August 2015

[Sweder]

A return, then, to monthly diaries. An acceptance that I've finally re-joined the Runnerati.

I kicked things off with an even-paced 5K at Hove ParkRun. Km splits were steady, within a few seconds of one another, apart from km 4, which saw a dip in pace of around 20 seconds. This was about the time I transitioned my breathing, something I need to work on or, more likely, get over through regular running. I knocked about a minute off of last week's effort. I put that down to starting off with the intention of pacing as evenly as I could.

Yesterday's long run, a scheduled first half of the Moyleman, was written off. A friend from Lewes FC sent out a message to say he had blurred/ double vision, so bad that he was unable to walk to the bus-stop to get to A+E (his wife was away). I grabbed my keys and shot over to pick him up. EIGHT HOURS and several hospitals later he was admitted to Haywards Heath for overnight observation and an MRI scan (due today). Adios, running plans.

No matter, I thought. I'll just run on Monday, before breakfast. And so I did. Not the planned 21 kms, rather just over 17, cutting out Death Valley and dropping off the Ridge at the W to head home in time for a dental appointment. The air was thick enough to spread on toast, soaking me through to the skin in no time. I didn't care. The hounds thought I'd lost it, constantly glancing north towards home, then back to me, eyebrows raised, ears twitching. We bounced up Blackcap, scrambled up the steep forest track, across the main road bridge, up the Relentless Bastard and along the SDW spine above Kingston. Thanks to several sheep-trough drink-stops the dogs were fine. I had my Dark Star water bottle and few Jelly Babies to keep me going. The only time I stopped was to open gates, wait for my companions to trot through, and, some 3 klicks from home, to snap a view from the top of Kingston Ridge. It was quite something, the sun struggling to burst through swirling low cloud and rising vapour. Beautiful.

   

A good start to the month.  

[marathondan]

This was about the time I transitioned my breathing

A superb effort pre-breakfast. And a great photo.

[Sweder]

This was about the time I transitioned my breathing

      

This is what comes of posting a few minutes after a long, tough run.
I couldn't be arsed to go through all that aerobic/ anaerobic guff. Sorry.

[Sweder]

A short, easy lope to push warm blood through tired muscles. Perfect running weather; high cloud masking the sun, a cool breeze out of the west, hardly a soul in sight. Running through Landport Bottom we were serenaded by various groups of sheep. One would bleat, echoed by others further up the hillside. Each beast has it's own distinctive tone, timbre and duration of cry. At times they overlapped, reminding me of one of my favourite commercials for one of my least favourite beers.



Chuckling softly I ventured on to the Moyleman start. No hill reps or mad sprints today, just a steady slog up the slope and home accross the top of the field. 3.5 kilometres of checking and monitoring. The right achillies is a tad tight (has been for a while), The Knee offers a mild grumble now and then, nothing more. I took my battered old orange Mizuno Wave Harriers out for a spin. Surveying the various pairs of incrementally knackered runners in my boot rack, it occurs to me I'm about due a new pair. Don't tell Mrs S I said that.

Hill reps on Friday, ParkRun on Saturday - three in a row! - and a long, slow run on Sunday will complete a good week on the trails.

[marathondan]

Understood on the breathing. Say no more.

Hear hear to your verdict on the advert, and the quality of the product. It's stretching credibility to even call it beer.

On the achilles, once I had finished my strengthening programme, I found the best thing was a simple stretch (as prescribed by the physio). Do the normal "pushing over a lamp-post" calf stretch, but hang your heel over the kerb at the same time. It gets a bit of extra extension into the tendon.

[Sweder]

Do the normal "pushing over a lamp-post" calf stretch, but hang your heel over the kerb at the same time. It gets a bit of extra extension into the tendon.

Thanks, Dan. This advice chimes with my inclination to 'drop' my heel off a curb or step after a run.
I know it needs attention and keeping an eye on. I don't want the bastard snapping on me anytime soon.

