And I Would Run One Hundred Miles

[Sweder]

The Proclaimers' Centurion Challenge - 100 miles in 100 days - is on. It seems a modest target, but having averaged roughly 9 kilometres a week for the last couple of months it will require a step up. This is a friendly RC challenge, set by MarathonDan and taken up by El Gordo, Glaconman, MidLifeCrisisMarathonMan and CharlieCat. Should be fun. 

Updates and 'curious graphical representations' here.

[Sweder]

Day 2 - I think, day 1 and the 9 before it being 'rest days'- I've banked 4.84 kilometres, or 3 miles, at an average pace of 6.32 minutes per kilometre (around 10 minute miling).

A tour of Landsport Bottom, two laps of the steep bit at the end for a total of 186 metres elevation.
I wore himidity like a clammy second skin, lungs struggling in thick air. My first run in ten days, rust cancelling out rest. Whilst it feels good to have a challenge to meet, this one is but a light slap with a kid glove compared to Charliecat's chainmail gauntlet of the Jog Shop 20.

So it begins.

[marathondan]

Glad to see you on board, Sweder. I hope you'll tick over for a month or so and then start to accelerate away as you chase the Cat up those hills on Sundays.

[Sweder]

A warm one, 6.06 kilometres in dead on 43 minutes. Not one step deserving of a cut, so 4 miles tucked away.
With Lewes Skittles tonight and racing ocean-going yachts in the Solent tomorrow, my feet won't kiss the turf until the weekend. Seven miles in week one is a good start, Saturday's outing should put me comfortably ahead. And that's as close to a fucking graph as you'll get out of me.

I'm with Marathondan on the whole pace thing. If you bank the miles and make some sessions tougher than others, pace will sort itself out over time. The pace of this run - 7:05 mins per km - was slower than Monday's, yet the effort felt greater this morning. These outings are short, stepping stones to fitness across the babbling brook of ale, burger grease and late-night sofa-slouching during the Women's World Cup. Once on the other side I'll think about some proper mileage.

I had occasion to dig out my JSJ report from 2006 (posted on Charliecat's blog). It's notable for being the time that Rog announced his conversion to God-bothering and my calves started seizing up in races. I read on for a bit, catching up on some of the old training runs. The mileage we were hitting back then seems over the hills and far away just now, but that's what's needed to take on that brute of a run. No use trying to run before you can walk. Or crawl, for that matter.

On, on.

[Sweder]

Wrote a reasonably long post on here, tried to insert a Youtube clip, lost the lot.
Had a rant, then did it again. I know, I know better, yet it still pisses me off. 
Here's the summary. 

5 miles in Floridian humidity, last mile at 4.5 minute km pace.
Feel good, if soggy.

Km pace splits: 7:42/ 8:24/ 8:06/ 7:38/ 6:22/ 6:07/ 7:11/ 4:37/ 4:59

America: you're all fucking nuts.

[Sweder]

Here's the Youtube clip. Fruity language but well worth watching to the end.
I think the fellow pretty much nails the NRA here.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Spot on.

I mean, "Fuck yeah!"

[Sweder]

Sometimes, simply strapping on your runners and heading out the door feels like a win
3 miles, 2 x long hill reps, 1 drenched Sweder

[Sweder]

Four miles banked, nice easy pace with a friend from the Netherlands. She's not used to hills and found the going a challenge. By contrast I felt strong, bouncing along in the warm sunshine, enjoying ghe gentle caress of a light, cool breeze. I'll back this up on Friday with an early hill rep/ sprint session.

The time has come to up the anti. A long, early Sunday run is on the cards, something around 8 miles or so. I feel ready.

[Sweder]

3.5:1

That's the Sweder Sweat-Splash Ratio following intervals and hill-climbs.
Three-point-five drops off the chin to one off the nose. Or one off the eyebrow (either one). 

I sat, head bowed, counting the droplets as they fell away, tiny Luke Skywalkers, hands outstretched. 'Noooooo ....'. I am their Father. They hit the dulled decking like little water-bombs, pooling to form a  lake of hot tears in the dust-clogged grooves. I squeezed my eyebrows, unleashing a cascade of warm brine.

Inexplicably tired after a reasonable night's sleep, I did not feel like going out this morning. After two alarm re-sets I crawled from beneath the summer duvet, resigned to strapping on the runners for a midweek constitutional. A mischeivious voice started on at me as I harnesed the dogs.

You could just plod round the field, dial one in, book the miles and feel good about it.
Or, you could throw in some sprints, work your arse off for half an hour and shift some of that lard.

Taken aback by this self-rebuke, I decided to do just that. It was Moylebird who spoke about 'junk miles' - you may as well not go out. Do some sit-ups or squat-thrusts instead. Junk miles are you kidding yourself you've put the effort in, when they're no effort at all. Right, as usual. I took the loop around Landport Bottom, hitting the long diagonal climb to the sheep trough. Instead of lumbering down the long hill in recovery mode, I smashed out a thirty-second plummet, followed by a twenty-second waddle, then another lung-busting sprint. The second took me to the bottom of the hill, so my next recovery was up a steep bank. That tested the lungs alright. I climbed up across the field, paused at the top to let the dogs grab a drink (and to catch my breath) before going again. 

