Today, officially, I begin training for the Loch Ness marathon on October 2nd.
Why today? Because I guess I’ll be following some variation of one of the Hal Higdon training plans, and they all last 18 weeks. This week is Week 1 (or Week 18, as Hal describes it). Furthermore, Monday is always a rest day, so Tuesday is when it all kicks off.
Today is Tuesday, and today it all kicked off.
Not many people know that Ferdinand Smallpeice [sic] Esquire was the Town Clerk of Guildford in 1902. I knew not this snippet myself afore this evening. All was revealed, however, as I waited for Nigel of this parish to arrive. Our rendezvous was outside the White House pub, a tempting establishment on the River Wey in the centre of the town. I stood on the bridge, evidently constructed in the year of Ferdinand Smallpeice’s Town Clerkship, replacing the one washed away in February 1900. The commemorative plaque told me all I needed to know. I’ll be frank. It was a little bit more than I needed to know.
Ash and Andy had cried off from the run, and I nearly did so too. The prospect of 7 hilly miles on a warm evening, after a 4-week lay-off, was pretty dreadful. I tried to negotiate my way out of it, suggesting a run later in the summer, but all I got was an offer to reduce the distance to 3½. I’m too pliant. Fair enough, I thought. Ducking out of a 3½ miler on Day 1 of my marathon training seemed recreant, and would have presaged a summer of weedy cop-outs.
The run was really pleasant. Nigel was recovering from injury, so I thought it unreasonable to push him too hard. We took it slowly, following the gently meandering path along the riverside, allowing ample opportunity to enjoy the early evening sunshine as it suffused the tranquil, rustic environment. Very Surrey. We passed beneath willows and hot air balloons, Nigel in full tour guide mode. I learnt all sorts of stuff about the place that I’d been dying to know, like the etymology of the town’s name, and the measures being taken to obscure the sight of the semi-used business park from the posh people who live on the hill. Like, er, Nigel…. Tee hee.
OK, so it wasn’t quite true to suggest that I had to restrain my athletic instincts. In fact, it was me who was doing the lagging. I had to stop a couple of times to deal with a stitch, and generally felt pretty terrible. The worst part was that 3½ miles mysteriously morphed into 5 without a lot of discussion – and the last mile was tough.
This might sound odd to non-runners. Didn’t I complete a marathon just 4 weeks ago? Yes, I did. But fitness – albeit my version of fitness – wanes rapidly if you spend your free time in the pub watching football, and if you spend your non-pub time eating sausages and chocolate and ice cream, and working your way through the wine rack. Yesterday for instance I was forced by circumstance to consume several pints of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord and a few glorious glasses of Barolo. Followed by that midnight giant deep pan pepperoni pizza with extra chillies. Is this how Paula Radcliffe prepared for her London Marathon triumph this year? Possibly not.
It’s rare to drink alcohol before a working day, but play-off day? The very last day of the football season? Impossible to resist. Anyway, I don’t suppose it helped me run.
But let’s move on, learning our lessons where they present themselves. The first runs are on the board, so to speak. The first run, anyway. Yep, I need about 70 or 80 more before October. 5 miles crossed off, and about 450 to go.
Afterwards, we managed a couple of pints and a Madras-level Chicken Balti, just to ensure that our bodies weren’t too traumatised by the unexpected stresses of healthy living. No point in taking unnecessary risks, eh?
May has been a dull old month for anyone new to the website, and there’s every chance it might become a bit duller for a while. We chatted over our meal about the important stuff. Football and Iraq. Why have I stopped mentioning the war? I didn’t realise that I had. I suppose everything that can be said has been said. All we can do now is wait for the great unravelling. We talked about writing, and various writing projects.
I started writing a book about running last summer: wrote 30,000 words, then stopped. It’s time I cranked it up again and finished it. Trouble is, I spend most of my creative energy explaining to my boss why I’m late for work again. The little that’s left over is dribbled over the RunningCommentary. I need to channel more of the effort into the book and get the damn thing done.
If I keep saying it, who knows? It may happen. A public thanks to Nigel for nagging me about it. I seem congenitally incapable of believing that I can do certain things. It’s always a shock to be told by people that they think I can.
POSTSCRIPT:
Collected my bike today (Wed June 1st) from Bob the Bike mechanic, and took it for a tough 90 minute ride. It’s in superb condition, and apart from the few spots of rust that I can rub off at the weekend, it’s just like new. The shop, Action Bikes, where I first took the bike, you’ll recall, wanted to charge me a minimum of £135. Bob Bristow charged me just £31. Anyone in the Reading area who wants a great job done on their bike should mail him at bobbristow@waitrose.com or call 0118 9582056. Very highly recommended.
