Mon 1 July 2002

As predicted, the weekend was a running-free zone, so I sacrificed my rest day today to do the long run that was scheduled for Saturday. Fortunately it was a 'step-back week' this week, so the long run was only 5 miles.

I ran the canal towpath again, though this time I found a way back around the block rather than just stopping and running back the way I'd come. It meant running a couple of miles along the A4, the antithesis of the canal, but the variety was welcome. The time for the 5.57 miles was 59:14, which works out at 10:38 per mile. That's pretty good for me, especially as I started off at a very leisurely pace. With about 2 miles to go, I decided to try and get home in under an hour which meant a sudden acceleration. I could feel myself striding much faster, and with a kind of bounce in my step that you don't get when you're running slowly. It was tough, but I made it with 46 seconds to spare. I have to be a bit careful in these situations however. I had a pronounced pain in my left calf as I got home. I don't think I've done any damage but I need to be aware of the dangers of pulling a muscle. But overall, a great run.

Had a fab weekend. Saturday was spent in London. Saw the matinee performance of My Fair Lady at Drury Lane - a great production, with Trevor Nunn back to his best RSC form. After a wander round Covent Garden we meandered over to St James's for an excellent meal followed by Louise's 40th birthday party in the smart bar downstairs.

Sunday: FIFA had considerately arranged the World Cup Final to be played on my birthday. A good game too. Rather rashly I decided to have a bet on Germany to win. They lost. Then we had a long lunch with some friends who'd come down from Yorkshire for the weekend. Lots of cheese and pate and wine, which I suspect are not recommended in Nancy Clark's new book on marathon nutrition that I keep reading about. But you don't have too many birthdays each year, so again, the words "what the hell...?" spring to mind. In fact it was a "what the hell?" weekend from start to finish.

I remembered while chatting to one of our friends yesterday that the last time we'd seen her, just before we moved south, I was feeling elated because I'd just managed to run my first 3 miles without stopping. That was last December. Since then I've run a marathon, a 20 mile road race, two half marathons, and am training for a second marathon. Amazing what the body, even one as creaky as mine, is capable of.

Tues 2 July 2002

Up at 0520 this morning to get my 3.67 miles in. I went off too quickly I think, as those chest pains returned to trouble me. For anyone who didn't follow the London campaign, this was a problem I had last time. It's NOT a heart-related problem, I'm reasonably sure. It's much more like a stitch, albeit in an odd place. It's something to do with not warming up properly, or going off too quickly.

Whatever it is, when it strikes I have to stop running, simple as that. Today it happened three times in 38 minutes. Each time I stopped running and walked back a few yards to catch my breath for 30 seconds or so, before continuing. Despite these three short breaks, I still managed a reasonable time.

Main other news today was the conversation I had with the UK Brain Tumour Society about raising some money for them. I'll announce the details soon, once they are finalised.

Finally got to see Moulin Rouge this evening. A hoot. The film is brilliant for an hour or so, before the senses begin to wave the white flag. Highly enjoyable, though the anachronisms and caricatures wear thin a little by the end.

Wed 3 July 2002

Why is getting up at 5.15am like a pig's tail..? Twirly!

(Apologies to Noel Coward).

Another horribly early start. I was out at 0535 after a few minutes stretching. I jogged very slowly for a half mile or so in the hope that the gradual warm-up would keep these chest aches at bay, but they were always there, and have been popping back throughout the day. I think it's some kind of pulled muscle, possibly a result of going to the gym, and perhaps aggravated by running without a thorough warm-up. In other words, I don't really know what it is. Must visit a sports clinic. Feels like a screw has worked its way loose behind my breast-bone, and something has been displaced.

To make things worse, it never stopped raining throughout the 40 minute run. And to complete the misery, my route took me along a narrow lane filled by a large puddle several yards long. There was no option but to tiptoe through it, soaking my feet in the process. Yuck. I've had better runs than this, it has to be conceded.

Second cinema trip in 24 hours this evening, to see A Beautiful Mind. Our only serious complaint about our new habitat (apart from the lack of a fish and chip shop in the village) is that there's no decent cinema in this part of Berkshire. Just a couple of multi-screens. But at least the Hexagon in Reading shows the occasional one-off film that you might have missed first time round, hence our two recent trips.

The movie was reasonably diverting, despite my feeling that mathematical calculations don't make great cinema (see Good Will Hunting for further evidence), and the depressing sense that we were beholding little more than a successful formula: the presentation of a serious mental problem (schizophrenia) as Hollywood entertainment. We've been here before with Shine and Rain Man. But it did touch you in the end, and the make-up that plausibly aged the Russell Crowe character by nearly fifty years was a wonder to behold.

Thurs 4 July 2002

After the painful disappointments of the last couple of days, the run I had tonight was a great relief. It was the usual 3.67 miles but I managed a new world record for the course: 35:53, or a pace of 9:46 per mile. The first sub-10 minute mile averaged over a run. Hurrah! Watch out Khannouchi! Watch out Painter! Watch out Radcliffe! I'm coming after you!

After the run came a sweaty visit to the gym, emerging 45 minutes later feeling vibrant and oh-so virtuous. I even did some proper stretching. What's the world coming to? Next thing, I'll be changing my underpants every day.

Have made an appointment to see a podiatrist at a local sports centre on Monday evening. I need to try to circumvent the gruesome blister and blackened toenail saga of the London campaign.

Only joking about the underpants. It's true that they get a bit sweaty when you run, but a fresh pair every week still seems quite adequate. And you always get a seat to yourself on the train...

Sun 7 July 2002

Some runs are better than others. Today's was a bad one.

It was a hot, sunny afternoon. I'd not warmed up or stretched. I was sleepy. I had just consumed a can of ginger beer (albeit the best there is: Sainsbury's Diet version). And I expected to run 9 miles without any trouble. Silly bugger. I knew after just a few steps that I had a battle on my hands.

My main problem, in truth, was yesterday's exertions in the garden. It takes about 2 hours to mow the front garden with the petrol monster I inherited from my father, and 3 hours to do the back (it's too bumpy to get a mower across it, so it has to be strimmed and raked up). I also cut the hedges and did a few other jobs. By the evening I was completely knackered, and had to be led back to the house in a state of distress and disorientation and fatigue. This morning I ached all over. Not great preparation for the weekly long run.

M drove me the 9 miles to Thatcham, and dropped me off by the canal. I didn't fancy the usual long up-and-back, and this seemed a good way of seeing the stretch of canal beyond my normal range. I did manage to run for an hour before stopping for a 3 minute walk. After that it was always a struggle, and I finally got home feeling like a broken man. Sweat poured off me from start to finish. I sweated so much indeed, that I'm certain the canal rose a good couple of inches during those couple of hours. Hope I don't get into trouble about it.

Next week >