It’s been said before, but bears repeating: that we run only because we so quickly forget how horrible it really is. Today’s parkrun is a case in point. Here I am, peering at my spreadsheet, noting my likely future opportunities to do this weekly 5K, when barely an hour ago, floundering in the mud, panting like a runaway pig, I was resolving never to put myself through this pain and indignity ever again. I left both start and finish a bit late today. It’s always an error of judgement to ‘quickly check my emails’ in the shadow of a looming deadline. Inevitably, this session in front of the PC screen meanders into a serene browse through the usual news websites … …
Author: andy
Reading ParkRun – 5K Typical. You wait ages for a 5K race, then two come along at once. For much of this week, I’ve allowed myself to slip into a negative frame of mind. Despite another week of austere dining, I seem to be bumping along the weight plateau once more. Average weekly loss so far in this campaign is around 2 pounds, but this week that’s slipped to a paltry half pound. A feeling of deep gloom sounds like an over-reaction, but when you’re a voluntary food martyr, you need to be able to see the promised land inching closer. It’s tempting to wonder why you’re bothering, if a week of no beer, steady exercise and healthy menus offers … …
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? … …
Hellifield Gala Fell Race – Saturday 2nd Aug A contemplative start on the first ascent. [url]http://www.photos-dsb.co.uk/hellifield%2009/content/Hellifield_Fell_Race_2009_118_2_large.html[/url] The damage is done. [url]http://www.photos-dsb.co.uk/hellifield%2009/content/Hellifield_Fell_Race_2009_173_2_large.html[/url] Another valuable learning experience. Mainly concerning the fact that fell shoes need to be a really snug fit to deal with the fast and uneven descents. It serves me right for trying out new kit in a race. But descending is also a real skill that will take some time to get half-descent at. And 3.5 miles turns out to be alot longer than it sounds when the first half is up a big hill. Obvious when you say it like that. Not so obvious when everybody is charging to the end of the first field. And Junior GM … …
Note: This entry was created over several weeks. The great bulk was written while in the USA, but I wasn’t happy with it, so I left it to congeal on my local drive. On May 17, I padded it out, and have retained the perspective of this date for the post, even though I have tried to soften its sharper edges since then. And I will almost certainly tinker with it some more. In particular, I have a lot of photographs and pieces of video from the race, and from our subsequent travels, that I need to do something with. Seventeen days in the USA after the Boston marathon was always going to be risky. I try to avoid clichés … …
The end of Week 19 (counting back from Boston). I got the 3 key runs in, and the 3 cross-training gym sessions. Sounds great, yet the week didn’t go quite as planned. With M away Monday and Tuesday, I managed to resist the lure of alcohol the first night, but slipped out to the pub on Tuesday, hoping in vain to see Chelsea chased out of the Champions League by a bunch of plucky Transylvanians. The London Pride never tasted richer or more satisfying, but I didn’t overdo it. Yet it was still enough to disrupt my routine, and presented me with the first week in 2 months when my weight didn’t dip to a new low. This shameful statistic … …
It’s been quite a 24 hours. It started on such a gentle note, too, in the Asics shop in Argyll Street, just opposite the London Palladium. I went to have my feet analysed. The smiling Japanese girl was a delight, and just giggled at my very English embarrassment at not having cut my toenails in a while. She carried on attaching tiny black stickers to a selection of my pedal protruberances without any outward sign of disgust. I then had to put each foot into a sort of box, before a lid was attached and locked down so securely that I had to wonder if I’d ever be reunited with the far end of my body. This is what appeared … …
Crying out loud Another step forward. Four miles on a mild and bright evening, with the run element of the run:walk ratio back over 50%. The aim is to keep it creeping up, but I won’t let it reach 100% before I’m a stone lighter than I was at the start of this week. The good news, as predicted, is that the pounds are sliding off. The gains so easily made over the last few weeks and months are just as easily removed — to begin with, at least. I’ve become something of a running wuss in recent years. It was only two years ago that a jacket became standard issue on cold winter mornings. For the four years or … …
Life is good. Life is great. Seven-thirty this morning. I’m in the kitchen, dressed athletically. Eight scoops, nah, let’s make it ten, of Sainsbury’s Finest Columbian. I’ve work to do when I get back. What a morning. One of those last desperate throws of the summer dice. We know the game’s up, but how nice to go out like this. The sun is high and warm, but balanced on that crisp autumnal edge, I give you, lay-deez ‘n’ gennelm’n, the very very perfect day for the race. Yep, the human race. I know, I know, you heard that here before. Indulge me, please… On my way out, I visit the small pond. Earlier, through the kitchen window, I thought I’d … …
Writing a race report on the Oxford 10K without using the phrase "city of dreaming spires", or even less resistible, Frederick Raphael’s "city of perspiring dreams", is probably tougher than the race itself. But I’ll give it a go. This is the race, mentioned here, to which I’d challenged my athletic Moriarty, Mark. Getting out of bed at seven in the morning on a Sunday, isn’t much fun, particularly after a late night. We’d made our first ever trip to Camberley where we saw an amateur production of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying . A sixties’ satire, but with plenty of truth in it. We enjoyed it. Am-drams is always a risk. We went to a … …