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.
What was I to do? I had used PJ liberally for all my long distance runs. Was I to break this habit now, on the eve of my 20 mile run? I sought the advice of my wife who immediately issued me with my instructions. I was to coat one foot in this substance, and leave the other one jelly-free, then compare the results afterwards. Phew!
Life is almost pleasurable again. QPR are top of the league, and today I ran for 20 miles without any walking breaks. That is a major achievement for me, and is by far the longest bit of constant running I’ve done.
To call it “running” is possibly an exaggeration. I decided beforehand that the only chance I had of completing the distance without blowing a leg gasket again was to take it really easy. I did the whole distance at a comfortable jog, breaking into a proper run only in the last half mile when I realised that I could get home within my original target time of 4 hours. A time of 3:58:40 is not fast for 20 miles, but it’s about the same as I took for the Worthing 20 when I was preparing for London in March, and you’re always going to run a race a bit faster than on your own. It was also pretty miraculous that I was able to run — sprint even — at the end.
I cadged a lift from M to a place called Kintbury which is just short of Hungerford, where she was heading to check out some antique shops, in a continuing search for a 1920s porcelain lampshade to replace the one that the removal men broke when we moved house, back in April. I’d spent all morning consulting maps and measuring distances on Autoroute, and had finally settled on Kintbury as being a point exactly 20 miles along the canal.
Some great countryside to enjoy around there. The canal is even more rustic than it is nearer home. Around the Kintbury area the towpath is a narrow, rutted track, and the canal is partly shaded by huge, overhanging branches that add a strong air of tranquility to the scene. It was a good, peaceful way to start.
As I said, I took it easy, aiming to run a steady 11:30 to 12:00 a mile. This is about 2 minutes a mile slower than most of my training runs, but it was the best chance I had. The only two brief stops I had on the entire run were when I was unable to cross the canal because a bridge was being swivelled round to let a barge through. Apart from that I just kept on and on, and once I’d got to the 12 mile mark (where I’d hidden a drink in the bushes earlier in the day), I knew I was going to make it.
When I got home, I found that M had finally found her lampshade and that Queens Park Rangers were still top of the 2nd Division. Hurrah! If it wasn’t for the continuing anxiety about getting a project finished at work before we fly off to Chicago in less than three weeks time, it would have been just about a perfect weekend. Oh bugger work for the moment. Hurrah!!!
Oh, and about those feet… amazingly enough I found that both toed objects were still intact once I’d summoned the courage to remove my new socks. And stranger yet was the discovery that the non-lubricated foot seemed to come off slightly better. Well well. We live and learn.
