Week 12 Part 2: Damage limitation

This week has not been a success.  I'm injured, my knee is a definite issue, and I have done a grand total of 14.9 miles this week, all of them steadily.  This is against a planned 45 which should have included an interval session and a half marathon I pulled out of.  Between the ankle and subsequent knee issue it's now been at least three weeks since I have done a tempo run, hill reps or a decent interval session. There is simply no denying that my plans have gone out the window and in all likelihood I'll be nursing a niggle through the rest of the training.  The sort of time I was starting to think about attempting to run is not going to be possible.  I also cannot deny I'm feeling extremely down about the whole situation and it's been a horrid week.  Just as everything should be coming together instead, much like my right leg, it's somewhat falling to bits.

I've done a fair bit of cross training this week.  I've attempted to do interval, threshold and endurance training sessions based on heart rate, predominantly on the bike in the gym.  The problem with this is that I simply cannot get the target heart rates I want doing anything other than running because I'm not strong enough to do it on the bike no matter how hard I try.  Saturday's plan was for a 40 minute threshold session, which means heart rate 154-160.  Despite a huge amount of huffing and puffing and depositing half my own body weight in sweat in a four foot radius around the bike I managed to get my heart rate into the target zone for exactly 4 minutes and 15 seconds.

Today's endurance session was a little more successful.  This was meant to be my last cut back week with the half marathon at the end, so mileage was only meant to be low for the "long" run this week.  I ended up doing 90 minutes of cardio in the gym with a target heart rate of 140.  I didn't  come close to managing this, the first 60 minutes on the bike were well off, but when I switched to the cross trainer at the point my backside could take sitting on the seat no longer I did find I could maintain at or about 140 for half an hour fairly easily.  I'm sure I'll be using the cross trainer again over the next few weeks.  If nothing else it's easier on my ass.

So, my original plan has basically been chucked out the window and I'm now on to six weeks of damage limitation and playing it by ear.  Today was the first completely pain free day I've had.  I resisted the urge to chuck my trainers on and go out and do as much mileage as I could.  I jogged to and from the gym, again, pain free and no pain afterwards.  I've done all my physio exercises and massage with an almost religious level of zeal.  I may shortly look more like a body builder than a runner with the amount of time I've spent forcing a massage stick over my battered legs; my biceps may well be the muscles that have had the best work out this week.

I have a plan that I'm hoping will work for the next week, but until I get out tomorrow and see how the run goes I have no idea whether it's going to work and even in a best case scenario I'm substituting some cross training for the runs I should be doing.  Next week would probably have been my highest mileage week of the whole of marathon training, or close to it, and instead I'm looking at even in an ideal world where the leg behaves perfectly around 30-35 miles.  I absolutely can't inflame the bloody knee again crashing back into too much running.  If I'm lucky I'll manage an interval or tempo run, but I'm prioritising some time running at my (new and reduced) target marathon pace and the long run next weekend.

Fingers crossed.

Week 12 Part 1: The good, the bad and the ugly

The good thing that happened today is that I seem to have stumbled on a good physiotherapist in Kirstine Herbert.  I have never had such a thorough examination or detailed explanation of problems/possible problems from a physio I've used before and should I have need for a phsyio in the future she will definitely be my first port of call.

The bad of course being that I felt the need to go and see a physiotherapist.  After running 22 miles on Sunday the ankle that my errant son stomped on a few weeks ago was definitely sore.  Sore to the almost limping point when I first woke up on Monday.  I applied ice regularly through the day, did a lot of massage on my stiff calf, general mobility, and all the ankle strength maintenance I normally do to compensate for my hypermobility - what we used to call double jointed when I was a kid.  I also made an appointment to see a phsyio on a recommendation from a club member.

By the end of the day to my surprise it was practically pain free and when I woke up this morning it was stiff but I felt OK to run.  I ended up just doing a recovery run, 9 or so lovely miles in the sunshine at a moderate pace.  I sang.  Loudly.  In the sunshine.  Yeah that's right, the sunshine.  It was sufficiently pleasant I wore shorts.  Lovely.

