Day 1 of 126. The best day in the entire Hal Higdon training programme. Why? Because it’s a rest day. Yep, you heard right. Today I have to take it easy to recover from all that heavy deliberation; that long, slow, strength-sapping contemplation of yesterday. Which at least gives me the time to do a bit more of it. 125 days and 591 miles lie ahead. It says here. Gulp. Can that be right? That averages out at 4.69 miles a day. 4.69 miles a day? So this rest day, far from being a breeze, is just putting me 4.69 miles in deficit before I’ve even begun? If the truth be told, it seems unlikely that I’ll manage to … …
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We’ve been this way before. Next week is the start of a new round of marathon training. Hang on. Next week? Or this week? It depends whether you’re a runner or a normal person. A runner’s week begins on a Monday, not the usual Sunday. Let’s pretend to be normal for a minute. This week. Training begins this week. Readers who keep abreast of current affairs will know that this is also Christmas week, which produces something of a conflict of interest. The recent trip to Spain netted two or three estupendo bottles of Rioja, and there’s a bottle or two of decent Champagne blowing kisses and winking at me every time I open the fridge to find another lettuce … …
Managed 4½ very wet and windy miles this morning. It looked worse than it really was. Blustery rain isn’t ideal, but it was surprisingly mild. Very nearly warm. The funniest thing about days like today is noticing people’s reactions. I sauntered past a bus stop where two old ladies were clinging to each other while their macs and their Co-op carrier bags almost lifted them off the ground. All our lives we accept that weather conditions like this are to be fought against. We dress up against the rain and wind; we create barriers and insulation and invent sophisticated weapons like brollies to fight back. When you start running, for a while you carry on the same way, wearing rain … …
Another frosty, hostile morning to enjoy. As I left the house at 6am to run, I noticed the water-butt was a block of solid ice. First time this winter. One minor positive about the freezing weather is that the small local hotel now keeps its dining room window shut, so I’m no longer tortured with the smell of bacon and sausages and black pudding and mushrooms sauteed in butter and toast and fresh coffee. In truth it’s only the bacon I ever smell; the imagination creates the rest. Along with a newspaper or two, the perfect breakfast. Talking of which, I found a copy of the Daily Telegraph on the train the other morning, and came across yet another article … …
Fourteen hours since my early morning run, but it’s still tingling the parts that other beers cannot reach. When I got into work this morning, I found everyone talking about how cold it is. “It was even colder at 5:45, when I went for a run”, I remarked casually. Extended silence. Someone coughed nervously. Then:” Running? You went running? This morning? What did you wear? A fur-lined tracksuit?” “Just a teeshirt, some shorts, and a very large smile”, I said. One of the funniest, and one of the best, and yes, one of the most frustrating, things about discovering running is that so few people believe you when you tell them how great it makes you … …
Managed only a couple of runs last week, despite working from home for most of it. Tuesday and Wednesday I ran, then I had a couple of under-the-weather days, before a weekend of gastronomic hedonism. I’m still trotting out the same old weedy justification: next week I start my marathon training, so why not make the most of it while I can? Loyal readers will know that I’ve been making the same excuse for sloth and gluttony for more than two years now. Does anyone care? I hope not. Because if I don’t, why should anyone else? I’m looking forward to the training coming up. It’s just the sort of heavy duty goal I need to haul me through the … …
No sleep last night. I worked from home, and was still trying to solve a deeply fascinating problem at midnight, when I went to bed. The trouble was, I couldn’t push the thoughts from my head, and six hours of fruitless rumination later, I got up and went running instead. It was an odd experience. I kept sort of ‘waking up’, even though I was running along the road. In the end I got fed up with this, and decided to leave my spirit in a cosy ditch beneath a warm-looking hedge while the physical bit went off for a run. The Bone and Blubber Department was having such a good time on its own that it very nearly forgot … …
7.377 miles (how did I manage before having a speed and distance monitor?) this morning. Compared with my usual, this is a long run. Felt pretty good too. It was one of those cold-but-sunny mornings that beckons the runner from his bed. I trotted down along the canal for about three miles, then came round the block along the main road towards home. If I’d gone straight home it would have been about 4.5 miles, but I felt able to spread my wings a bit, and tack on most of my early morning run (but in reverse). It felt great to have been out for that distance, and although I was knackered by the end of it, I expected to … …
It might have been a bit cheeky to have a rest day today, but I had a rest day today.… …
And so, seventeen days after the Brighton 10K, I manage to get out for another run. Excuses? None that stand scrutiny. It’s true that I had a change of routine when I took a two-week break from work, but this was a great chance to crank up my running, not abandon it. And yes, I was then out of the country for a week, but what a missed opportunity for mental refreshment with some new running experiences. I saw dozens, if not hundreds, of runners in Spain. I could have joined them on the river path through Bilbao, or on the spectacular coastline near San Sebastian, or through the medieval streets of Vitoria. Did I? No. Sometimes you just run … …