Eagle-eyed followers of my desultory tweeting (www.twitter.com/runningcomm) will be aware that on Tuesday I was visited by an urge to get hold of a medicine ball. So on my way to the gym that evening, I called into Argos, emerging with a formidable 6 kg rubber specimen. Yep, with handles, and everything. I went for the handled one because it was described as being “easier to use”. Later, I wondered if that was much of a selling point for an item that is bought specifically to offer a difficult workout.
The rain was ceaseless yesterday. Normally, this is no disincentive. In fact it almost adds to the appeal, as it emphasises this saintly sense of self-sacrifice. But yesterday? Nah. I even got togged up and ventured beyond the back door. But the rain looked strangely rainy, and I didn’t fancy it.
So instead, I reached for the medicine ball, thinking this would be a gentle, cheaty way of grabbing a few minutes of exercise.
Christ. This is some bad boy.
I had a go at a routine found on the web. Too adventurous as a starting point, and I quickly realised I had to reduce the repetitions. After 10 minutes I was sweating profusely, and 20 minutes later, well, I felt I’d been beaten up and thrown in a ditch awash with my own bodily fluids.
It was an inauspicious start to our relationship, but I have a good feeling about this one.
What’s it all about? Well, it stems from a video I have of me running the Boston Marathon. Bits of it. For some enterprising people, this is a step beyond the normal marathon photos. You can buy a DVD of the race highlights — the real race — intercut with footage of you at the start, then as you go through 10K, 20K, 30K, and crossing the finish line. I have something similar from the Hamburg Marathon in 2005. And I see the same thing in the Boston video as I noticed in the Hamburg one. That as the race goes on, I start to sway from side to side. It’s getting so bad at 30K, that I seem to be expending more energy going sideways than I am going forward.
I mentioned this to Phil the sports therapist, and he told me exactly what my problem was. A weak core, he said. When fatigue struck, there was no central strength to hold my movement together, and I sort of spilled out in different directions. He didn’t use quite those words, but that’s how I interpreted it. The solution? A stronger core, naturally. And the way to a stronger core? Painful exercise. Cheapskates can get the pain for free with squats and sit-ups. If, like me, you like to spend money to get a proper ration of true pain, you buy a medicine ball, and/or a gym ball, and/or go to Pilates. I’ve tried Pilates before, but found it a bit girly. Give me a manly, monster medicine ball every day. Or every other day, apparently.
My midriff was still aching at lunchtime today, when I headed out for a run in glorious autumn sunshine. It was a salutary experience. I hinted a week or so back that I’d left the ‘waiting room’ and was back in the running groove. This turns out to be premature. Today I struggled from the off. Within minutes I was floundering, and quickly decided that this would have to be a run-walk. The distance was decent enough: 5.28 miles, and even the pace wasn’t as bad as it could have been. But it was an hour of run:walk at a ratio of 5:1.
It was one of those days. I felt up for it as I left the house, but I just couldn’t get going. The thick layer of high-visibility lard that cakes my midriff felt even heavier than usual, as though I’d gone out too soon after lunch — even though I hadn’t. The weight figure on my spreadsheet is steadily decrementing, though not quickly enough for my liking. You always feel you deserve more. It’s like sand trickling from a snagged sack. Eventually, the difference will be obvious, but in the short term, you don’t notice it.
On my lurch around the neighbourhood this afternoon, I decided two things: one was that I had to tighten the screws a bit further to burn off some more of this fat; and second, I realised that the Crawley 10K in 9 days time isn’t going to be much fun. There’s no danger of me pulling out, but I may as well hand Seafront Plodder the prestigious Crawley Crown right now, and continue to plot my revenge at the Brighton 10K. Even Brighton, 5 weeks from now, is little more than an early staging post on this much longer journey. My big goals are the New Year’s Day 10K, when I have to get a PB, and the big one, on March 21, the Reading Half, when I aim to dip below 2 hours for the first time.
No, this isn’t kidology. The facts are dancing in front of my face, blowing raspberries at me. I’ll continue to chip away at the excess weight, and will see quite a drop over the next few months, but I’m not going to lose enough in the next 9 days to be able to run much better than I managed today. Simple fact. But Crawley will be a good training run, and as long as I can get round and feel reasonably in control, I’ll be happy. And SP’s triumphalism will make revenge all the sweeter.
Oh yes, and I had a weird idea for a long distance ‘virtual’ run, or even race, that we can all take part in. More later. Am just mentioning it here to remind me.
