Week 18: I did it, and I loved it!

After all the worry about injury, lost training, stomach issues, fitness, my body just not coping with the distance, I actually did it, and in a time I am really quite pleased with.  I keep pinching myself.  Best of all though, I by and large enjoyed it.  I had a couple of moments, but I felt good while I was running, I enjoyed running, and I would absolutely love to do another one.

Week 18 began with the end of tapering and the beginning of carb loading.  Laughing aside I nailed this part of training and those who know me well will realise that on the tapering side of things, that's quite an achievement for me.  I do not do waiting or inactivity well.  On Monday I did 10k at marathon pace, Tuesday and Thursday I did 2-3 miles very steadily with some short strides to shake my legs out, and on Saturday I ran half a mile just to loosen up and keep moving.  On the Tuesday run I realised that I actually had no calf tightness at all for the first time in at least a month and my Achilles felt absolutely fine.  I had no idea how it was going to stand up to a long run, but at least this looked like a good starting point.  By Thursday, having done another calf trouble free run, I realised I was spending more time worrying about digestive issues than injury which I viewed as a good sign.

On the subject of digestive issues, which I suffer horrendously from on longer runs and in particular when I use gels, I have been experimenting with ways to limit this and alternative fuelling.  Unfortunately, the last couple of long runs were canned because of the injury so I hadn't really tested out what I wanted to before the race.  I've found that limiting my fat intake in the build up to hard races reduces the chance of problems, so while carb loading I cut almost all the fat out of my diet.  It has to be said that this did not make for the best carb loading experience and my dreams of running free around a bakery grabbing everything in sight were somewhat spoiled.  I ate a lot of pasta and a lot of dry bread products.  Also a lot of malt loaf.  In fact I think my marathon was at least 50% fuelled by malt loaf.  The malt loaf at least was good.

I woke up on race day feeling excited but also calmer than I had for at least a week, and really up for running.  I did a bit of a dynamic warm up in the hotel room before I even left for the venue, and realised that my legs felt properly good.  Boingy.  I felt fantastic.  I had one of many conversations with the fabulous Stacey Sangster, who has a huge amount of patience with my garrulous nervous running related rambling which calmed me down a bit.  I loaded my belt up with my carefully planned race fuel, a banana for mile 3, with another banana being delivered by my husband for mile 9, three packs of 4 jelly babies for miles 6, 11 and 13, and enough Clif Bloks to have one a mile for the remainder of the race.  In retrospect, I think I could have done another 4 miles on jelly babies, started on the Bloks later and avoided the issues I did eventually have, but that did work a lot better than anything I've done in training.  I also made the decision that rather than picking and choosing where to take on water, I would use every water station whether I thought I needed it or not, and have at least a small drink.  I don't like drinking on the run, I hate water stations, but I was going to use the lot.  I decided to race with music which I've never done before.  I was concerned about claustrophobia kicking in on such a big race.  This was definitely a good decision.

The race was great.  I started at a pace that felt easily maintainable, a little bouncy trot, I resisted the urge to swear at anyone video selfie-ing themselves in the first half mile in the middle of thousands of racers who mostly didn't want to get tripped up or be slowed to a snail's pace, I checked my watch and realised my easy pace was at the very top end of what I'd given myself as a possible starting pace.  I questioned whether adrenalin was making it feel easier than it really was, and decided no, I felt good.  As I went through mile 2 Mr Bellamy was informing me through my headphones that he felt good too, and I was very glad to hear about it.  I thought about letting my legs pick up the bit of pace they wanted to and decided against it.  I'm not sure that was the right decision, another 5 seconds a mile or so may have been feasible without any additional fatigue, it felt like it was, but that was outside my plan and I may have tanked later on if I'd tried it.  I'll never know. I firmly reminded myself of the words of wisdom from the formidable Ian Chant; respect the distance.  A marathon is a long way.  I stuck to the plan.

Just a regular Sunday morning run with Sophie...

The crowds were busy in places and I was feeling quite penned at times, but concentrating on the music and my breathing dispelled that.  I was settling in for a run and I felt good.  At around mile 6 I was caught by the lovely Sophie Eadsforth who I have done the large part of my long runs with.  She started further back so she'd clearly been running quicker than me and she was motoring.  I watched her fly by and hoped she didn't regret it later on, but shortly after she slowed a little and we ran most of the next 14 miles pretty much together.  For a large part it was just a Sunday morning run with Sophie.  I've done lots of those, this is something I understand, and I think it made a huge difference to my state of mind.  We were both running well and passing people fairly regularly.

