordinary ambulances and fire engines, half a dozen police cars and a TV crew, but the excitement soon waned. I started phoning M after half an hour, hoping to persuade her to come and collect me but I couldn't get hold of her. Instead the situation became increasingly more chaotic and absurd, until eventually we were led off the train and down the track back to the station, amidst what seemed like hundreds of rail staff and police people who'd been enticed out of the pubs and the cafeterias with the promise of an opportunity to be bossy and obstructive.

The incident disrupted the entire network, resulting in an evening of weary frustration. British public transport was shown at its slapstick best, the highlight of which was the shuttle back and forth between Hounslow and Staines, victims of staff who had no idea which trains were going where. At one point, a harrassed station manager at Staines shouted along the platform: "Please board the next train to arrive. We don't know where it's going but you might strike lucky". The train that arrived broke down before it could leave the station. The next one had no air-conditioning and the windows were bolted shut. It was like walking into a greenhouse. Everyone's glasses were steamed up which was quite amusing, and we had to remove most of our clothes. The train was noticably chattier than normal - in typical crisis fashion.

Eventually I got to Reading at 9.40 pm only to find that there was no onward train because of track maintenance. I wearily wandered outside and found a bus, getting home just after 10pm. I'd left work at 4.45pm. What a nightmare. Ironically enough the tube strike had played no part in the chaos. Anyway, that was why I didn't get to the gym on Thursday.

Tues 23 July 2002

Awake at 5am and decided on an unsceduled 3.67 miles, which I did at just under 10 minutes a mile. A great run, on a perfect morning for getting out. Bugger South West Trains!

Wed 24 July 2002

It was late - after 9pm - when I finally got out to do my 6 miles this evening. As is often the case with runs that I'm particularly looking forward to, it was a disappointment. No problem with my health or performance, but the flies! My God, the flies! Running along the canal this evening was a nightmare. I could feel the dense clouds of the blighters every few yards. I must have eaten several billion of them, which partly explains why I felt less hungry than normal when I got home.

This inconvenience lasted for nearly 3 miles, which is the point where I turned off the canal and came back along the busy A4. This isn't usually a pleasant stretch of the run but tonight its flylessness felt great, and I finally felt able to enjoy myself. I ended up doing 10:33 pace miles which isn't fast, and not surprisingly so given the running conditions of the first half.

Twelve miles coming up at the weekend. I need to decide how I can do this without being force-fed midge pie the whole way. Perhaps if I ask the Kennet & Avon Trust to drain the water out of the canal for a few days, the flies will go somewhere else. Hmm, yes, a damn good plan - if I say so myself.

Sun 28 July 2002

A disastrous few days. I had a great, short, run on Thursday, then nothing for 3 days. We had visitors yesterday so I decided to put off my 12 miler till today. But it's been so hot and muggy today that the thought of running is unbearable.

Watching Paula Radcliffe's magnificent victory in the 5000 metres was today's training. It's the first time I've missed a long run in the training for Chicago or London. To make matters worse I've been nibbling biscuits and other unmentionables all weekend.

Right, tomorrow we start again...

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