It occurred to me on Thursday that Wednesday and Thursday's training sessions are actually a bit of a drag. Thursday's would be fun if my legs weren't so tired, and Wednesday's is a ball ache. Once I've done the Thursday run I feel like I'm on the downhill slope, even though I'm only about half way there in terms of the week's planned mileage. Saturday is parkrun, and I like parkrun. Sunday is the long run, and I like the challenge of that, but also enjoy the run. It's not my steadiest run of the week although it's certainly run at a comfortable pace, and I'm just enjoying that feeling of it getting easier each week The feeling when I'm running in a good rhythm, chatting to friends, and then I suddenly realise I'm 12 miles into the run and wonder how that happened is great. The distances mean I go to more scenic places than the streets of Long Eaton, although that isn't difficult, but I enjoy that too.
This weekend did not go quite to plan.
Saturday morning was icy and I slipped over warming up for parkrun. It wasn't very icy, but I found myself a good bit and suddenly my feet were not where they should be. I clearly remember falling, worrying about twisting my knee or ankle, catching myself, and not hitting the ground. This is clearly not what happened. I felt sick at the time but not hurt, just a bit shaken, and did the parkrun anyway. I eased into it and ran the first 3k pretty steadily but picked it up nicely on the final 2km despite a nagging nausea which nearly resulted in post parkrun puking. When I got home and got changed and saw the state of my right leg I realised that actually I'd given myself quite a hard wack when I fell. The nausea instantly went and was replaced by good old fashioned pain. It's funny how the body and mind work sometimes, I still don't recall hitting the ground and would have sworn I hadn't quite, but clearly I was wrong. Luckily no serious harm has been done, the leg was just sore, and by the time I woke up on Sunday it was only really sore if I poked it. I made a note not to poke it and got ready for Sunday's run which at 20 miles was the longest yet.
Saturday morning was icy and I slipped over warming up for parkrun. It wasn't very icy, but I found myself a good bit and suddenly my feet were not where they should be. I clearly remember falling, worrying about twisting my knee or ankle, catching myself, and not hitting the ground. This is clearly not what happened. I felt sick at the time but not hurt, just a bit shaken, and did the parkrun anyway. I eased into it and ran the first 3k pretty steadily but picked it up nicely on the final 2km despite a nagging nausea which nearly resulted in post parkrun puking. When I got home and got changed and saw the state of my right leg I realised that actually I'd given myself quite a hard wack when I fell. The nausea instantly went and was replaced by good old fashioned pain. It's funny how the body and mind work sometimes, I still don't recall hitting the ground and would have sworn I hadn't quite, but clearly I was wrong. Luckily no serious harm has been done, the leg was just sore, and by the time I woke up on Sunday it was only really sore if I poked it. I made a note not to poke it and got ready for Sunday's run which at 20 miles was the longest yet.
Sunday morning was also icy, and cold, and wet, and sleety with a bit of snow thrown in for good measure. I considered changing the route to avoid some of the more exposed parts and try and keep to dirt tracks which I mistakenly thought may be better underfoot, but on the way to meet people it didn't feel too bad so we went with the original route. My companions this morning were Sophie who runs with another local club and who I've run with a few times, and another girl who I've not run with before. Said young lady turned up looking disgustingly young, healthy, tanned and bouncy. Anyone training for an ultra marathon in January, in the snow, wearing shorts, intimidates me a little, no matter how nice they are. Despite feeling a lot older and frumpier in my many layers than I normally do I also felt pretty bouncy as we set off and fell into a good rhythm quite easily. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad after all.
Someone said to me a while back that every marathon has one training run which is an absolutely miserable soggy cold stinker and this was going to turn into that run.
The first 10 miles of the run passed relatively uneventfully. I was fascinated watching the girl I'd not run with before; I've never seen anyone so light on their feet. Yes, the pace was very steady for her, but I swear she was barely touching the floor. I love watching people who run well run and she certainly did. It also made me more aware of form and making sure I was standing up straight and trying to stay light. I felt pretty clumpy in comparison.
But still, we were going along fine, I'm used to this now, we were running 8s or a little quicker and dealt with the hills fine. I'd planned the run so that the hills and headwind came in the early to middle part of the run. I knew the wind direction was due to change mid-afternoon but as we were due to be back well before then it should be fine. Miles 10-12 were spent being scoured by ice and snow and were pretty unpleasant. I was very well wrapped up but my face was getting cold, my hands were starting to hurt just a little from the cold, and I was getting soggy, but my legs felt OK and I wasn't too concerned because I knew that we'd soon be on flat canal and river paths with the wind behind us and the free exfoliation would end.
