Month: September 2002

Supposed to run 12 miles today but instead I went to work. I had a vague thought about doing my run after work, on a circuit that goes along the Thames to the Tate Modern, across the Millenium Bridge to St Paul’s, then along the other bank of the river back to Waterloo or even Westminster Bridge, then back to the South Bank.… READ MORE.... …

Another early morning, 4 mile run. It’s getting chilly out here. Two-T-shirts chilly.… READ MORE.... …

The Banana Story: Out at 6:30 this morning for a clammy 4 mile dash around the darkened village. The run was reasonable, but as I had to get the 7:40 to Paddington, I was left with little time for breakfast. So after my shower, I grabbed an apple and banana and hobbled off to the car. I stuffed the banana into my jacket pocket, and chomped on the apple as I drove to the station.… READ MORE.... …

And so, the fabled taper begins. It’s the thick end of the wedge. Or the thin end, depending on your perspective. The ‘V-Board’ is full of references to “taper madness”. The V-Board? It’s the never-explained name of Hal Higdon’s Web Forum. I haven’t given him a plug for a while, so I’ll just remind you that Hal is a legendary American marathon runner whose training programme I followed to prepare for London in April, and have used again for Chicago.… READ MORE.... …

Women are geniuses. I bought yet another pair of socks yesterday, and immediately found myself on the horns of a dilemma. The packaging asserts that “most long distance runners do not use petroleum jelly on their feet”. I was shocked and upset. It had a ring to it not dissimilar from “real men don’t eat quiche”, an epithet that ruined the 1980s for me.… READ MORE.... …

Much to my amazement, I did it. Nearly 10 miles on a pitch-black, hostile evening, when I really didn’t feel like it. A desperate day at work. I got home late-ish, weary and disillusioned. I’m not into speed training, but twice on the way home I was forced to produce explosive bursts of sprinting — in vain. First at Paddington, between the Bakerloo tube train and platform 10 of the mainline station, where I arrived, panting, to see the 18:18 moving off without me; and at Reading, between the train and the local branch of Sweatshop, where I wanted to replenish my supply of Powergels in preparation for my 20 miler this weekend.… READ MORE.... …

People sometimes ask me where the pleasure is in running. It’s a reasonable question. It must seem more trouble than it’s worth, and if they’d been reading some of the recent entries here they would be even more mystified by why I bother. Over the last two or three weeks I’ve not enjoyed it much, and there have been times when even I have felt that it’s little more than a waste of good beer-drinking time.… READ MORE.... …

I woke this morning feeling bloated and unfit again. My recent runs have done me good, but I ate badly yesterday. Up till 4pm everything had been fine. A couple of slices of toast for breakfast, a coffee at lunchtime, confident that I could survive the afternoon until something suitably healthy in the evening to set me up for today’s long run.… READ MORE.... …

An interesting day. I got up early (for a Saturday) and ran 4 miles. Quite a good run, at a pace of around 10:10 minutes a mile. After a quick shower it was off to London for a trip — sorry, “flight” — on the London Eye. For reasons best known to herself, M has long-hankered for a trip on an open-top London tour bus, despite knowing central London better than most of us.… READ MORE.... …

In my ruminations on the lack of good local routes, I’d forgotten the obvious alternative: the gym. So I paid a visit this evening, and spent an hour or so pounding the treadmill on my own, staring at the patch of sweat on my pale blue T-shirt grow from nothing to a large blob the shape of Madagascar.… READ MORE.... …