On getting home it was a little stiff and sore but not terrible, but I decided to keep the appointment with the physio.  I also noticed a point in the inside of my knee was somewhat sore when I bent and stretched it.

The physiotherapist wasn't too concerned about the ankle and I have a "more of the same" in terms of how I was managing it which was a relief.

Now we're on to the ugly.   The knee, which was a bit of an afterthought when I went, was still painful on bending and moving.  It turns out when poked in just the right spot it is really very painful, and apparently the more concerning of the two problems.  I'm told this is called my pes anserinus, or goose foot, and apparently it appears to be inflamed probably as a result of tightness in surrounding muscles.  So, I need a few days rest to let the inflammation in my knee subside, I need to sort out the over-tight surrounding muscles, I need to take ibruprofen, and I need to cross train for a few days rather than running.  I'm having tomorrow off completely.   

I'm also self medicating one of my husband's ale's.  The first ale I have had in 11 1/2 weeks.  Fingers crossed by the weekend I'll be back on my feet.  Things had been going so well, and I do feel like they're falling apart on me a little over the last couple of weeks. 

Week 11 Part 2: One foot in front of the other and keep on going...

After today's long run, the t-shirt says it all.  I am all finished with anything vaguely grown up.

I'm now on week three of very poor sleep, and I'm struggling.  Life has been stressful for the same three weeks, one of my children is Autistic along with a host of other difficulties and is going through a bad patch, therefore we are all going through a bad patch, and I am getting nowhere near enough sleep.  All the things that were making marathon training great, the feeling of getting stronger, of being tired in my legs but knowing I'd recover well enough for the next day and the next, of feeling like I was facing up to a tough challenge and giving it a metaphorical punch in the face and showing it who was boss, are gone. 

I'm a bit of a feeble wreck and trying to bull through what I can do on sheer determination.  The problem is that requires a lot of mental strength and self belief and for me at least, it's one of the first things that goes when I'm seriously sleep deprived for an extended period of time.  I have had to accept cutting my mileage, dropping a mid-week run, because without sleep my body isn't physically recovering quickly enough to do it, but also a lot of the problems are in my head and I'm finding when the runs get tough, in my head I've already beaten myself into a "I just can't do this" place.  I need to try and work on that part because that's something I can change.

So after my two runs earlier in the week yesterday was just a parkrun at the top end of tempo pace, with a couple of miles tagged on either side at a steady pace.  This wasn't actually too daunting, this is a run I have done utterly shattered on many occasions and I know it's a drag running knackered but I can do it.  I misjudged the warm up distance making myself and a friend late in the process, and ended up chasing down the back of the field and running through and round everyone, along with a little detour to check on someone.  However, that said, I ran 6:45s and while it was harder work than it should have been, it was conversational and I had a smile on my face.  I enjoy parkrun and the community even when I'm not there to really push it. 

The relatively steady parkrun still took more out of my legs than it should have done, again I know this is down to lack of sleep to let my body recuperate, and I can do nothing about it.  Frustration really set in last night and I had another terrible night.  Today was to be our first 22 mile run, and I was seriously worried about completing it.  I was shattered, my head was pounding, and my stomach was showing all the warning signs of an imminent bout of the runs.  I can see the irony in the fact that running sometimes gives me the runs, and it's usually when I'm more tired, but it does not make it any less frustrating.

This morning's 22 miler was a completely flat one with a plan to run it more steadily than the previous couple of 20 milers in a hope that my legs would recover well enough to do some good sessions in the week.  The plan was 8:15s to 8:30s which we by and large stuck to.

I ran again with two lovely ladies, Stacey who just joined us for the first 8 or so miles, and Sophie who was along for the whole fun ride.  My first mistake was a wrong turn which meant I had to completely rethink the route on the run or we were going to be looking at 24 miles instead of 22.  I literally cannot get through the most basic run without going the wrong damn way it seems.  I knew where I was going, but was too busy gassing away and missed a turn.  Plonker!

I worked out a roughly 22 mile route in my head but it did mean taking in some hills early on in the run, which was hard today.  Most of my previous long runs have been hilly, but today this hills were hard.  Although heart rate recovers nicely on the down, it's more taken out of already tired legs that wasn't coming back again.  