On the jog home I threw in two more thirty-second sprints, this time on the flat. Run-keeper asured me that, despite a stop for an errant shoe-lace, this was my fastest time over the distance. I should bloody well hope so. Back home I slumped into a garden chair, head bowed, counting the sweat-drops.
Splish, splosh, splash, be-dum.

4.8 kms at average 6.25 minutes per km
3 miles banked. Nicely on target.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

...

You could just plod round the field, dial one in, book the miles and feel good about it.
Or, you could throw in some sprints, work your arse off for half an hour and shift some of that lard.

Taken aback by this self-rebuke, I decided to do just that.

...

And just what did your orthopaedic surgeon have to say about that?

You sir, are a worry.

[Sweder]

...

You could just plod round the field, dial one in, book the miles and feel good about it.
Or, you could throw in some sprints, work your arse off for half an hour and shift some of that lard.

Taken aback by this self-rebuke, I decided to do just that.

...

And just what did your orthopaedic surgeon have to say about that?

You sir, are a worry.

Screw him, he's a cyclist 

[Charliecat5]

...

You could just plod round the field, dial one in, book the miles and feel good about it.
Or, you could throw in some sprints, work your arse off for half an hour and shift some of that lard.

Taken aback by this self-rebuke, I decided to do just that.

...

And just what did your orthopaedic surgeon have to say about that?

You sir, are a worry.

Screw him, he's a cyclist 

I was just about to text you to see if you fancied a late afternoon romp up to Blackcap with a return via Hamsey and the river (a new route).  But you've already hit the hills and skidded the slopes, so to speak.

[Sweder]

I like the sound of that route. Next week, if you're about?

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Well there goes any chance of Two Oceans. Unless you were thinking of the wheelchair category that is.

[Sweder]

I'm not sure I get your drift, OM. I had the op in October, abstained completely until January and I've yet to exceed six miles on a run. Every outing bar Key West has been off-road and I've not yet run on consecutive days. By any standard my return to running has been gentle. I make Captain Cautious look like a bull in a china shop.

I may never be ready for TOM, or even the JS20. I have to accept that, at some point, my body might say 'no further'.
Right now a gentle off-road half marathon feels a long way off. It may be that I'm destined to spend the rest of my days jogging out gentle three-milers.
One thing's for sure; I won't die wondering.

[Charliecat5]

I like the sound of that route. Next week, if you're about?

Saturday early evening for a run followed by a trip to the pub for a Blackcap? 

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

I'm not sure I get your drift, OM. I had the op in October, abstained completely until January and I've yet to exceed six miles on a run. Every outing bar Key West has been off-road and I've not yet run on consecutive days. By any standard my return to running has been gentle. I make Captain Cautious look like a bull in a china shop.

I may never be ready for TOM, or even the JS20. I have to accept that, at some point, my body might  say 'no further'.
Right now a gentle off-road half marathon feels a long way off. It may be that I'm destined to spend the rest of my days jogging out gentle three-milers.
One thing's for sure; I won't die wondering.

Well true, I guess it is a long time ago now. I might be comparing you to Seafront Plodders' especially careful return to the running fold. Though you have to concede he hasn't any running injuries, so in that sense he's been tremendously successful. 

[Sweder]

Sweder was a man who thought he was a runner
But he knew it couldn't last
Sweder left his home early morning, summer
For a misty Blackcap blast

Get back
Get back
Get back to where you once belonged

An early morning jaunt to the Cap. Lewes lay below, shrouded in a thick duvet. The Moyleman Peaks peeped up through the sea-mist, bathed in glorious sunshine. Nine easy kilometres, last night's ill-advised Chinese takeaway oozing out of every pore. Reap as you sow, old boy.

On the climb to Blackcap I was passed by a young woman in a strawberry vest. She offered a warm greeting as she cruised by, perspiration glistening on her tan shoulders, blond hair bobbing rhythmically. I admired her form as she ascended the steep track, a relentless symphony of power and grace. I looped around the low track before running up the west slope, adding half a klick to my route, pausing at the trig point to marvel at the vista. As I set off on the long drop I spied that red-pink top and blonde barnet heading back up the same track. Hill reps up and down Blackcap? This was something I'd dream about at the peak of my powers, some five years back. I smiled to myself, wondering at the yawning gap between now and then. We need to sign her up for next year's Moyleman. 

Five miles ticked off, still pretty much on the Hundred Mile/ Days mark.

   
The road home

[Charliecat5]

A very poetic blog my friend.  I cannot help but wonder though, what your strawberry girl wrote on her return.  

Out on the hills of Lewes
In the early morning mist
I passed a goat called Billy
Who looked like he was pissed.