A more constructive meeting with the podiatrist in Bristol this evening, though the news still isn’t great. This is what I was told during the meeting: the nails of the second toes on both feet will shortly fall off. This isn’t a disaster; I should consider having them surgically, and permanently, removed or they’ll continue to cause trouble; there’s no reason why I shouldn’t run the Fleet half marathon at the weekend, or the London Marathon, but "it might hurt" my right foot is going to be more susceptible to blisters because my gouty big toe is forcing me into a slightly unusual running style the right foot problem might be helped with a moulded orthotic insole though this would … …
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Today I went to see a qualified sports injury specialist. He took a look at my variegated toes and said: “Forget about running a marathon. In fact, forget about running.” After returning home I checked a couple of websites and discovered there’s a name for the source of the problem: “Morton’s Toe”. It means the second toes are longer than the big toes. A common problem: many runners have it. I called a podiatrist and will be seeing him tomorrow to find out what the options are. I want some proper advice. At least the guy I saw today didn’t charge me. He was quite a character. Ex-Bristol Rovers footballer. He threw in some advice on how to avoid blisters … …
No scheduled run today so I whiled away Coronation Street and University Challenge on the exercise bike instead. There’s been a bit of correspondence today on the running newsgroups about the fat, panting newbies like me who lined up at the start too near the front, thereby depriving people further behind of a winning chance. Or at least, forcing them to overtake too many runners in a congested opening mile. Hmmm. It’s hard to justify deliberately pushing-in, but I’m also surprised that people get so exercised about this in a mass-participation event like Reading. The opening half mile was pretty congested, it’s true, but after that there was plenty of space on the course. I obviously don’t understand the etiquette … …
Well, I didn’t win… but it was close. Had I shaved around 60% off my time, my name would be up there in lights in Reading this evening. Instead, the luminary in question, and the 2nd and 3rd finishers, are all Kenyans – two of whom didn’t turn up to receive their prizes at the post-race presentation. I happened to be limping past the makeshift stage at the time, and stopped for a minute to see them not be there. The day got off to a bad start. Had no trouble waking and debedding at 0630. Over a breakfast of toast, banana, cereal and a pint of Lucozade Sport, I decided to check my email – as one does – … …
As hinted yesterday, decided to implement a mini-taper for Sunday’s Reading Half by swapping the scheduled 5 mile run for 40 minutes on an exercise bike. Also helped to preserve what remains of my lower extremities. That’s it for now…… …
9 miles before breakfast. The first morning run I’ve managed without early retirement through injury or profound misery. It was still tough going. Like all crack-of-dawn runs there was something raw and bleak and high-resolution monochrome about it. Creaking out of bed in the cold half-light, pulling on shivering synthetics and finding yourself on the streets. Deeply unnatural. How you long for the warmth of the womb. It’s like one of those nightmares where you find yourself standing naked at a bus-stop, or walking into the office with no trousers on. Everyone else is scarved and gloved against the cold but I’m attired as though I’m sitting in a beer garden on a sweltering Sunday afternoon in July. Worse still, … …
A lunchtime run today of just over 4 miles, at 11.02 a mile. I said some time ago that I’d take more notice of times and speed once the race was within 6 weeks. That’s now. It can’t hurt to be more conscious of pace, but I don’t think it’s a wise move to translate this into a target time for the race itself. Almost everything you read says that the goal for a first marathon should be to finish the race. You then have some benchmark against which to aim if and when a second marathon comes along. It sounds right. After all, having (by definition) never run the distance before, the novice’s target can only ever be a … …
No run today. Instead I’m enjoying the warmth of belated satisfaction about getting through 18 miles yesterday. For some inexplicable reason it seemed to pass me by yesterday. I’m getting confused about carbo-loading. I read Hal Higdon’s Ultimate Marathon Training Guide last week in which he is pretty strict about the need to wolf down 400 grams of carbohydrate every day in the run-up to the marathon. So I tried it for a few days – and felt pretty bloated. Despite running 26 miles in the past 3 days I managed to put on a pound in weight. Not what I expected. The obvious counter-observation is that I got through those miles, so perhaps that’s the trade-off. Perhaps it was … …
Awoke this morning and prodded a few sensitive areas. Initial impression encouraging. Got up and feasted on bagel and banana and toast and tea. There followed a farcically disorganised few hours in which I drove round the countryside planting refreshment in ditches – like little prizes in a kiddies’ treasure hunt. Portable oases awaiting the thirsty traveller. After this act of selfish benevolence, I drove round, trying to work out a route of precisely 18 miles. This meant finding a suitable 3 miles to tack on to the 15 I did a couple of weeks ago. But it kept going wrong. Eventually, as the clock ticked on past 1 o’clock, I returned home to try getting it right on Autoroute. … …
I sometimes read other London Marathon internet journals. One of them, Mike Henry (www.reluctantrunner.com) hasn’t written anything in the past 10 days or so. The reason is revealed in today’s message: The past week has been a very long week for me. Last Thursday a tumour, that I didn’t know I had, burst in my brain and I began a journey into the inner sanctums of the medical kingdom. It was the size of a plum, it turned out, and when it burst it also flooded the optical nerve of my right eye with blood. I very quickly lost all control of my motor and speech functions and, in fact, became a gibbering wreck. I had brain surgery … …