My first ‘long run’ day of the marathon programme calls for 6 miles. (Everything is relative. For a novice runner, 6 miles is a long run.) It’s not a good experience. I have a recurring problem with chest pains, and have to keep stopping to walk. “Chest pains?! My God! You’re mad!” is the usual sort of reaction I get when I mention this to people. But I don’t think it’s quite as dangerous as it sounds. It’s an ache that appears around the left hand side of my ribcage. It feels like a stitch, but in the wrong place. I’m beginning to think it might be related to alcohol. Certainly the last 3 times this has happened has followed … …
Author: andy
I’m following Hal Higdon’s marathon training guide which specifies that Friday and Monday are always rest days. So no run today, and I behave naughtily, deciding to celebrate my day-pass with a brief trip to the local pub, followed by a glass or two of Chablis when I return home. Well OK, a bottle of Chablis. Let’s face it, it won’t keep more than a day or so, and I had to drink it all to remove the temptation of drinking more of it tomorrow. Quite sensible really. Let’s deal with the wine first and weigh up these peripheral issues later. Much later. I’m not a great fan of Chablis, though such a pronouncement tends to turn into a self-reinforcing … …
How very presumptuous, but I seem already to have started formulating some Laws of Running. One such seems to be that the enjoyment of a run is generally in inverse proportion to the level of expectation. The day was filled with sudden patches of excitement when I remembered I was to run this evening. True to form, it was a disappointment. Fatigue. My knee aches again, my gouty toe feels vulnerable. I still get round the 3 mile circuit, but it takes 41 minutes today, a slower rate than the last 2 days. I’m not much interested in time but comparisons are unavoidable. Again, I take the dark back lanes though this time, as threatened, I have a small torch … …
Weather is mild and dry today, but running in near-total darkness for most of my 3.5 miles this evening promises new excitements. Despite the uncertainties, I set out with an unfamiliar sense of confidence that I will run for 40 minutes without great discomfort. The same route as yesterday, though the dense darkness added a layer of gentle fear to the proceedings. Not fear of the dark per se, but of a renewed fear of injury. Tripping over a concealed brick or skidding on a patch of farm mud could easily mean a broken toe or pulled muscle. Though there was also something comforting and perhaps awe-inspiring about running in the dark. An unusual sort of freedom. Next time … …
So. An ethereally beautiful winter’s day. I’m staring through the window at the soupy sunshine and the blurred pillars of dense, freezing mist, pondering all manner of significant thoughts. It’s here. The one. The coldest day of the winter so far, and the one I’ve been waiting for. Stepping outside at lunchtime is painful. I wear a tracksuit top but my legs are bare and stiff and white like a corpse. Yes it’s cold, but it will soon be properly cold, and I need to leave myself a bit of unclimbed track on the garb mountain. What’s this all about? It’s mid-winter, and here I am, wandering half naked up a main road somewhere in South Gloucestershire, trying to coax … …