Mon 17 June 2002Trotted along to the local gym this evening for my induction session. Yes I know, but it's there on my list. There. My list of Things To Do Differently Second Time Round. Use the gym.I don't like these furtive adult playgrounds much. They're surreal and disturbing. How do you reconcile the superficial intimacy, the laying-bare, with the lack of communication? Apart from the Hits of the Eighties CDs, the only sounds are the rhythmical groans and crashes; you are rarely disturbed by the music of conversation. Here we find a worrying sub-culture of silent, bug-eyed obsessives; dripping elitists, sweating off their stresses and spare-tyres, inching towards Adonis status with a wild eye. And I may have opted to become one of them. Oh. I almost prefer the idea of one of those old-fashioned gyms down the Old Kent Road, those boxing clubs with rough floorboards and bare lightbulbs and peeling paint. None of your lifestyle nonsense. Just free weights and squashed noses and bleeding lips, and more than a veneer of authenticity; they wear their grubbiness on their sleeve. But terrifying with it, I should think. But where was I? Reasons for using a gym: Will I take to it? Tues 18 June 2002I had the strange experience of receiving a phone call from New Delhi on my mobile while travelling home on the train this evening. It was a chap called Rajesh from Air India, pleasantly telling me I had 15 minutes to give him my passport number to ensure that our flights to Chicago could be kept at the ludicrously low price of £250. It made for a tense final few minutes of the journey I can tell you, and a race back home once the train pulled into the village. But I just made it.He gave me a London number to call, but I'm certain this was diverted to India. His accent gave him away. When I thanked him for the good service, he didn't say "Yer welcome, Mate" but "Sir, it is my duty". A classic Indian Indianism, and one that made me smile nostalgically. India is the Greatest Show on Earth, and some aspect or other of the place drifts through my consciousness most days. I've spent about 8 months there in total, spread over 3 trips, though it's been 12 years since I was last there. Perhaps they have a decent marathon? What a hoot that would be... Returned to the gym this evening to try out a treadmill for the first time. A strange experience, as there's a full-size mirror in front of you, so you have to pound along on the spot, glaring at yourself. After a while I started laughing, much to the consternation of my solemn companions. At least I know something new about my running form. It's appalling. My right foot bends inwards as I run. Chronically so. This was mentioned to me by the nice lady in Easy Runner in Bristol on Feb 25th. She said "You've got a wicked twist in your right foot, you know", as she watched me jog along the pavement in one of the many hundreds of pairs of shoes I tried on that day. I thought she was complimenting me but no, I now see that it was a dispassionate observation about my perverse running style. I'd forgotten about the remark until this evening when I had one of those all-too-rare opportunities to watch myself running towards... myself. And there it was. The wicked twist. So what about it? I can't help feeling it must be an inefficient way of running. Perhaps this was why the world record eluded me at the London Marathon in April. Perhaps I must now accept that it will always remain just beyond my grasp. Though looking on the bright side, perhaps if I mention it to the doctor I'll be able to park nearer to the entrance to the supermarket. Wed 19 June 2002Another new experience. Crikey, life keeps churning 'em out, doesn't it? Up at 05:45 for a pre-work run. I did my normal 3.67 miler. It's supposed to be 3, but I'm trying to slightly edge up the distance this time around.A glorious morning. The air is fresh and cool, and the only traffic on the small local lanes is made of rabbit. I wondered later if this early aerobic hit had sent me into a fit of temporary delirium. Why? Because on the 0740 to Paddington, I swear that a balding, barefoot middle-aged man walked down the train wearing nothing but a peach coloured bathrobe, and carrying a matching towel. I turned round and gaped at this extraordinary vision as he disappeared through the connecting doors into the next carriage. But no one else seemed to notice; or pretended not to. Am I losing it? Or was it merely a perfect double illustration of what makes England so outlandish? Thurs 20 June 2002Spent most of yesterday evening drinking beer and chortling in central London, but had recovered enough by tonight to do the usual 3.67 miler in record time of around 10:10 pace. A great run for me.The nerves are beginning to hit. Early tomorrow morning it's England - Brazil for a place in the World Cup semi-finals. The optimism is enormous. It's hard not to tempt fate, but it has to be said that I feel that England can definitely do it if they decide to play as they can. I've booked a day off work in readiness. Fri 21 June 2002Oh bugger, a calamitous match for England as they go down 2-1 to Brazil. The result was bad enough, but it was the manner of their passing that was so deflating. England were clueless. Despite going into the lead, and giving the nation 20 minutes or so of joy and hope, they couldn't build on it, nor could they even cling to it. They went behind immediately after half time. The nation groaned, but come on England, there's still 40-odd minutes to solve the problem. But no counter-offensive ever materialised. England drifted around without a sense of purpose, without a drop of inspiration between them. Beckham was reduced to diving in the penalty area in the forlorn hope of winning a cheat's penalty. We knew long before the end that the game was up. So yet again, the English mustard remains uncut at a major tournament.We can now see just what a paper tiger this England team was. A great result against Argentina and a good performance too, but apart from that they had four really quite mediocre games. All along I was thinking how professional they were being, doing just enough to 'grind out a result', but they were finally exposed in the Brazil game. Beckham and Owen had poor tournaments by their high standards, and without them (and the injured Stephen Gerrard) we were exposed as a team with no creativity to dig itself out of a hole. Oh well, there's always Germany 2006. We'll be ready then, mark my words... No run today. Friday is ALWAYS a day of rest. Sat 22 June 2002Feeling absolutely great is an absolutely great feeling. An excellent run this evening - 7.5 miles along the canal in the twilight. Wonderful weather for running. Cool but still bright at first, with the sun slowly completing its descent through the 88 minutes I was running. It wasn't a very fast pace but I was delighted to run the second half (43 mins) two minutes faster than the first, over the same ground.I drove to the start this time in order to get the maximum mileage from the canal itself rather than waste 2 miles of it in getting there and back. I'm conscious that I keep saying this but it really is a great place to run. The quietness, the natural beauty of the water and the wildlife, the sense of solitude, provide a wonderful feeling of tranquility and peace. Apart from a very occasional runner or walker, the only humans to be seen are occasional anglers sitting there by the bankside trailing their rods in the water. At least I presume they're human. They are so motionless and passive that they might almost be statues. I suspect some of them just sit there for days on end, waiting for... nothing very much really. I imagine that some of them are marked on the Ordnance Survey map. Talking of maps, I'm finding that my copy of Microsoft Autoroute doesn't have some of the newer local roads marked, which is making plannng new routes a bit difficult. I must have an old copy. Indeed it's so old that even Stonehenge doesn't appear on it.... Sun 23 June 2002Cross-training day. Up early to nip round to the gym for 15 minutes on the exercise bike, 20 minutes on the step machine and 15 on the rower. Re-emerged dripping with sweat and ready for our four-course Sussex lunch. The meal was great, but not even the later stroll around the gardens at Nymans was enough to assuage the nagging certainty that, unlike my last marathon training programme, this one is actually increasing my weight.Time to do something about this - but it can wait till tomorrow, of course. Next week > |