At mile 10ish while listening to Simon and Garfunkel singing about a lady of questionable moral standards by the name of Cecelia, I saw the lead man coming back in the other direction.  I genuinely love these reminders that there's always someone compared to whom one is a plodder.  They give perspective.  He looked awesome and apparently went on to set a course record.

At the half way point, bang on schedule, I had my normal half way wobble.  Some people love that over half way feeling but I do not.  In my head it always turns into a realisation that I've worked quite hard for quite a while, and I have to do it all again from a more tired starting point.  I put my focus onto my picnic schedule and where on the run I was likely to see people.  To this point I know there had been a huge amount of support on the course from the wonderful people of Long Eaton Running Club who travelled up there, but it was largely in the busy places and I'd been zoning out to deal with the crowds.  I felt briefly very guilty.  By mile 14, now on to Paul Simon who was Under African Skies at this stage - frankly the last place I'd want to be running a marathon - I was mentally back on track and preparing for the fatigue to hit and the need to dig in.  I started focusing on the mile markers as target points where I would eat, then forgetting about distance and concentrating on my music in between.  This really worked well for me, and I know on a couple of occasions I did sing out loud, because I did get some of "those looks", as one does when one sings out loud with headphones in. 

Mile 16

For the next few miles I just ran, and ran, and ran, and with each mile that went by I realised that I was feeling stronger than the people around me were looking.  I was holding steady at around the 7:37 mark and realised that getting under 3:20 was perfectly reasonable.  My legs felt good, my calf wasn't grumbling, my stomach wasn't grumbling, and I was tired but not that tired.  

At mile 21 while listening to the fantastic Mr Manson telling me about his Tainted Love, and having just seen the brilliant LERC support crew, I was passed by my good friend Tim Baggs on his bike.  He pulled in next to me and gave me a few words of encouragement, along the lines of "you're destroying them all", and rode off.  That was definitely the boost I needed and at that point I made a decision that if I still felt OK at mile 23, I was going to push for a sub 22:30 5k from 23.1 miles to finish.  I felt like I had it.

By mile 22 I was overtaking a significant number of people and feeling truly determined.  My middle toe on my right foot started to threaten cramp, which would have meant a stop and a massage, so I moved my foot strike right back to squarely on my mid-foot for a half mile or so until it eased.  It didn't slow me down although I felt clumpy and probably hammered my calves quite hard for that half mile.  At mile 23 I felt good and started to bring the pace up ready for my spectacular finish, absolutely sure that I had this.  

Half a mile later my stomach started to object, seriously object, to my hour long diet of bloks, and suddenly I was faced with incredible cramping and the knowledge that it was only a matter of time until the inevitable happened.  I went from feeling grand to struggling to stand up straight in around a minute or so and this carried on for over a mile and a half.  My pace dropped right back and instead of picking it up I was running almost 8 minute mile pace for the first time.  When the inevitable did happen I was a lot less bothered than I'd thought I would be and actually somewhat relieved to be able to run again.  Shortly after this Freddy Mercury began telling how about how The Show Must Go On, which frankly amused me a huge amount, thank you sir for helping me from beyond the grave.  I picked the pace back up for the last half mile glad that I would be able to finish standing up straight and running strong.  If I had to make a list of the best people to bump into immediately after soiling oneself in public Tim Baggs would definitely be top of the list, and seeing him again at mile 25.5 just as I was starting to actually RUN again gave me the boost I needed to make a strong finish.  It would have been perfect if my magical music hit list and given me We Are The Champions to finish, but it wasn't to be.  I honestly can't even remember what was playing as I crossed the finish line, I'd picked up the pace and was paying no attention to it, but I did feel good and I did feel like a champion, albeit a fairly stinky one.

Still a little something left in the legs...

I didn't quite make the 3:20 in the end, but for my first marathon and after all the problems along the way, 3:20:12 on a run that I by and large hugely enjoyed is a definite win in my book.  I will do more marathons, I get why people love them, I will train more sensibly, manage nutrition better, and run quicker.