The stomach problems started about mile 5.  Luckily my changed route had toilets just after which I used.  Could this be the problem sorted?  Oh ho ho ho, no.  Not at all.  After using a gel at mile 10 things got really interesting.  We stopped for a bush break at mile 12 conveniently on the path everyone was using to get to the cross country.  Not the most privacy one could have for anything really.  By this point I was questioning my ability to finish the run.  I'm pretty chatty on long runs but every ounce of my strength was just going into putting one foot in front of the other again and again.  I was struggling badly and Sophie very kindly suggested that if we didn't make 22 today it would be OK, we have more long runs to go.  Having actually said I'm not sure I can do it, stubbornness kicked in.  I wasn't injured, I was in no pain above and beyond extreme tiredness, I was running with good form and not risking injuring myself, I was finishing this bugger come what may.

The subsequent 10 miles were incredibly tough and not at all fun.  My stomach continued to be dodgy and I had to make a couple more stops which I'm sure was contributing towards dehydration towards the end of the run.  Sophie was a star, talked to me the whole way round, accepted my frequent toilet stops and looked incredibly strong along with it despite having done somewhat more mileage than me this week. 

That brings me on to one of the biggest positives for me about marathon training which has been getting to know the wonderful Sophie Eadsforth, a great runner who doubts her own abilities too much!  We've done most of our long runs together and while it started as an arrangement of convenience after a random conversation at a cross country race I've really enjoyed her company on the long runs.  It's also been wonderful to see her growing stronger and more confident throughout the training from the person who was concerned about slowing people down on the first couple of runs, to the person who helped drag my sorry ass around this morning's 22 miles of hell with a smile.

Sophie, I am absolutely sure you are going to smash the hell out of your first marathon!

Next week is more of the same, although with more mid-week mileage and a shorter long run, whether I get enough sleep or not I'll push through it as much as I can.  I may have to accept that I need to compromise my goals if the current lack of sleep continues and be realistic about the time I am likely to be able to complete the marathon in.  For now, we did it!

Week 11 Part 1: Attempting to train on heart rate

Three days after the horrendously windy race, it's still pretty damn windy and I'm training in it again.  It's not quite as bad as it was at the weekend but yesterday I was battling 18 mph winds or thereabouts and today it was a little worse, and absolutely chucking it down to boot.  

I've been experimenting a fair bit recently with training based on heart rate.  I've been encouraged to do it by a couple of friends and further encouraged by watching the lovely and ridiculously cheerful Jake Lowe's facebook feed.  It makes perfect sense to me, but I find it hard to just "let go" of pace.  I find that I don't really trust it and I want to know how fast I'm running, is it fast enough?  I have to be quite strict with myself.  I programme the sessions into my watch and set it to beep at me - which is does quite insistently - if I'm outside the target heart rate zone.  I then only look at it if it starts beeping and I don't have pace on the screen so I don't worry about pace.

Yesterday I had a (relatively easy bearing in mind Sunday's race) interval run which involved 7 miles running with miles 2, 4 and 6 at around 10k pace.  For the purpose of marathon training I'm taking 10k pace to be around 6:35s.  I've run 10k quicker but right now I probably couldn't; there seems little point basing it off a PB pace I'm probably not currently capable of.  For this sort of session I would normally use pace rather than heart rate but given the wind that seemed ridiculous, so I programmed the whole thing into my watch and used that.  It worked really well, the three miles effort were at varying paces.  I ran one in a very exposed spot with a strong crosswind and headwind which was 6:49, one with a lot of shelter then a great tailwind for the last couple of minutes at 6:29 and the final one straight into the headwind with a higher target heart rate as it was the last, I ran at 6:45, and bloody hell did I know about it.  Overall though, I felt like it worked.  

Today was going to be a rest day, I'm concious of the miles in my legs and fatigue stopping me running as well as I should do, but I decided at the last minute to switch my run days.  I'm only planning on running four days this week, so by running today, I'll give myself two run free days before the weekend.  I felt up to doing the workout today, not a particularly arduous one, so I decided to just go and do it and then hope to go into the weekend with fresher legs.

