November 2016

[Sweder]

The Big Chill Starts Here

My word, the temperature dropped faster than the stricken Pound overnight. Frost all over the shop. I pulled on a sub-layer and topped it with my original RC vest. Shorts and short socks, though, as my legs rarely complain of the cold. On with the boots and out the door before my senses had chance to complain.

After reading MLCMMan's missive on fat-burn, low HR running yesterday I decided to give it a go. I ordered all the books; McDougall, Mittleman, Maffetone, anyone with a surname starting with 'M', basically. This idea appeals, and not just because you have to run more slowly. I'd really like to burn some bloody fat.

On Tuesday I knocked out an ugly 4.5 kilometres around the Chalk Pit circuit. All huff and puff, great effort on the climbs, buckets of sweat, niggling knee and hamstring singing away, lungs like shredded paper bags. Runkeeper recorded a time of 31.28. Today I took off with my trusty Adidas micoach watch strapped to my wrist. It has a clear HR indicator, so useful for this exercise. As the Antipodean adventurer advised, sticking to your set HR is no easy feat. I went with 130 as an arbitrary target, shamelessly copying my good friend in lieu of any actual research or data. 

Man, it was tough. Easy enough at the outset, I loped along at around 125 BPM or so. As soon as I hit an incline though, Ooh, Aye, and up she rises. I had to slow down to an extended walk for a lot of the outward section. The flat and downhill paths were simple enough, just relax into it and keep an eye on the watch. 

I stopped to snap a photo or two, the landscape resplendent in brittle white, red sun skulking under high cloud There were stops to harness the hounds in livestock areas and a few gates to open. As I chugged along I started to tick off added benefits to this slower approach. More time to take in the vistas was an obvious one. Easier running style allowing gait analysis was a real bonus; I could focus on each foot-fall, feel the impact of flint or mud, monitor the the right leg niggles (they were, for the most part, silent). My breathing was easy and shallow, my brow coated in the lightest sheen. This was actually quite pleasant.

Home in 34.07 at a average pace of 8 minutes 45 per kilometre. 
I felt refreshed but not knackered, warmed through but not melted. 

I could get used to this.
Now the no-carbs part ... that's going to be a killer.