For now, however, I did it.  I haven't always managed to do the things I've set out to or wanted to do in life, some of the more difficult ones have often escaped me, but on this occasion I set out to do a truly challenging thing, and I did it.  I cannot help feeling proud of myself.

Week 17 Part 2: Starting to feel the benefits of tapering?

I believe I may be starting to exhibit strong signs of Bipolar Disorder.  My marathon related mood swings this week have been a little... extreme.  This hasn't been helped by other factors, the Easter Holidays being one.  Stress levels are running high in the house, and sleep levels aren't.

My thoughts at the moment are a confused and jumbled mess of wildly misplaced optimism with very little basis and probably equally misplaced despair.  I've not trained enough, I've not done enough of the right training recently, I'm going to be slow, much slower than I want to be.  I've got slow in general, what if I can't get fast again after the marathon?  What if I stay slow?  What if I just never get back to quite where I was let alone make the improvements I had believed I was capable of?  What if I can't start the marathon because of injury?  What if I can't complete it because my Achilles plays up?  What if I can't complete it just because I'm not fit enough?  What if I do complete it and just run a time that leaves me feeling massively disappointed in myself, and then I still can't get quick again afterwards.

I tend to deal with low moods by running, or at least by exercising, but of course I'm tapering so this isn't really an option at the moment.  Instead try to talk myself out of these moods logically.  I'm a reasonably good runner for my age, nothing special, but above average.  Even on reduced training a reasonably good time is perfectly feasible if I pace myself well.  I'm starting to feel some life coming back into my legs as I'm tapering.  I've reminded myself of training runs I've done where I've run a good pace for a significant amount of time, and felt strong doing it.  I tell the little demons in my head who keep pointing out to me this is now a while back and I haven't felt strong for a while to shut the fuck up.  They largely ignore me.

Saturday morning I went to parkrun with a goal of running at the top end of tempo pace, 7:00 minute mile pace or a little quicker.  When I planned this the day before it felt like a mammoth task which is utterly ridiculous.  It's not long since I was running 5k at 6:15 pace, so why would that feel daunting?  That's just where my confidence was on Friday, still suffering with the tail end of a cold, tired, tight calf, and generally feeling like a wreck.  On Saturday morning I got up and warmed up and my calf didn't feel tight.  In fact, as I warmed up in the kitchen at home I even commented to my husband that for the first time in a long time I felt a little bit boingy.  I jogged up the parkrun with absolutely no doubt at all that I could do what I wanted to, and the temptation to push myself started to kick in.  

I resisted, started the run with a friend from the club, ran with her for a little while until she started to push the pace, automatically my instinct was to match her but I had a word with myself and eased off.  In the end I ran perfect splits for what I wanted to do, 6:49, 6:47, 6:49, 6:37.  No sprinting, no stress, and I felt awesome.  I suddenly realised that not only was I relatively easily running sub seven minute miles but I was chatting, boinging, and wanted to push.  I smiled almost the entire way round and must have looked like a right grinning idiot, but my mood just rocketed.  No, even if I had run all out I'm not as quick as I was four months ago over that distance, all out I know I couldn't run at my PB pace just now, but I realised that I wasn't as far off as I'd thought and getting that extra bit of speed back in afterwards stopped feeling like a monumental task. 

Feeling the benefits of tapering in my legs and no pain at all from the dodgy calf or Achilles, my confidence rocketed way too far in the other direction.  Maybe I could run my initial target pace I thought, after all it's a lot slower than this and this is feeling pretty maintainable for a good while, I can do it, I'm invincible, I have this!  

I don't, but I hope today I'm thinking clearly and getting some balance.  If my leg holds I can aim for my half way house pace from the start and have a chance of achieving it.  If I don't, I'll do the training differently for the next one, and I will run faster.  This week I'm only running a few miles before Sunday.  I inadvertently entered a race which is tomorrow, without clocking it was only six days before the marathon.  I had thought to skip it, but actually, I can exercise some self control.  I've done little with the club recently and I've missed that so I'm just going to rock up and run it at a little slower than target marathon pace.  I'd like to do it at marathon pace, but I am expecting a complete mud bath and it's the effort level I want more than the pace so I'll factor that in.  I'll place badly, probably run my slowest ever 10k, may even pace for someone after my target time if anyone is, and just enjoy a muddy run.