Today's run was very simple, and it was a heart rate based run.  6 miles with a target heart rate of 150-155, which falls into the "just a regular run" category for me, and on a "normal" day I'd expect to run around 7:30s - 7:40s.  Today was not a "normal" day, it was a horrid day, so I anticipated some fairly wide fluctuations in pace.  I was also expecting to find it a frustrating slog, because heart rate doesn't take into account utterly knackered legs. 

Bearing in mind the knackered legs I broke one of my personal rules, and ran solo with headphones so I could listen to music.  I almost never do this because I don't believe it's entirely safe, but I was after all the help I could get today.  I told myself I'd slip one earphone out on the section of quieter road, and that would do for the purpose of personal safety, although if I'm honest I did completely forget.  So there I was, in the howling wind and absolutely pouring rain, with my little bum bag with my phone in, and my headphones on, being not at all a proper runner.  

I put the phone on random shuffle and just accepted I'd get what I was given.  At first this worked well, a bit of Led Zeplin, perfect for my target effort level, then some Simon and Garfunkel, and my the start of Wilne Lane I was happily and loudly single "Cecelia" while steadfastly ignoring my tired legs.  Then the phone decided to treat me to a considerable amount of Queens of the Stone Age, which I love, but which is a little less cheerful trotting and singing along and a little more listen and enjoy in my head.  I turned the volume up and tried forget about the legs and just focus on two things, good form despite fatigue and the music.  By three miles in I was incredibly grateful for the music because I was bloody knackered, drenched, and starting to battle the crosswind.  That's OK, I figured, I'll run until my watch beeps at me that I'm at the top end of heart rate zone, and then I'll just ease off a little and stay there.  This is what I've got used to doing.

More Queens of the Stone Age, one of my favourite songs, and I found myself chanting "burn the witch" under my breath in time to the music just as I came into Draycott.  Sorry people of Draycott, I'm sure you're all very nice really.  But I was still running, trying my level best, and waiting for the watch to beep to tell me I'm at the top end of my heart rate zone so I can ease back just a little and stay there.  The beep wasn't coming.  I kept thinking I'm trying hard, I really am, how am I still shuffling?  I started to think that I'd just made a mistake about feeling up to running today, and that clearly I wasn't.  I resigned myself to just finishing the run, because realistically my legs weren't up to a great deal more and it was getting windier. 

When I got to West Park I caved and checked my watch, which falls into the very naughty category.  At this point I discovered I'd just run a 7:15 mile squarely into a 20 mph headwind, and some alarm bells start to ring.  A further look at my watch showed that my heart rate was by this point well over 160.  Then the penny dropped.  I took my headphones out.  My watched did what I like to call its "cross beep".  A few seconds later it didn't another.  My poor little watch had in fact been furiously beeping at me for some time, but I couldn't hear because of course I was running with rock music blaring full volume into my ears.  I'd also missed the watch telling me my workout was over and it was time to cool down and jog home, so instead of 6 miles I'd done 6.5.  Boy did I feel like a complete spanner.

I had a laugh, called myself a twat, and stopped.  No wait, I stopped, tried not to cry, called myself a twat and then jogged home.  I laughed later.  I definitely stopped first.

So in summary, training on heart rate, I'm becoming big fan.  Training with music, well, it helps sometimes and who cares?  Using the vibrate function on my watch, yeah, that.

Week 10: A forgotten disappointment, some thoughts on the Turkey Trot

In my little grump yesterday I did completely forgot to actually talk about the race I did, which I thought was a good one.

I did the Keyworth Turkey Trot, a race which should have taken place before Christmas - the hint is in the name - but which was postponed due to bad weather.  I've never done this race before largely because in the couple of years I've been running I've only done a handful of half marathons, and also because it generally clashes with another race I really enjoy, the Bolsover 10k.  This year I had the option of taking someone else's number and thought I'd see what the fuss was about for this very popular race.

