Here is the news — good and bad.
Hold on while I switch on the dry ice machine and play a few arpeggios on the harp to set the mood…
Look into my eyes, look into my eyes, the eyes, the eyes, not around the eyes, don’t look around my eyes, look into my eyes, you’re under…
It is Boxing Day 2008 — just 3 days ago. The sun is smiling on all runners this afternoon. Free from worldly cares for a precious hour or two, I set off for a brisk post-Christmas 10 miler along the canal. The kids beam at me from their new bikes; the normally grumpy grandpas radiate contentment from behind their Christmas scarves and outlandish jumpers.
Five miles in, and I decide to explore a trail off to the right, and one that I suspect will lead me back to the main road, allowing me to double-back and head homewards. A few hundred yards up this deserted track, it happens. A sensation I’m familiar with, though not one I’ve had for a few years. Out of the blue. Unexpected and impossible to prepare for, like a bullet in the dark. Bang. My left calf. I knew immediately that this was bad news. Very bad. I had to stop right there, in mid-stride, so that I suddenly switched from striding semi-athlete to a hopping fat bloke, gargling with pain and irritation. Tragically, this piece of festive slapstick was played out in front of a line of people trickling towards the Madejski Stadium for the Boxing Day match. At the best of times, Reading fans normally have strangely strangled expressions, as though they can’t quite synchronise their ‘thoughts’ with the optical data they’re trying to process. But here was a fragment of life that they had no chance of assimilating. Fearful adults started to shepherd the kids away from me, as though I was about to pounce on them, or mug them for their new gloves.
Anyway, it’s me who needs the sympathy, not them. It was a grim moment and a grim day. Sod’s Law dictated that this time, I had no phone or change with me. It took 15 minutes to hobble half a mile to a payphone. Remember them? The last time I used one was in the approach to the Zurich Marathon, 3 years ago. They haven’t got any better. Indeed, any pleasure in the experience has declined sharply, just as the cost of desperation has risen to "a minimum of three pounds ninety" according to the recorded message. I’ve paid at least double that, as M presumed it was some scam when the robot called her to offer her a reverse charge call. I had to call twice.
Immeasurably worse than the £7.80, or whatever the call cost me, was pulling a calf muscle just three days before the official start of my 16 week Boston training. How long would I be unable to run? 3 weeks? 6 weeks?
The day was spent resting the leg, occasionally treating it to a cushion of frozen peas. The good news was I couldn’t feel the sort of lump that might appear after a bad muscle tear, but it continued to throb for the rest of that day, and the next. Sunday was supposed to be the Cliveden 6 mile cross country. I entered the race a few weeks ago, but there was no chance of taking part. Instead I drove to Shepherds Bush for the QPR-Watford game, and parked in my usual place, about 15 minutes walk from Mecca. But after just 5 minutes of expectant hobbling, I had to turn back. The calf seemed to be tightening and becoming more painful. I was doing more damage than good. And so the next 3 wretched hours were spent sitting in the car, waiting for M to emerge from the new Westfield shopping centre, brandishing the trophies from her shopping battles.
I knew I had to get some help without further delay. To boil the story down to the facts, I went to see a physio (Laura) yesterday and today, a sports masseur (Phil). Both were helpful and reassuring. No amputation seems necessary at this stage. In fact, both seem to think that the seizure wasn’t anything to be too anxious about, but that it should be taken as a warning shot. Exactly what it’s warning me against is the big question. There are plenty of variables to pick over. A lot of things have changed in my routine: new shoes; new training schedule involving tempo runs and intervals; training on hills for the first time; gym work, and using things like the step machine which is supposed to imitate steep hill running. We talked through all these possibilities without reaching any conclusion. There’s no obvious weak point in the current regime. For my money, it seems likely that the calf problem is down to an accumulation of pressure from different sources, but primarily the hills and the intervals.
Anyway, both experts gave the calf a good pummelling, particularly Phil, who went on deep tissue attack for a painful half hour or so. If it helps, I don’t mind. Both recommended stricter, more regular stretching. This is something I’m going to have to get used to doing daily as a matter of routine, whether or not I’m running.
Current status? It’s been a disrupted period, and not the sort of start to the 16 week marathon training that I was hoping for, but I’m feeling pretty good about things. If there’s going to be a problem, best that it happens now and not later in the timetable. The important thing is to learn the lessons and try to come out stronger and better equipped. If it forces me into a stretching routine, and makes me take a less frenetic approach to the weekly interval session, then it will have been worth it.
Boring stats bit: Last week, Christmas week, saw 4 rest days instead of 2, with 1 gym session, a 5.21 miler incorporating some intervals, and the abortive 5 mile ‘long run’. The 2 days of this week so far have seen 2 gym sessions including, today, 15 minutes on the elliptical and 10 on the treadmill to try out the new calf. So I’ve not missed too much. I can possibly be forgiven a patchy Christmas week, and this week I’m still on course for the full monty, even if I have to shuffle things round a bit.
The unanswered question hovers over Thursday, New Year’s Day. I’m entered for the Hyde Park 10K. It would be a shame to miss this, though my plan to aim for a PB to ignite the running year will have to be shelved. I plan to take a stately 3 or 4 miler tomorrow to see how the leg is shaping up, and will make a decision then about the race the day after. If I do it, I’ll aim to take it nice and slow, and just enjoy the exhilarating sights and sounds of Hyde Park on a frosty New Year’s Day.