Thursday I've got 3 miles on the books, with a few short strides, and Saturday I may just do a good dynamic warm up and a mile or so to stretch the legs.  Really nothing to add any fatigue at all.  I want the calf to feel like it does right now come Sunday, and who knows, maybe I'll actually enjoy myself. For now, I am breaking my drive to eat healthily just a little bit, and spending this evening with my new shiny gold covered friend.  Happy Easter Folks.

Week 17 Part 1: If I was a horse they'd have shot me by now

I still have the cold, just the end of it, but the phlegm in the back of my throat is vile and I'm just knackered.  My legs still ache like I'm training hard but I'm not.  The calf is being "dodgy" again.  My mood is swinging wildly from probably misplaced optimism to thoroughly miserable.

Tuesday night I went to do the club time trial.  Well, I didn't really go to do the time trial, I went to have a run and it happened to be the time trial.  I sensibly put myself well back and started steadily.  My calf was tight, in fact both of them were, but especially the right one.  I had thought a gentle run may loosen them up and allow me to get a few miles in at marathon pace, and that's just what I set out to do.  Despite starting very gently I was breathing remarkably hard when talking; I seem to be really struggling to shift the tail end of this cold.  By a mile in the calf hadn't loosened at all and when there was still no improvement a half mile later I turned back cutting my run short. 

Things then started to feel a lot better so I ended up doing the whole five miles, with three miles at a rough approximation of marathon pace - it was a bit quick but largely wind assisted so from an effort point of view not too far off - and all of a sudden I felt good.  Not just good, but great.  Probably not quite awesome, but definitely great.  I was just running.  Running is something I enjoy hugely.  There's a good effort level that I get a real kick from, not flat out, not trotting, definitely not shuffling or plodding, just running.  Hard enough that I can feel my breathing, my legs stretching out, that I'm putting some effort in and the body is responding.  The spring weather helps with this.  I love spring, I love autumn.  Cool, crisp, clear days.  All of a sudden, lapping the park on my own like a right Billy No Mates, I was incredibly happy and comfortable running.

As soon as I dropped my pace off again my calf went stiff again and afterwards it was sore.  Not the Achilles, just the calf, which is something at least.  I'm trying to work this out.  My calf hurts when I run slowly.  I haven't tried running properly fast for a couple of weeks, but at a sort of mid (marathon type) pace, it becomes stiff and is often sore afterwards.  I've been really focussing on how I'm running when I drop the speed off to make sure I'm not being sloppy and I don't think I am exactly but I do have a theory.  When I run harder, out of necessity I kick off harder, push my back leg out more, and my hamstrings and glutes are doing a lot of the work.  When I run slower I tend to just trot on my forefeet with a much smaller stride, as one does, and this seems to be putting a lot of stress on my calves.  I'm boinging too much for the pace I'm running at, lots of that is going into up and down (which is confirmed by my HRM data) and therefore I'm not only wasting energy, I'm stressing my calves.

When I ran again today (Thursday) I tried to be concious of running "flatter" when I'm running slower, and not wasting energy and precious calf muscle on bobbing up and down needlessly.  It wasn't at all successful according to garmin.  I bobbed less at the three miles I did at a pace which was far too quick given they were meant to be marathon pace practice than I did on the four easy miles I stacked either side of that.  I was also sick running 8 minute miles warming down for no other reason than Catarrh.  I just cannot shake it.  I knew it was coming I could feel the bile in the back of my throat for a couple of miles before I couldn't fight the nausea any more.  I persevered, but I felt pretty rough.

Then, to round it all off, this evening while taking dishes into the kitchen I knocked the kitchen door open and walked through it.  Only I didn't.  The door got caught on the corner of the rug and instead of opening it wedged and I walked right into it.  I now have a lovely bruise developing on my knee.

Really, I am a wreck.  A stressed, tired, slightly ill, injury fighting, wreck.

Ten days to go and I'm already such a ridiculous combination of terror, excitement, hope, and disappointment. 

Week 16: The beginning of the end...

This is, officially, the first week of tapering.  In my battle with fatigue, injury and a horrendous cold I've once again had to abandon plans and wing it, which I hate.  I've felt physically and mentally rough as a badgers back end.  Despite that the week's running has finished as positively as it could, with a pain free if easy paced eleven miles in glorious spring sunshine.  Look, photographic evidence of me going running in the sunshine.

