It's a sin ter
Speak ill of winter.
Ah, winter.
Well, no, not winter exactly... more the promise of the cold, dark, evil season to come. After a few coolish days, then a brief return to summery, mid-20s temperatures more reminiscent of summer, but really just a confidence trickster's attempt to lull us into a false sense of hope and wishful thinking, quite suddenly it's cold, baby, cold. I am quite literally typing this whilst wrapped in a blanket and listening to (what I call) comfort music, the kind that brings only warm, pleasant memories that can dispel the demons who visit to wreak havoc from the frozen wastes*.
Well, OK, let's put this in perspective. Temperature and comfort is, of course, a relative thing. But consider this: here in Sydney we still sleep with an open window, even in May. The heaters are still in their place of winter hibernation and the floor fans have yet to be put away, although it is true to say that, apart from the one in front of the treadmill, they have not been used for some weeks now. And so it has come to pass that our sense of wishful thinking has come to bite us on the bum: an approaching massive high-pressure system has swung cold air up from the deep south, bringing the first snows to the ski fields, and torrential, flooding rains to the southern parts of the country. Hobart, in the southern state of Tasmania, and home of the Point to Pinnacle race, has had 129mm of rain in 24 hours, with 'catastrophic' flooding (a term used more for insurance purposes than any real newsworthiness, so far as I can tell). And even here in Sydney, the colder air from the south has left me shivering under a blanket as I sit at my desk. So sudden has been the transformation that the heaters remain in hibernation mode, but tomorrow may well see that situation reversed. Here in Sydney, the temperature has plummeted and the brisk southerly that has lowered the temperature amplifies the effect with a horrific wind-chill factor that has everyone diving into their trunks of winter clothing for jackets, beanies and scarves. The smarter ones may even have dusted off their heaters and contributed to the growing percentage of global CO2 . We, on the other hand, have been caught short, our summer clothes and light-weight bed linen highlighting the fact that we still incorrectly think that winter is some ways off. And so we are feeling cold, as ridiculous as some of our genuinely cold-climate friends may find that statement.
And so, here I sit, drinking a hot mug of dandelion 'coffee' (do not worry, it's ok, it was preceded by glasses of an aged Hunter Valley chardonnay and rather more recent, but very agreeable, Margaret River cabernet sauvignon), thinking about today's run, the cold and what is to come in this season of discontent**.
My two rest days were, it has to be said, a little less than blissful. My right knee, not usually the one to complain, gave me some grief, being sore and achy throughout, and I had to conclude that perhaps the preceding four runs in just five days had, after all, been a little ambitious. Then this morning, feeling somewhat lethargic and downheartened, I cautiously cut back my scheduled run from a hard tempo affair to an 'easy' evenly-paced one. Even so, I was a little disturbed by how tough it proved to be, though gratified, at least, by my decision to forego the tempo run which would have most likely had to have been abandoned.
These minor hiccups are to be expected I suppose, and generally do surface part-way through any campaign, at least in my experience, and so are of no great concern in and of themselves. But with the sudden arrival of colder weather, the melancholy certainty of further misery as the campaign intensifies and amplified by the worsening weather is only to be expected. And let's be clear about this: this is actually the real battle. The miles and miles of running is not even half the effort. The bigger struggle is in the head, but this is an enemy I now know quite well, and as Moving Waves kicks off for the second time*** I still look forward to the long run tomorrow and am confident of a reasonable outing. The half marathon is now just nine days away, and whilst it won't be a PB (well, nothing is impossible but it seems extremely unlikely) it will be a useful marker for what can or cannot be achieved in the latter half of the year.
I quite like this part of the campaign. The sudden clarity of the difficulty of the task ahead either strengthens or weakens the resolve. I am fairly sure this time which path my resolve will take.
Let's see if I'm right.
*The music, for those old enough to understand, is Moving Waves a.k.a Focus II, by the Dutch group Focus, from 1971, still one of my all-time favourite albums and a great comforter in times of severe stress, such as the onset of winter.
** Dandelion substitute 'coffee' is one of the compromises I've had to make as I come to terms with not being able to drink caffeine in the evenings anymore. It's actually quite nice, or perhaps that's more wishful thinking?
*** This will make no sense unless you have read the previous two footnotes for this dairy entry... erm, which kind of makes this one pointless also. Sorry about that.
Mighty May
