There’s nothing quite like entering a race to stir up the motivational juices. It seems to work on a number of levels: You start to imagine running it: you sense the noise, the crowds, the competition. The adrenaline pumping. Entering a race almost panics you into planning a training schedule, or checking how it will fit into a broader training plan. The fear of being under-prepared. The PB fantasy. This year’s target is still to be reached. Will I do it this time? What’s the course like? Scenic? Historic? Hilly? The imagination stirs. The location. If it’s some distance away, perhaps we’ll make a day or even a weekend of it. What or who can we visit nearby, or en … …
Blog Posts
Out at 6:10am again yesterday for a cautious jog. Cautious because I’d begun to worry about this calf after Monday’s ache. But it seemed OK, so I’m turning the paranoia gauge down a few notches. I decided to run for a set time (40 minutes) rather than a set distance. It struck me that when running in the morning, before work, it makes more sense to budget for time rather distance. It’s essentially the same thing, though you have more control over your schedule. When you run for a set distance, you monitor progress with a watch. Running for a set time, you monitor progress by distance instead. At least you can if you have a speed/distance monitor. Today was … …
No run today. Tuesday is normally a running day, but after yesterday’s experience I’m taking a rest. … …
The six week lay-off is a tough opponent. This morning I ran a laboured 3.5 miles. I was tired, and even felt a worrying twinge in my right calf again. It was a reminder that this injury could well reappear. Perhaps I should have rested today, but the holiday seemed too good an opportunity to miss. Tomorrow I won’t run. Nearly eight hours in the garden today, digging and planting. The remaining potatoes were put out of their misery. Too knackered to write more.… …
Are my running lessons done, O Master…? [Sound of muffled laughter] Er, not quite yet. Today was one of those days when the stage seemed set. I woke early, with the sun was crashing through the curtains. I felt alert and alive and energised. Not even a hangover to grapple with. Just before I left for my run, I had the brainwave of drinking some fruit juice and a cup of strong coffee. The caffeine would really get me motoring, I reasoned. And it worked for a while – a mile or so – but then I suddenly began to feel dehydrated and, quite simply, too hot. I was sweating, and felt lethargic. I still did my five miles but … …
Never thought of myself as a Pilates sort of chap before, but after a session last night there’s a real danger of me becoming a convert. M had mentioned a while ago that there was a local class starting, and I thought it might help my running effort by improving my general strength, and forcing me to stretch. Apart from a very occasional, very quick and half-hearted calf stretch, there is little danger of me ever having done myself any good by stretching anything. Also, I’ve always had trouble with upper back pain after long runs, which I’m told is caused by a build-up of lactic acid. Pilates is the sort of targetted activity that could help to shift it.… …
Spring is the best time of year for running. Early this morning it was bright and sunny, but cool. The damp streets almost deserted. I kept to the small back lanes and the deer park, where no cars could trouble me. I now know that, at 6:10 am, the entire population of the world numbers four: there’s me, the postman, and a couple of pensive dog walkers. The run was therapeutic rather than joyful. Last night’s effort was the first in weeks, and it was hardly surprising that my legs were leaden and reluctant. Everything felt heavy, but it was great to be out there at all. Dublin is still a long way off, but I can already sense it. … …
Something odd to report: a run. The good news is that I ran just over three miles without the slightest twinge in my calf. It was a comfortable jog, and no more, but after six frustrating weeks of injury, that was all I was hoping for. The evening seemed bright and fine when I left the house, but my cherished GPS distance monitor watch was showing just 1.4 miles when the rain began. It was so unexpected that I presumed it would be limited to a few renegade drops. But a minute or two later it was belting down. Big, heavy, wet splashes. I used to hate rainy runs. But then I realised that it really didn’t matter. Whatever the … …
It’s cold and it’s raining. I’m sleepy, and suddenly starving. The house is warm, and the smell of M’s lunchtime toast won’t let me leave the house again now. I’m deferring my return to running till tomorrow. No, this isn’t a cop-out. I’ve had a successful first week of pre-training. Eating sensibly, stretching, deciding on running goals, planning to join the local running club, doing some reading. I’m feeling confident and even quite excited about the weeks and months ahead. And I’m around 6 pounds lighter today than I was a week ago. There’s no point in forcing myself to go out on an evening like this if I’m not up for it. If I’m back from London in time … …
I’ve spent most of the day in front of a computer, so have little to report. However, I did want to wish Nigel Platt and Ian Painter good runs in the Stratford marathon tomorrow. Nigel ran the Chicago marathon last year too, although we’ve never met. Apart from the normal anxieties of the marathon, he is also a West Ham supporter, and tomorrow, while the race is underway, his team will be literally fighting for their Premiership lives at Manchester City. If they lose, they are relegated. Post-marathon hours are emotional at any time, but if the Hammers have plunged through that trapdoor, I would envisage a few tears in the Platt household tomorrow evening. It reminded me of 1998/99 … …