The course is advertised as being hilly, so it would be a little unfair of me to grumble about the hills, but yes, it is hilly, and with an uphill finish.  The bloody wind was again, if I'm fair, not really their fault.  The course was pretty, the support at the local villages was good, it was very well organised with easy parking, frequent water stations, good toilet provisions, and the marshals on the course were great. 

When I crossed the finish line I was immediately asked if I was OK, offered a foil covering, given water and pointed towards warm drinks and somewhere to warm up, which given the temperature there was welcome.  On the last couple of miles as my pace had bled off I had become extremely cold.  I would class the race as challenging, but definitely one I would do again.  This may be in part down to my stubborn nature and having had a less than great run there, clearly I need to go back and show the bugger who's boss.  I'm like that.

However, now we come on to the grumble.  Along with all the wonderful things I was offered as I crossed the finish line was a lovely little package with a memento in it.  I mistakenly thought at the time it was a medal, and chucked it in my bag to let the kids open later.

I thought no more of this until I got home and got my son to grab it out my bag.  In he came with it in his little fist, opened it up and handed me this.

Yep, that's right, it's a duster.  My initial thought was what the fuck?  A duster?  Are you serious?  I ran 13.1 horrid, cold, windy, hilly miles on dying legs for a duster?  My next thought was a serious worry that I was singled out for this item, and somehow someone had seen the state of my house since I started spending too much time training for this bloody marathon.  Then I was back to what the actual fuck, a duster?

I'm not a massive fusser about race related tat, unless it's a particularly good medal like the ones I got at the Goose Fair Gallop and the Worksop Halloween Half, but the kids like them.  I've had a few other souvenirs that are pretty good, including a mug and a beer glass which come in handy, but mostly it's just tat and it's not why I do the races.  But really, a duster?

Turkey Trot, you have a wonderful race and many great things going for you and I will certainly be back again to run this race later in the year, but as race mementos go you have bottomed out.

However, I have to admit that shortly after taking the above photo I did, indeed, use the duster to clean cat dandruff off my computer desk, so maybe not.  I'm keeping the little thing it came in, that's quite nice. 

Week 10: Being a twat, it seems to be going round at the moment

A nice mug of tea after a freezing windy race?  Not on your life, I'm polishing off the left over mulled wine from Christmas.

At the start of the week a good friend, who is somewhat of an expert in this subject, told me I was a twat for how hard I'd run last week.  I pointed out I did it because I could, and he quantified that to a talented twat.  At the time I somewhat flippantly commented that was the nicest thing anyone's said to me in ages.  It would also, at least on the latter part, appear to be true.

This Sunday I am not in a good mood.  I'm not in a good mood because I fucked up a race I should have done much better in.  I didn't fuck it up today, today I rocked up and did the best I could, I fucked it up progressively over the last two weeks. 

This has not been a good week all round.  

I anticipated feeling done in for a couple of days following on from last Sunday's somewhat over-enthusiastic long run and a 53 mile week.  I wrongly anticipated that two consecutive rest days would sort my legs out.  Oh, ho, ho, no it did not.

Wednesday morning I then had another problem, in that in an incident involving my son being somewhat difficult, I twisted my ankle.  The painful ankle has been nagging away at me and worrying me all week, and it's generally really got to me.  What if I can't run at the weekend?  What if I still can't run next week?  What if I really have fucked it up badly?

I then of course did what any nut job obsessive like myself does, I carried on training!  I didn't run much, just the one on Thursday to test out how it was, at which point I discovered it hurt quite a bit.  I was also horrified to find my legs were still hanging up an "out of order" sign and telling me no way.  So I went to the gym instead and hammered away at the exercise bike there a few days along with a good amount of strength training.  Why not wear our your quads, Sarah?   I mean they're the only bit of you currently not already bloody knackered, let's have a good go at those too, all the while keeping the glutes and hamstrings nicely leaden.

On Saturday morning I did a very steady parkrun with my Mum which was lovely.  My Mum is 64 next week and started training a year or two back, but only took up running recently.  She is a natural.  She just runs easily, has great posture and core strength, and could easily be very good for her age if she wanted to be.  She started steadily worried about not making it all the way round without walking, and gradually picked it up, I could not have been prouder.  I also managed to jog round with her without my ankle hurting, so Sunday's race was on!