[Sweder]

The Great British Bake-On

Having bailed on Thursday's hill session (early work appointment) and Saturday's ParkRun (lazing in my pit) I was sorely tempted to dump my planned run today. A later-than-planned evening and a sore back left me floundering way after my scheduled departure time of 7am. By the time I dragged myself through the dressing ritual it was way past 9 and already uncomfortably warm. Suck it up, lazy bones.

I took off to Blackcap, taking the northern arc through the shaded woodland, as much for the dogs as my own comfort. On top of Blackcap we sat and sizzled, dogs panting nineteen-to-the-dozen, me sweating like an IAAF member reading the Sunday Times. I'd like to have gone further but the dogs might have imploded, so home we went, posting a paltry five miles. 

This week has been a step-back week and some. 
Must do better.  

[Sweder]

Zooooom!! Life is screaming past at the speed of light.
So fast, I barely have time to report a lovely wet pre-breakfast slog to Blackcap. More of those lovely 'oh, I'm almost at the top of this hill, and there I was thinking about Princess Leia in Return Of The Jedi' moments.

I'm nor perving. OK, I am, a bit. I've been searching for iconic female images for a series of Lewes Ladies match posters. The season kicks off on Sunday - home to Plymouth Argyle - and we're looking to bolster our small but fanatical home support. This week's poster features new signing Mona. She's not exactly a laugh a minute, but in transfer terms she is priceless. Boom boom.  Anyway, with a new Star Wars film imminent I was thinking 'Princess Leia in a Rooks shirt' and sort of drifted off from there. Ahem.

Some stats. August is 11 days old.
I've bagged 42.6 kilometres, just a hair over marathon distance in 11 days at 2.42 miles per day.
The per diem rate is climbing, a bit like me; slowly, inexorably. This is a good thing.

In slightly less welcome news I fly to Panama on the 9th of October, two days before what I am assured will be the last ever Jog Shop Jog. I have more reason than usual to curse this turn of events. One, CharlieCat of this parish wants to flog me around that course before leaving me in a cloud of dust; two, the event will be dedicated to Chris Moyle's late friend, Kader. Not for the first time my traveling working life denies me a poignant personal moment. C'est la vie.

[Charliecat5]

In slightly less welcome news I fly to Panama on the 9th of October, two days before what I am assured will be the last ever Jog Shop Jog. I have more reason than usual to curse this turn of events. One, CharlieCat of this parish wants to flog me around that course before leaving me in a cloud of dust; two, the event will be dedicated to Chris Moyle's late friend, Kader. Not for the first time my travelling working life denies me a poignant personal moment. C'est la vie.

What!    

Who is going to pick up the pieces and carry me home?

Well, you need not think you're getting out of the training.  Sunday this week... I need to get back into it.  I fear I have taken a step back over the last couple of weeks.

Mine you, I am paragliding for the first time tomorrow... you may need a shovel to scape me off the hill side.

[marathondan]

Sweder, you can always run the course on your own when you get back. A kind of personal pilgrimage.

Do post links to the posters when they appear. There have been a few classics in the past. Not sure how Carrie would feel about the image rights, but as a celebrity endorsement it would be quite a coup.

I and the middle one went to Wembley t'other week for the WFACF. Not a great game as it happens, but a good day out. Laura Bassett is the Notts County captain. As she faced her own side's goal with the ball at her feet there was a huge temptation to shout "SHOOT!". But such sledging doesn't seem right in the women's game. For now, at least.

[Sweder]

Sweder, you can always run the course on your own when you get back. A kind of personal pilgrimage.

Do post links to the posters when they appear. There have been a few classics in the past. Not sure how Carrie would feel about the image rights, but as a celebrity endorsement it would be quite a coup.

Star Trek's Lt Uhura would be a cracker. Others include Attack Of The 50FT Woman, Lara Croft, Katniss (Hunger Games), Minnie The Minx, Audrey Hepburn (Breakfast poster) Ripley (Alien) ' At The Pan Siro, No-One Can Hear You Scream' ... ideas are forming. They all need to be Rooked to some extent, some subtly, others less so.

The Ladies started well, taking on Plymouth Argyle in the season opener. I could only cover the first, goal-less 45. Writing the match report was ... interesting. 