I'd imagined the canal paths would be much easier to run on than the roads which were snowy but not too slippy. I could not have been more wrong. Slippy iced over puddles with freezing muddy water underneath, patches of rutted frozen mud, sloppy mud, snow with patches of ice hidden underneath, everything that makes it hard to just get into a rhythm and run. Around mile 15 it occurred to me that we'd done a 180 degree turn from the last ice scouring and were being scoured again... the wind had changed direction earlier than forecast. This was turning into a properly rotten run. Chatter stopped, I was struggling to talk because my face was so cold and I could hear one of the other girls was having the same problem. In my normal manner when the run got tough I started to pick the pace up and then forced myself to slow again and keep the effort level fairly constant. I just wanted this run to be done, there's no denying this was no longer fun.
About 17 miles in I had a very guilty moment when we passed Trent Meadows where my club's home cross country was taking place. I could hear the shouting and I should really have run or marshalled there, but this was my only opportunity to long run this weekend and I'd prioritised it. It occurred to me that we were pretty much doing cross country by this stage but in much less appropriate footwear than I'd normally use. That thought tickled me. I felt a bit more guilty for being encouraged by hearing people cheering for club members, but it did pick me up a bit. Sorry!
We made it, no-one fell on the ice, and we didn't even bleed off much speed in dealing with it. When we hit 20 miles it felt fantastic, I felt properly hard core for completing it, and I'm sure my silly pleased with myself grin matched the one I could see plastered on Sophie's face. Immediately followed by an agreement to walk the last couple of hundred meters to the car park. Last week we finished strong and could have gone further, this week we were clearly done. Cold, wet, trainers full of water, and unable to talk properly, but we did it and surprisingly, finished on the pace we'd been aiming for. I think it's safe to say that's going to be one of the toughest, if not the toughest, long run that we'll do in preparing for this marathon.
Someone said to me a while back that every marathon has one training run which is an absolutely miserable soggy cold stinker and this was going to turn into that run.
The first 10 miles of the run passed relatively uneventfully. I was fascinated watching the girl I'd not run with before; I've never seen anyone so light on their feet. Yes, the pace was very steady for her, but I swear she was barely touching the floor. I love watching people who run well run and she certainly did. It also made me more aware of form and making sure I was standing up straight and trying to stay light. I felt pretty clumpy in comparison.
But still, we were going along fine, I'm used to this now, we were running 8s or a little quicker and dealt with the hills fine. I'd planned the run so that the hills and headwind came in the early to middle part of the run. I knew the wind direction was due to change mid-afternoon but as we were due to be back well before then it should be fine. Miles 10-12 were spent being scoured by ice and snow and were pretty unpleasant. I was very well wrapped up but my face was getting cold, my hands were starting to hurt just a little from the cold, and I was getting soggy, but my legs felt OK and I wasn't too concerned because I knew that we'd soon be on flat canal and river paths with the wind behind us and the free exfoliation would end.
I'd imagined the canal paths would be much easier to run on than the roads which were snowy but not too slippy. I could not have been more wrong. Slippy iced over puddles with freezing muddy water underneath, patches of rutted frozen mud, sloppy mud, snow with patches of ice hidden underneath, everything that makes it hard to just get into a rhythm and run. Around mile 15 it occurred to me that we'd done a 180 degree turn from the last ice scouring and were being scoured again... the wind had changed direction earlier than forecast. This was turning into a properly rotten run. Chatter stopped, I was struggling to talk because my face was so cold and I could hear one of the other girls was having the same problem. In my normal manner when the run got tough I started to pick the pace up and then forced myself to slow again and keep the effort level fairly constant. I just wanted this run to be done, there's no denying this was no longer fun.
About 17 miles in I had a very guilty moment when we passed Trent Meadows where my club's home cross country was taking place. I could hear the shouting and I should really have run or marshalled there, but this was my only opportunity to long run this weekend and I'd prioritised it. It occurred to me that we were pretty much doing cross country by this stage but in much less appropriate footwear than I'd normally use. That thought tickled me. I felt a bit more guilty for being encouraged by hearing people cheering for club members, but it did pick me up a bit. Sorry!
We made it, no-one fell on the ice, and we didn't even bleed off much speed in dealing with it. When we hit 20 miles it felt fantastic, I felt properly hard core for completing it, and I'm sure my silly pleased with myself grin matched the one I could see plastered on Sophie's face. Immediately followed by an agreement to walk the last couple of hundred meters to the car park. Last week we finished strong and could have gone further, this week we were clearly done. Cold, wet, trainers full of water, and unable to talk properly, but we did it and surprisingly, finished on the pace we'd been aiming for. I think it's safe to say that's going to be one of the toughest, if not the toughest, long run that we'll do in preparing for this marathon.
And there ends another three weeks of build up. Next week is all about giving my body a break from the high mileage and doing the shorter runs I enjoy with, I hope, a little more bounce and energy. An extra rest day, no "junk" miles for the sake of miles, and a mere 14 miles long run at a steady pace with the aim of starting the week after feeling fresh.
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