Depending on the velocity of my social life, this might turn out to be my last run before the real enchilada, next week. The south-east of England has been ankle-deep in viscous, grey rain for much of the past few days, and it was still drizzling this evening as I set off for a simple 30-minute jog. I had intended stepping out last night, but the rain was tumultuous. Had the training programme-proper started, I’d have had no choice. But it hasn’t, so I did, and I didn’t. Out of the gate and right, away from the canal. The towpath of the Kennet & Avon is a great place to run but if I head that way too often its … …
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At last, the great day had arrived. The Queen’s Golden Jubilee… And what better way of celebrating this display of old monarchs than by running as fast as possible away from the TV? Next week, four and a half months of training for the Chicago marathon starts. The plan had been to get at least 3 or 4 weeks of preliminary loosening-up under my belt before the serious stuff began, but after some deliberation, I chose the beer and donuts option instead. I’ve had seven weeks of shore leave since the London Marathon, mostly filled with calories and alcohol and lethargy, and it’s been completely splendid. Seven weeks? Seems longer than that since I’ve been unable to find my socks … …
Five days after the marathon, and the return of some kind of normality. I’ve been in Manchester all week, discussing sensible things like business processes and software solutions, and generally re-acquainting myself with normal life. Normal life, I am reminded, contains beer and Indian food and fried breakfasts and chocolate and midnight biscuits. Which in turn contain horrid things called calories which are already producing the hint of a long-forgotten sense of tension between the belly and the belt. Am I concerned? No, not yet. This is the week of self-indulgence I promised myself. On Sunday I must start to address some of those big questions about Chicago and future running plans. For the moment, let the celebrations continue. Strangely, … …
Today I ran the London Marathon, finishing in 5 hours 51 minutes. If I’d been serious about trying to finish in five hours, I might feel quite disappointed by this, but this was only ever a vague hope; the primary aim all along has just been to finish the race in one piece, and that was achieved. It was another crack-of-dawn start, like yesterday (Saturday), when I had to get over to Docklands to register. I’d first tried on Friday afternoon, but despite booking a half day off work to increase the chances of getting over there in time, a combination of traffic, train timetables and inertia conspired to prevent it. The second attempt succeeded. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with … …
7am, and a few things to add to my checklist: post-race fleece old shirt for start (disposable) plastic Runners World bin-liner thingie for start (disposable) deodorant glasses glasses case money sun block? Some bad news perhaps: it’s looking as though M might not be able to get to London to watch the race after all. Something has cropped up, and time will be a bit tight. Over the past week I’ve had 5 or 6 offers of support on the day but I’ve, perhaps foolishly, put them off. I didn’t really want the fuss. I’m now thinking how sad it would be if there was no one there to see me weep at the finish line. Further update later…… …
No run today after all. Too busy doing nothing. Too busy chomping on bread and pasta and pouring pints of orange squash down my neck. I’ve no weighing scales here at the moment but I suspect I’ve put on a pound or two this week. Or maybe a little more… Perhaps I’ll do my final 2 miler tomorrow morning, or I might just skip it completely. It doesn’t have any intrinsic training value – more of a loosener. I have tomorrow afternoon off and will be heading over to London to register. An hour or two wandering round the expo will probably be the equivalent of a brief training run in any case. It surprises me that the need to … …
Mmmm, this carbo-loading is fun. Yet another plate of pasta has slithered down my gullet; yet another chunk of dense granary bread has been chomped into oblivion; and here comes another pot of low fat rice pudding. Yes, I could get used to this running thing. Three miles this evening. A nostalgic sort of distance. The staple of those early frozen weeks. This evening it was mild and bright, even at 7 o’clock. A pleasant stroll of a run, though I realised when I got home that I seem to be running 3 minutes a mile faster now than in mid-December. This is the start of my list for Sunday: For the race itself: race number 4 safety pins… …
This evening’s run was one of the most important of the entire training programme. As far as the marathon preparations go, the last few days have not been good. The house move and the drudgery of a week of DIY have twisted my routine and my diet, and I’ve been feeling increasingly unprepared for the big day. Today I felt fatigued and unmotivated. Wandering past Thornton’s in Reading, I had a sudden urge for one of their luxurious double ice creams, and within moments I had one of these offending articles in my hand. It was a magnificent treat: Strawberry Surprise and Toffee Crunch, full of fat and sugar and cream. One-nil to the Devil. Tried cheering myself up by … …
My midweek ‘long run’ has now been tapered down to 6 miles. It came early this morning, before buckling down to yet another day of joyless wallpaper-stripping. It was warm and sunny even at 8 o’clock this morning. I walked and jogged down to the canal and began my run from there. A supremely restful experience, despite the physiological trauma. Fabulously bucolic: trees laden with songbirds, the canal a sleeping glass snake. Just the birds and the rhythmic crunch of my feet on the sandy towpath; no other sound was heard.… …