Just been out for a post-work 12-miler with Mr Le Chat. The man is in good form, claiming lardiness after a fortnight in Italy and France. He looked pretty spritely as he left me for dead up a few of the climbs. We hit the first half of the Moyleman, bagging 428 metres of climb in a whisker over two hours. I love running at dusk. I just wish my legs were a little more match-fit. They feel like they're about to curl up around my lug-holes any minute. 

   

August - 74 kms dead in 17 days
Average: 2.59 miles per day
Plenty of elevation

[Sweder]

Slipped out for a greasy shuffle before breakfast.
No, not an ugly euphemism, rather an accurate description of the post-rain surface and my somewhat truncated 'running' style. The legs aren't too bad, to be fair. A couple of laps of the Moyleman start sorted them out, warm blood flowing through shredded muscle. I heeded Dan's advice, working harder on the ups and resting on the downs. Trailing behind Charliecat's flabby glutes for hill after hill on Monday was the wake-up call I needed.

Hills and hill work hold the key. I have a cunning plan, one that will be rudely interrupted when I strap my own sagging posterior into a small seat for twelve hours on Saturday week. The flesh-pots of Hong Kong beckon, with vitrually nil chance of a H3 hook-up, but the promise of a series of (legitimate) hotel massages and, in an exciting new twist - leg work in the gym. Yeah, that got your attention, huh? The gym.

I don't do gyms, but I do honesty. Honesty is telling me that my backside and thighs are so undercooked they'd give Mary Berry coniptions. With no good hills close enough to my HK outpost I'm targeting three gym sessions that week, to include rowing (shoulder much improved), static bike (gak) and leg press. I also need to stay the hell away from Lang Kwai Fok and Wanchai, for therein lurks the Demon Drink in a dark world of nightclubs and rock bars. Get thee behind me, Satan.

[Sweder]

Another morning when the snooze button took a pounding as hard rain lashed against the bedroom window. In truth this has been a modest week for running. I gave serious thought to bailing out as sleep reached out to take me back. My conscience rose first, dragging me by my ankles from under the duvet. Ten minutes later the door was whipped from my grasp as all hell broke loose. The dogs gave their best canine shrug and tottered out into the storm. C’est la vie.

Hill work being the order of the day we set out for the far (sheep-less) field. Trees and bushes jived and bounced like giant afros on a wild night in Studio 54. The novelty of being buffeted by fierce gusts from all directions was not wholly unpleasant. The wind shoved and slapped but lacked that icy sting that only comes with winter. I fought hard on the climbs, happy with the spring in my step. Bellows pumped, elbows waggled. Even as I scolded myself for excessive body movement I found comfort in the rhythm.

Turning for home I met the full force of the gale. From out across the ocean the riders gathered, fierce Norse gods on spirited chargers racing in across the Channel. They flew over Newhaven, tearing up the valley before banking off Kingston Ridge to smash into my face. The usually swift last kilometre was like battling an army of Orcs armed with a broom-handle.

   

 

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Where do I sign up?

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

I know you've been running ... are you not writing?

[Sweder]

I know you've been running ... are you not writing?

Working working working ...and working some more : (

My mojo's AWOL. Still knocking out the miles (6 outings in September compared with 13 in August - all short affairs) but what with CWD setting up in the UK, two Lewes FC teams to write up (match reports for the paper/ website, programme pieces and posters for Ladies home matches), a top week in Italy (wow), Phoebe heading back to Uni (and into a new flat in London) and a fair amount of travel coming up, I feel it's best to get short, sharp outings under my slightly wobbly belt and skip the write-ups.

Nutshell: things are ticking over, running-wise. No real progress, nothing over 8 kms this month.
This morning was a case in point. Should I? Do I have time? The dogs helped by looking at me in THAT way until I pulled my runners on. I scratched out just under 5K - 'your 8th fastest 4-6k run' - vowing to push the distance this weekend. Maybe a ParkRun tomorrow and a cheeky ten-miler on Sunday. We'll see.
It's all a bit manic here just now.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Wow, good luck with all that. Oh well, scratch out something when you can!