The uncertainty about whether I'm going to be able to actually do the marathon has been tough to deal with this week when I'm utterly knackered and feeling crappy.  Neither has my determination to accept the reduced pace I'm going to need to run at, at least for the first part, to nurse the dodgy calf and Achilles through the race without damaging myself.  This is sitting extremely badly with me and I need to get over this now and deal with the disappointment of my plans falling apart somewhat; I don't want to finish my first ever marathon feeling disappointed. 

I am attempting to readjust my expectations to a realistic level now, get my grump out the way early, so I can enjoy the day.  I had been training towards attempting to run 3:15 and for the first two months of training this looked realistic.  I think I have the fitness to run around 3:20 despite the lost training, and that's the pace I'd like to go for, but on the way it feels now I suspect my Achilles would not hold up to the job.  Realistically I'm now thinking about 3:25 to 3:30, starting at the slower end, and hoping that my leg feels up to increasing the pace later on without my dodgy body breaking down.  Grump grump.

I've done everything I can to be as healthy as I can this week in terms of food intake, resting where I can, and generally taking care of myself.  I am now, however, treating myself to a large glass of wine with my otherwise very healthy tea.  Because I'm worth it.

The calf and Achilles are still tight.  The problem this gives me in terms of tapering is that some running loosens it, and it's not necessarily low paced running, short reasonably paced runs tend to help, plodding doesn't, and it's very much a take it day by day and judge whether a little run will help. 

Tuesday a run would have been helpful, but I was so full of cold I didn't feel up to it.  This is really unusual for me, I would normally just run through a cold, but my breathing was utterly shot.  I did a little on the cross trainer which was good in terms of loosening the leg up, but bad because the cross trainer leans more towards strength than cardio for what I want to be doing right now.  I decided to combine this with my last weights session before the marathon and just get it all done.  That's that box ticked, no more leg strength work until after I've done it.

Thursday I still felt dreadful but did feel up to running.  I went for a run with no goals or aims other than to see how the leg felt and get a few miles in.  I just sort of fell into running around 7:30s which is encouraging.  I thought my natural pace had reduced to a plod or a shuffle, and finding myself just sitting there, albeit with a lot of struggling for breath and enough snot the population of Long Eaton are probably still searching round my route for the invasion of giant snails, the actual running felt not too bad.

Saturday I went to do parkrun and totally mis-paced it.  I did plan the pace here, just 7:30s, get the heart rate up to a working level but not a push.  Running this pace lately has felt hard work on my high mileage weeks, and I was running on feel.  I thought I was running 7:20s to 7:30s and was surprised at the end of the first lap to find I was actually running 6:50s.  This is of absolutely no benefit at this stage and I'm just risking injuring myself so I stopped, stretched, and did the second lap on pace.  I did have a little grump at the end when I realised I'd missed out on a very, very easy first lady the like of which almost never crops up at Long Eaton these days, then I had a word with myself.  The word being twat.  I've had lots of first lady finishes at parkrun, in far quicker times, and that is not the current goal.  The goal is to get to Manchester able to run 26.2 miles without breaking myself.  This is the only goal that matters for the next two weeks.  Best of all, I finished with no tightness or pain, and after a good stretch and massage with my roller stick, I felt good for today's "long" run.

Sunday dawned, wait for it, sunny.  Yes, sunny, and very much spring like.  What is this madness?  12 miles on the menu and it's not freezing, sleeting, snowing, howling with wind, it's crazy!  It was wonderful.  I met Sophie at West Park this morning and was greeted by a huge smile at this change of weather fortune, before we trotted off wearing shorts on a long training run.  Shorts!  I did get some tightness in the second part of the run but it never went further than a mild tightness.  I had breathing issues at the start and the cold is still not entirely gone, but it will be in two weeks so that's nothing to worry about.  I'm still quite tired in my legs, but on the way back I suddenly found myself getting into it.  I love running on days like this, I was starting to feel springier, we were getting a little quicker, and it was just a gorgeous day to be alive and outside.  Coming through the park at the end of the run I know I was grinning like an idiot.  This is what I love about running.  After a steady start we picked it up a little on the way back and it just felt like a good run.  I have some ache in my calves now, but it's kind of normal after run ache and doesn't feel like it'll still hurt tomorrow.  I hope.