Earlier in the week having seen the forecast 20 mph winds I did a stupid.  I swapped the flat half I'd been planning to do, which was on an old airfield and a course I thought looked uninspiring, for a really hilly half.  I did this on the basis that it was a course I'd picked purely for PB potential, and it wasn't going to be PB weather.  This was a mistake.  Based on today's run I would have almost certainly run a PB on that course.  Probably not the time I would really have liked in the conditions, but I think I'd have taken a minute or so off.  Anyway, I swapped it for a lovely scenic hilly run round the south of Nottinghamshire, mostly because this was also a league race for my club and would give me some league points.  It was a whim.  I fancied it more.  It was a mistake.  

The first reason it was a mistake was out of my control, which was the weather.  While the winds at my initial half did indeed end up being about 20 mph, the wind speeds at the new one I'd opted for ended up being well over 40 mph.  I don't think I've ever run in those conditions.  The other mistake was thinking my legs were recovered enough for a hilly half.  They weren't.  My quads were saying no.  It was incredibly frustrating given how much my hill running has improved over the last few months and how well I've been doing them in training, but I left it all in training, and had nothing left for a race.  On the flat I was holding on OK, even in the wind, on the downs I wasn't really taking advantage like I normally would, just running tired, on the ups my fitness was fine, my heart rate was OK, but my legs were saying no fucking way.  I ran several miles of the race with a lovely lady from another local club and chatted through it which made it easier running with a strong cross wind, but my legs were going, going, going and every time we hit a hill I was struggling more.  

I'd gone into the race thinking that in the conditions and with the hill profile, I would hope to run a little under 1:34.  I realised on the first hill that wasn't going to happen and adjusted my pace.  At mile 10 when I was picking it up a bit I was hopeful that I may still manage a sub 1:35 which would have been respectable on that course in those conditions, if not what I really wanted.  I'd have taken it with relatively little grump.  Then we turned back uphill and into that bloody 45 mph headwind and I had nothing in my legs.  Just nothing.  I ran, jogged and occasionally walked the last three miles no longer cross at myself, but now absolutely fuming, and finished in the high 1:36s having been passed by a number of people in the final miles.  I know that logically, that's probably a better run than my PB given the terrain and conditions, it was undoubtedly the toughest race I've ever done, but it's not what I'm capable of at the moment and I'm really unhappy with myself.  

In the grand scheme of things it's just one race, and come Tuesday when I put my trainers back on I'll have some perspective again particularly in view of the fact the ankle held up OK which is really the most important thing, but after a particularly rotten couple of weeks of life in general I could have done with a boost today and the only person I have to blame for not managing it is myself.

So, my plan for the next five weeks of build up is to focus on a good tempo and good interval session each week, do slightly less mileage potentially swapping my mid-week steady run for cross training  this week until I'm 100% sure the ankle is OK.  I'll do the sessions harder and quicker, and the longer runs considerably slower.   Just like the person who informed me I was being a twat told me I should do.  He has at least had the good grace not to say "I told you so".

Some people have to learn the hard way, I seem to be one of them.

Week 9: A lot of miles, a stomach bug, and a most satisfactory long run

This Sunday the weather was kind and the cookies were plentiful, for which I was very grateful.

Having felt really washed out last week from lack of sleep, what I really needed this week was an upset stomach.  Luckily, I had a few days of sleep to recover and had done most of my mid-week miles before it reared it's ugly head.

This week has in many ways been a comedy of errors at my own expense.  I've had some great runs and a couple of less great ones which haven't gone to plan, but by and large with 53 miles in the bank, a few of them at a reasonable pace, and no injuries to anything other than pride I think we can call it a success.

Tuesday's 5 mile tempo was not a success.  I picked a terrible route and ended up with multiple traffic stops which really defeats the point of a tempo run in my opinion.  At the half way point I realised the elastic in my running tights was giving up the ghost and the gusset was sinking towards knee level with a distressing determination.  Fortunately, I had big black running pants on, because I'm pretty certain if I hadn't there would have been at least a couple of ass to the wind occasions.  I huffed, puffed and grumped my way through the last two miles continuously hitching my tights up and swearing to myself.  This was probably the most frustrating run of the week.

