RunningCommentary

Into November, and feeling even more optimistic about the running winter ahead. I was going to post this entry on Tuesday evening, and had started with these paragraphs: Speed of progress has been frustratingly slow, but I’m staying rational. If advancement was instant and easy, without constant self-doubt, it wouldn’t amount to the prize it remains, and I’d still be snuggled up on the sofa. Since the last entry, and the renewed assault on the lard mountain, a couple more pounds seem to have detached themselves, and the tally now stands at 17½ pounds less than it was 7 weeks ago. This is good enough. It’s easy to lose weight at a faster rate than this, but only in stupid … …

A forgettable weekend, which is just as well, as I don’t remember a lot about it in the first place. Late Friday afternoon I stepped out for a short run but barely got beyond the garden gate. The gouty toe was back in its box but the two stubbed toes on the left foot, now a rather gorgeous yellow and purple, were having none of it. In frustration, I mailed a mate and demanded an evening of beer and bullshit. I didn’t explicitly specify the latter, but knew it would inevitably follow, particularly after such an arid spell. This wasn’t my first taste of alcohol in the 44 days of the current campaign: I had a couple of pints last … …

This is a toecentric period alright. The right-hand toe, as it were, has moved through last week’s shiny gouty inflammation to a sort of buried pain that’s starting to reach backwards along the sole of my foot when I walk. It’s not cripplingly painful. In fact it’s much better than the last couple of weeks, but while it lingers, and for as long as it issues a small crackle of pain each time I bend the toe, it makes me nervous. I wrote off all of last week, and don’t want to waste more time. I managed 5 miles on Tuesday, so it’s clearly not keeping me indoors any longer, but I worry a little that by running on it, … …

Today I had my first taste of winter. Not that it was particularly cold out there, but there was something bleak and ominous about running the canal towpath in steady drizzle, in the hour before sunset. It was a repeat of the bike-run-bike format. This aerobic sandwich works well, with the bike rides forming a decent warm-up and warm-down around the run. A total of 47 minutes on the bike and 56 minutes of running sounds admirably strenuous, but I must quickly confess that I took it very gently today. The cycling was a pleasant loosener, with the run being a deliberately steady and stately plod of just under 5 miles. And I mean deliberate. All I wanted to do … …

Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Have I ever felt truly ready to run a race? Probably not. Did I feel ready to run the Crawley 10K today? Definitely not. Did I tell everyone, myself included, that I was ready? Yes. In the first few innocent strides through Lidgate Forest, I recalled my first ever Philosophy tutorial, in which my venerable tutor, Harry Lesser, asked us: “What is a table?” It’s a harder question than you think. We argued over it for an hour before he gave us his answer. “A table is something that has tableness.” Similarly, I ask … …

Where am I? Hard to say. I’m not where I was, and I’m not where I thought I would be now. But wherever I am, I’ve been here before, and I know that I’ll survive and flourish. The foot is better. It’s past the acute discomfort, throbbing stage and back into the mere ache phase. In terms of comparative pain, it’s no longer a ‘broken bone’ and back to being merely ‘badly bruised’. I have two full days left till the Crawley race, and at the moment I have no idea whether I’ll be able to take part, or in what shape I’ll be. My fear this week is that people will think I might’ve invented this complaint to get … …

Throb, throb, throb. It had to happen: the first obstacle of the campaign is here, if a bit earlier than hoped. For about 12 years now I’ve had a gouty right toe. I can, and do, forget about it for 95% of the year, but every now and then it appears and waves a big red flag in my face. Ah yes, it’s you again. I felt a twinge on Saturday after my canal run, but thought no more of it until the next day when I was flexing the top half of my feet on the leg press at the gym (excellent exercise for the calf muscles), and felt the familiar stab of pain in the big toe joint. … …

Ah, that’s better. Another 10 kilometres up the canal, but markedly more comfortable than last Saturday, when I was reduced to a run-walk for the second half. Today I crumbled in the final mile, but the first 5 were walkless and steady. So, why should today be different from a week ago? Three pounds lighter for one thing; and another 6½ hours of cardiovascular chalked up. On their own, unremarkable facts: just a couple more bites in the elephant-eating task. But they’ve taken me closer to the tipping point that must surely come: the moment when I’ll be released from that waiting room, into the real contest. I sense it’s not far off now. I’m hoping that next weekend’s 10K … …

Eagle-eyed followers of my desultory tweeting (www.twitter.com/runningcomm) will be aware that on Tuesday I was visited by an urge to get hold of a medicine ball. So on my way to the gym that evening, I called into Argos, emerging with a formidable 6 kg rubber specimen. Yep, with handles, and everything. I went for the handled one because it was described as being “easier to use”. Later, I wondered if that was much of a selling point for an item that is bought specifically to offer a difficult workout. The rain was ceaseless yesterday. Normally, this is no disincentive. In fact it almost adds to the appeal, as it emphasises this saintly sense of self-sacrifice. But yesterday? … …