I also managed to eat a banana with absolutely no issues at what I expect will be around marathon pace.  If I can do that while unable to breath through my nose then I can do it on race day.  I'm hoping I may be able to fuel myself on banana and jelly babies for the first part of the race and delay using cliff bloks until the second half.  I shan't use gels, it's a recipe for crapping myself.  I do, however, in case of the worst happening, have my aptly named crap catcher shorts; double layered for extra protection.  It's amusing me at the moment, but I was concerned about chafing.  As a general rule you never know what chafes until you run at least 10 miles in it, so I wore them today.  Barring my club vest I wore everything I intend to wear while running the marathon.  No problems with attire bothering me in any way.  I did not test out the other potential function of the shorts, because today my stomach was happy.  Let's hope that's something I never need to think about again!

So finishing the week I'm feeling optimistic of at least running this marathon, and looking forward to some chilled out runs in glorious sunshine over the next week.  Mostly steady, low mileage, and I'm declaring it officially spring and packing away the thermals. 

Week 15 Part 2: For better or worse I've done what I can; time to taper

Happy spring, folks.  You will note that behind the smiley person who has just finished training, there is a lot of snow.  In fact so much snow the fucking Christmas jumper is back out.
 

This weekend was in theory the last weekend of build up.  Given the running I've missed due to injury over the last six weeks I've been toying with the idea of a shorter taper, slotting in another longer run next week, trying to get a bit more good training in before tapering.  This weekend I ditched that idea.  It was the stupid idea of an obsessive person.  It was the sort of idea that resulted in the injury that's plagued the last few weeks of training. 

Even when I've not been able to run I haven't cut my training back at all, in fact if anything I've done more training to make up for the fact it wasn't running.  I'm like that.  The training I've done may not ultimately be as effective in terms of running the sort of time I'd have liked to run as if I'd done all the workouts I wanted to, but I've still done it and my level of fatigue is absolutely fucking huge. 

I woke up yesterday morning full of cold, and utterly knackered.  To be fair I initially woke up in the night with a horrid sore throat, the initial cold threat, and feeling dire.  I spent quite a while awake feeling dire, then I woke up in the morning full of cold.  My legs were knackered from all the training I've done over the last two weeks.  Some running, cross training, cycling, pool running for crying out loud, strength training, intervals, a tempo run that I waded, and probably more stuff I've forgotten about.  In my head an argument started between the legs and the head over who was feeling worse.  It was like listening to the kids' incessant bickering, but I was doing it to myself. 

Then came the next consideration for my planned morning run, yep, the weather.  Now, when I picked the background for this blog it was on a bit of a whim after an initial and rather novel snowy long run back in December.  On that occasion it was all rather nice, just 10 miles through pretty, crunchy snow.  I did not realise at the time that I was basically the harbinger of weather doom for the winter.  It has been a cracker in terms of weather.  At first I wondered if this was just perspective, given I've been out in it a lot more, but no it really has been a particularly cold, wet, windy and snowy winter... and apparently also spring.  It's mid-March and the view out my kitchen window should not look like the above photo.

Fortunately, by the time I went out yesterday morning the snow was just starting to come down and hadn't settled.  It was, however, rather windy.  I took the view that I'd do a route with a lot of cut backs, run extremely steadily, and just see how far my calf managed.  Once I got running it all got a lot better, however.  Actually trotting along at 8:20s ish was relatively problem free even given the tired legs, pounding headache and sore throat.  I did not feel shiny, however I did feel up to running.  In the end it was 12 miles before the right calf got sore.  It wasn't the same place I've been having pain previously, it was almost certainly just an achy tired calf, but I didn't want to risk any Achilles problems following on.  I walked a mile or so and stretched it, during which time I got extremely cold and miserable.  This was no longer fun.  I then realised I'd just missed a bus home, but before I actually burst into tears I also realised that the calf was feeling better for the stretch, so I carried on running at an even slower speed.  I wasn't dressed for the slower speed, and I was freezing.  My head, throat and legs started their internal argument about who was feeling the most miserable but as they aren't actually the kids I told them all to shut the fuck up and get on with it.