Wednesday on the other hand, I felt grand, ran 12 very windy mid-week miles with the middle 6 at a little quicker than marathon pace, and had a really good attack on a couple of local hills in the process of doing so.  When I say I felt grand, I felt grand for 10 miles of the run.  For the last two miles my stomach tied itself in knots and I felt rotten.  At first I thought this was just as a result of the run, but later when I got home I realised I had been struck down by some vile bug doubtless brought home by one of my children.  The next 12 hours were absolutely no fun at all and the following day I felt pretty dreadful in a "you could knock me down with a feather" sort of a way.

My weight has been holding pretty steady for the last few weeks.  I've gained a couple of much needed pounds, gained a little muscle, and generally felt a lot better for it.  All of a sudden, literally overnight, I was down 5 lbs and feeling awful.  I (foolishly, I am aware) dragged myself round a very steady 6 miles on Thursday having realised early on that I just couldn't do the planned intervals.  I decided to finish with some 100m strides and given I was feeling weak as a new born, I did them all wind assisted.  100m with a 20 mph wind behind me, walk back, repeat.  I wasn't really going for it, just opening my legs up.  I love doing stuff like this.  Then an idea popped into my head, a question.  Can I run 100m at the pace of one of  the really quick guys in the club?  I worked out his average 5k pace to be about 3:10/km.  Surely, on a wind assisted 100m, I could do that.  Long story short, no, I can't.  My legs were running out of power with about 20m to go each time, and the best I managed was about 3:12/km.  I did somewhat alarm the postman in the process, however.  I also felt sufficiently awful after running to realise that I really did need some rest to recover from the vileness of the previous night.

I still felt wobbly by Saturday and did a steady parkrun, while questioning how the hell I would be able to manage 20 miles on Sunday.  Saturday I made a big effort to eat lots of carbs - a real hardship of course - and keep fully hydrated. 

I'd picked a route for the long run this week which had a few convenient cut backs to open the run up to people who didn't want to do the full distance and it was great to get to the leisure centre and find a big group.  I knew it was unlikely anyone was going to do the full distance with me, but that took the pressure of "what if I don't feel up to running 20 miles today" off.

Every long run I do I have a wobble about 2-5 miles in.  The wobble is "oh my god, there's no way in hell I can run like this for 16, 18, 20 miles".  I'm not struggling or feeling terrible, but I convince myself I'm going to, and this wobble normally lasts for several miles.  As I do more of the longer runs I keep hoping this self doubt will go.  It hasn't done yet, but when I have company in the early part of my runs I sometimes manage to chatter through it and largely escape it.  Today, having been ill and actually having a logical reason why I may not be able to do run the full 20, I was expecting a big wobble.  Actually, I felt really confident and happy for the first half of the run and loved having people to run with.  Similarly when the last person left me around mile 14 I was perfectly content running the last few miles on my own.

Then, at mile 15, my bloody dodgy stomach started to give me issues again.  Horrendous churning cramping and I absolutely knew I needed to find me a toilet.  Unfortunately the river bank comes equipped with relatively few so I started to look for a suitable bush.  It turns out the river bank comes equipped with relatively few of these too, either they're incredibly prickly or only provide cover from one direction.  There are tracks/paths/canals in both.  Eventually I had to make do with something far too sparse and thank god no-one came past at that moment because that's an image that could have scarred them for life. 

I did however then feel up to attacking the latter part of the run.  The plan said 16 miles easy, which I'm taking as about 8:00 - 8:15ish at the moment, and the last 4 miles push.  I'd gone a little fast on miles 10-15 which was a mistake.  It felt OK at the time, but I took too much out of my legs too soon, and the 4 mile push at the end was hard.  The first was OK, despite being into the headwind, and I put in a 7:10 feeling OK.  Then fatigue hit, and the next 2 were horrible.  The last mile I was determined was going to be the quickest of the run and I was on the park which was both bad - I'd taken a wrong turn so ended up having to loop the park to make up distance - but also helpful because I saw all the regular dog walkers and elderly folk I see when I run on there a lot and their smiles and encouragement and chatter made me determined to bloody do it.  I did it, I finished the run with a 7:03 which was a lot quicker than planned but I just wasn't looking, and I took far more out of myself in the process than was sensible in training but at the same time I needed that mental boost of "I can do this".

