It’s not been a good week for running. Monday was a rest day, intended to be a cushion between the exertions of the weekend past and the ratcheted-up exertions of the week ahead. But those future efforts didn’t happen. On Tuesday I was suddenly taken drunk, and had to be excused my athletic duties. Wednesday I felt rough and weary; unable to face anything very much, least of all running.
Tonight I did get the 5.5 miler in that I should have done last night. I’d gone through today still unable to work up much enthusiasm, and had to create some. So I jumped off the train at Reading to visit Sweatshop, located conveniently just outside. Unusually for this esteemed establishment, I wasn’t subjected to a fusillade of info-nuggets about the shoes on display. Was this a bad thing? Perhaps not. And I didn’t get a go on the Footscan machine, though I’m sure I would have if I’d asked. But in his defence, I did march in there with a pretty fixed idea of what I wanted.
On Monday I’d been to see the podiatrist at one of the local sports centres. It was useful, though I felt sorry for her. Why? Because I didn’t know what I wanted. I just wanted to talk about my feet with a foot-brainy person. God, what a job. I suffered from blisters last time, I explained. “And you’re getting them again?” she asked hopefully as I began removing my shoes. “Er, no”, I had to admit.
It’s a bit like:
“Hello Doctor”
“Good Morning, what seems to the problem?”
“Problem? No, I feel fine.”
“I see, so what can I do for you?”
“I want you to tell me if there’s anything wrong with me.”
“But you said you feel fine.”
“Yes, but I was ill once if that’s any help…”
Anyway, she prodded these things a bit and invited me to waggle them as she looked at them from a variety of angles. Then I walked up and down a long corridor as she wrote her shopping list on a clipboard. At least that’s what I suspected. “And again please.” What was that Sicilian cheese called? Then I ran up and down a few times as she continued looking pensive. Extra thick bleach.
Actually, she was pretty good, announcing that I pronate slightly. Hurrah! I was so bored being a “neutral foot-striker”, as I’d previously been described. A whole new world of shoe-buying pleasure opened up to me in that remark. She went on to admit that she didn’t know much about running shoes, but mentioned New Balance 854s, and that was it. I had to have some.
So tonight I bought some and ran 5.5 miles in them. What luxury it is to run in new shoes. These chaps are very cushioned but supportive. So far so good. Let’s hope they do the job. If they shape up I might buy another pair and alternate them. Extravagant I know, but it extends their life disproportionately.
Tonight’s jaunt was along the canal again. The highlight was gingerly threading my way through a herd of cows grazing near the towpath. They must have been very old – they were still in black and white.
5.5 miles in 58:54, which is 10:36 a mile pace. Not bad for me. A minute faster than the other time I did this route. One thing I’ve found different this time around is that I seem able to finish much faster if I want to. Most midweek runs (when I consciously try to run faster) end with me sprinting the last half mile or even mile. Every time this happens I think of those immortal words of David Coleman from the Montreal Olympics: “Now Juantorena opens his legs — and really shows his class”.