In the end I did 16 miles at around 8:35 average.  Much more than I'd thought I would, but I was bizarrely restless.  This wasn't the big weekend run I've got used to!  I decided to make up the cardio today by cross training, and this afternoon I went out, now streaming with cold, and spent 90 minutes on the cross trainer pushing the heart rate up to long run territory.  The good thing about this was the cross trainer really stretched out the calf and I realised I felt up to running.  I wasn't going to risk running out in the snow and slush, plus I was wearing shorts and a vest in the gym, so I hauled myself onto the treadmill and stuck it on a 1% incline with the pace at 7:00 minute miles.  I put on the emergency stop clip and decided to see what was left in my legs.  3.6 miles it turned out, at which point I felt in serious danger of coming off the back of it, and stopped.  Honestly it was more than I thought and I was reassured it didn't send my heartrate through the fucking roof in the process.

I'm done, absolutely done.  This week the cut back starts.  I'm looking forward to getting some life back in my legs.  I'm fine if I end up doing most of my running as pool running this week and then get actual running in the next two, I'm OK to give the dodgy calf the time it needs to fully recover from the weekend's madness.  The week's plan is four days of training, two or three of those running.  I'm hoping to get in a 10-12 miler next weekend with fresher legs.  I'll also do the last strength session early this week.  Finally, I'm hoping to shift this bloody cold, which I guess is better come now than in 2 weeks.

Tonight I'm going to get a little bit tiddly, and then comes three weeks of easing off, lots of healthy food, and hopefully feeling my legs start working again.

Week 15 Part 1: This shit just got real

This just dropped through my letterbox this morning, and it's fair to say my stomach has done a big flip over and it's just hit home what I've signed up for.  In a purely figurative sense on this occasion, I took one look at it and shat myself.

So far this week I've managed to run 12 miles as I nurse a still very tight calf and Achilles through as much running as I dare.  This is double what I did last week.  It was really hard.  The tempo run through several inches of bloody flood water was hard, but it was hard anyway if I'm honest with myself, my legs are just tired.  The intervals which I did on the treadmill to reduce impact were really hard, I've never struggled so much to maintain 5k pace for a few minutes.  Despite not running much the last two weeks I'm still suffering from huge cumulative fatigue because I'm cross training like a nutter to try and keep my cardio fitness up. 

Tomorrow's plan is for a 10 miler at 7:30s, followed by 75 minutes on the cross trainer.  I was intending to do 7 miles and finish with parkrun which works well for me generally, but the park is flooded and to add the bells and whistles on, snow has been forecast again.  It's fucking March for fuck sake, and snow is forecast!  I daren't run on snow again so I'm bracing myself for doing it on the treadmill, doing it a little quicker and sticking some inclines in to make myself work as hard, and just sucking up the boredom and hatred. 

To add the icing and cherries on the bells and whistles my inner ear headphones have broken. 

But I'm doing it anyway, because as previously stated, in an extremely exciting and utterly terrifying way, this shit just got real.

Week 14 Part 2: Maybe, just maybe, we might get there...

I have managed to run a total of 6 miles this week against a target of 55.  This was going to be my highest mileage week of the whole damn plan.  That would be the plan that I had to rip up and chuck out the window a few weeks back.

On an up note however, I have managed to run a total of 6 miles this week.  Perspective is everything.

On Friday I did an exploratory half mile on the treadmill, which told me almost straight away that I should not be running on the dodgy calf.  The Achilles was also giving me a dull ache and the whole thing was incredibly tight.  I did some limited cross training but I'd spent so much time on the bike already this week that my quads were basically dead.  I did what I could on the bike and then used what was left in my legs up doing low weight high repetition strength training using the machines in the gym.  My calf hasn't been up to squatting all week.  I have been faithfully doing all my physio exercises, theraband stretching, ice, massaging and rollering all week.  I did it again.

On Saturday I woke up with somewhat less pain and I decided to attempt an incredibly slow 3 mile loop of Hook, the town I was staying in.  I made 1.5 miles, running over 9 minute mile pace, and my calf and Achilles went so tight I stopped there.  Four weeks and a day to go and I couldn't run three miles at over a minute and a half off what a few weeks ago was my target pace.  Again I did all my physio exercises, etc etc, same as above.  I also got rather down, and then in the evening I got rather drunk.  Getting drunk is always more fun when my little sister in law is around.  