Next weekend I've my first race of the year, a half marathon, and I will be on a little mini-taper this week.  A couple of days of nothing more strenuous than shovelling carbs and protein into myself to regain weight, a couple of days of "normal" training; some speedwork and a short tempo run, a very important Saturday morning run as I accompany my Mum on her first ever parkrun, and then the race on Sunday. 

I'm over-training, I've done 53 miles this week and pushed too hard on the 20 miler today, I know I've been a bit silly.  The next long one will be easier in pace, but I needed this run today.  So much of the battle for me is in my head and I need to see I can do things to believe it.  This evening, nine weeks into the eighteen weeks of training, I'm feeling like I can do it.  I ache, I really do ache, and I'm very tired, but I'm pretty blown away by what I've managed to do through 9 weeks of hard training.  Long runs, hard runs, intervals, a decent race that I placed in, a couple of sub-20 minute 5ks and more miles than I would have believed my body capable of this time last year.

So today, I'll accept my aching legs, and my general exhaustion, and be happy eating cookies in the sunshine.

Week 9 Part 1: It's not big, clever or funny

This isn't specifically related to marathon running, but to running alone at night particularly as a woman.  Although I'm a member of a running club and run with others frequently, I also often run alone.  This is in part due to practical considerations, and in part because sometimes I like to be on my own.  I'm not going to stop running on my own.

What this has taught me is that there's a whole lot of people who think they're funny who just fucking aren't.  Not people with any real sinister intentions, just bloody dick heads, because of course for every 20, 30, 40 asshats who think it's funny to mildly harass someone out running on their own at night there is that one really bad person who does have sinister intentions, and they don't wear a fucking badge.

I've found the harder I'm training, the more this happens.  I'm not about to stop pushing myself on solo runs.

So, the asshats, the young lads who cat call and wolf whistle, the groups of girls who shout abuse, the comic on Wednesday evening who jumped out from behind a tree where he was hiding and scared seven shades of shit out of me for the amusement of him and his mates, the guys in the van who slow down to drive next to me for a chat, or possibly to offer some misguided compliments, the cyclists who like to ride along side me so I can enjoy the pleasure of their wit and sparkling company, the guy who thinks it's funny to try and run along side when I'm on my own in the dark at night, or step right in my path to take the piss out of how I'm running, yes, I'm running hard, get over yourself, the one who's playing runner chicken and likes to stick a hand out in front of me just as I go past to see if he can then snatch it out the way again before I go into it, or if I'll stop, seen him a few times now.

The thing is, as the person who is on the receiving end of these generally hilarious pranks, I don't know if you're just a regular nobend, or if you're actually the guy who's going to attack me.  I guess that's part of the fun, I mean what's not to love about making someone panic, even if it's just briefly, that you're the one who's going to hurt them, try and drag them into your van, take them off and rape them.  Absolutely top game to play, yes?  Genuinely scaring the shit out of someone is just so much fun.

The problem being, of course, for the dick heads, is that if you scare the living shit out of me I may, briefly, respond like I'm being genuinely attacked by the real pervert, because in that moment I don't know any better.  That may mean I run quicker, dodge out the way of your funny jokes, or if I'm on my own and you're in your van I may call someone or go into a pub or somewhere else that feels safe.  Or if you catch me unaware and really make me panic I may just push you out the way and ram my knee in your groin.  Just saying.

So really, it's not funny, not even a bit funny.  I'm sure most people I know already know that, but make sure your kids do, teenage children who think it's funny to act up in front of their mates make up about 80% of the people who genuinely make me nervous or worse when I'm out, the other 20% are the guys in the vans.  If your mate is that "bit of a lad" who likes to chat up women out of his van window, or pass the comments on the way past, call him out for it, it's not OK, and it's not OK to say nothing about other people doing it.