On Sunday I woke up with no pain at all, actually no pain, although my Achilles was very tight when walking down stairs.  I was meant to do 16 miles today including 4 at marathon pace.  Clearly, I was not going to manage this, but I did feel up to trying another run.  I ran a mile steadily and it felt OK.  I stopped off to drop off my coat and gave my leg a little stretch and massage, and set off to run another 4 miles.  In the end I did just over three, stopping when the tightness kicked in, but it was more than I'd expected to manage and while it wasn't fast it also wasn't crawling pace either.  It was absolutely lovely to be outside in the sun wearing shorts and vest, despite the cider induced hangover.

I then went into the gym and spent two hours, yes two whole hours, on the cross trainer.  Luckily I started it feeling somewhat buoyed by having been able to run, because this was dire.  For the first half hour my entertainment was my music, OK, and Songs of Praise on subtitles.  Luckily the rugby came on before I actually punched the TV.  This had pros and cons.  The pros of course being that I love rugby, and while incredibly scrappy, it was a reasonably entertaining game.  The big con of course being that while I had the time covered on the machine I was using, once the match started I had the match timer right there, and seeing the minutes go by was definitely not helping. 

But, I did it, it felt good to really stretch my legs out, the range of motion was great for aching legs, and better still I actually maintained an average heart rate roughly equivalent to running 8 minute miles so from a pure fitness point of view it was bang on.  

This therefore allows me to finish the week feeling more positive.  I'm going to have to be incredibly careful with the calf and Achilles, they really aren't quite right, but I might be able to muddle through this and manage to run the marathon at a reduced pace without breaking myself.  In many ways that doesn't sit well, but that's the reality and I need to go with that.  I'm hopeful of managing 20 miles over 3 runs this week, that's my target if the leg is up to it.  Two midweek runs topped up with cross training, and then if I can a Sunday 10 miler which I'll top up with the same length of time cross training.  I've got an aqua belt which unfortunately arrived too late to use today, but it's here now and aqua jogging is on the menu for a couple of my cross training sessions.  I have no shame, I really don't care about looking like a tit in the local pool while doing it if it helps me keep the right muscles working.

So fingers and toes are crossed, four weeks to go and I'm just going to have to go with the flow and listen to my body on this one, two things I'm not always particularly good at.  At least for today I have the satisfying "good ache" of having worked hard and actually achieved a decent training session.

Week 14: More ice, and it's not on the pavements this time

This is not a happy picture.  This is the picture of someone who decided their niggles could be run on and did several snowy runs including 22 miles through slush last weekend, when in fact their niggles needed a lot more time to get better.  This is the picture of someone optimistically strapping ice to their calves in the hope it will effect some miracle cure.

I hurt my ankle a few weeks ago.  It was twisted in an altercation with my son.  I didn't rest it enough, and almost certainly as a direct result of running on it and compensating for it, I hurt my knee.  I did rest that, for a bit, but then I was eager to make up for lost mileage and I ran a lot last week on snow, and ice, and slush.  I ran 22 miles on Sunday, and I woke up on Monday with a lot of pain in both calves.  Not the usual tired ache of a lot of times, but pain of the definitely not good shouldn't be run through type.  I vainly hoped it would last a day or two, maybe a week at worst, and it would be fine.  Several days later and for my left calf I'm almost certain that is the case.  If they both felt like the left one does I'd probably have run this morning.  As the pain in the right calf dies down, however, it's giving way to the sinking suspicion that not all the pain is coming from the muscle, and that I've almost certainly done "something" to my Achilles.  Achilles pain is not to be messed with, I won't run through it, so I'm waiting and hoping.

I haven't run all week, I've attempted to cross train, grumpily, and I'm waiting to see how things go next week.  I'm trying not to acknowledge the possibility that I may not be able to run the marathon without the real possibility of seriously injuring myself for some time, something I'm not willing to do.  I've absolutely promised myself that I will not start a marathon with Achilles pain as I know that would almost certainly be writing off the summer's running for me.  I can't do that; I rely on running too much.  It is my escape, and my sanity. 

Of course none of this is going to happen, because it's just a bit of calf strain, and by next week I'll be boinging along like a spring fucking chicken and regretting giving up my Ashby 20 place.  That's what I keep telling myself. 

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.