Snow, Treadmills, Tunnels & Toenails...

The cold weather front continued to hold the South West in its grasp causing havoc with the transport infrastructure, commuters, and those of us trying to train for a marathon. It is at times like this that one needs to adapt to survive, or in my case move training schedules around in order to try to get the training sessions I need anyway I can... Oh well, needs must as the Devil drives...

My first decision was what to do about 'triple Tuesday'. Tuesdays track session had been called off 48 hours in advance, giving me a chance to make different arrangements.
I decided to fragment the Tuesday sessions. Running the Tuesday morning session on the Monday afternoon, after I'd finished work, seemed like a fairly sensible decision, so, after smiling sweetly and saying "pleeeaaase" whilst batting my eyelashes at the staff in Keynsham Leisure Centre, I dirtied myself and ran 10K on a tread mill. BORING. It was hideous - just going through the motions of running whilst not actually going anywhere, trapped in an air-conditioned room, being force-fed banal repetitious 'music' whilst watching a television showing the BBC News coverage of Barack Obama being sworn in for his term of office, which was being subtitled by somebody who, judging by what I was seeing on-screen, was a blind dyslexic wearing boxing gloves... When I finished I got off the mental torture device and headed for the door of the gym, whereby I promptly walked into the end of a rowing machine and cut open my shin. It was like a scene from Miranda. (The only time when treadmills are cool is when there are 4 blokes, 8 machines, & a backing track.) One thing that I did notice, whilst I was washing the blood from my shin, was that, as a result of Sundays run in the snow & ice one of my toes was swelling up around the nail and it was a deep shade of red...

Tunnel Vision

Tuesdays coached swim session remained the same as in previous weeks, but in place of the evenings session at the Whitehall Track I planned to put in an undercover workout in one of the worst-kept secret training locations in Bristol - The Teewell Hill/Staple Hill Tunnel. Cold, yes, but also dry, lit, and, measuring 482m in length, perfect for an impromptu tempo session. The shared path takes up less than half the width of the tunnel, with the rest of the floor surface being made up of uneven rocks. The tunnel is lit all year-round, and despite the warning signs, it's lit 24 hours a day. The roof leaks in places, giving the appearance of rain, often when outside it is dry.
I had informed fellow runners, via Facebook, exactly what my intentions were for the evening, and what sessions I was planning on doing, in case any other mad fools wished to join me. Unfortunately all my plans quickly fell apart when some emergency overtime was pushed in my direction at work. Knowing that in all probability I would be looking at an 8pm start, with no idea what time I would be finishing, I took the only course of action possible - I drove home, got changed, and went straight out for a quick 5.5 mile run. In the bloody snow again...

Finishing time was 5:30am. Yes, the time of day at which I normally get up for work... I fell into bed and didn't open my eyes for the next four hours. When I did, I put some running kit together, grabbed a coffee and headed back to the office. Once there however I didn't go straight back to work. Oh no, no immediate return to the grindstone for me, no; I knew that I'd be in no fit state to train in the evening, so I did the only thing that I could do under the circumstances - put in a 12 mile run at an average of 7:08/mi THEN went back into work. I was right though, by 9pm I was barely able to remember my own name...

After a good nights coma sleep I was able to face the world refreshed. As they had on Tuesday, the running club had also cancelled the Thursday evening group runs due to the adverse weather conditions. So, yet another change of plan was needed to be incorporated in and around the days work. I decided that, in order to give myself maximum recovery time sat in front of the telly in the evening (One Born Every Minute is addictive viewing & it makes you cry), it would be a good idea to run at lunchtime and then get in a nice easy swim after work. (I'm full of these 'good ideas'. Some are good, some are bad, and some just leave people scratching their heads and asking "what are you on?") The weather forecast said that not only was the temperature due to go above freezing for the first time in a fortnight, but, get this, the sun might also come out!! It was and it did. It was still bloody cold though. For some strange reason, knocking out a 10K at lunchtime, then having a swim 3 hours later, completely wiped me out. For the rest of the evening I was staggering around like a zombie from 'Shaun of the Dead'. I think, maybe, that the past couple of days had finally caught up with. Or I'm just getting too old to train as hard as I do...

Ivor the asthmatic steam engine

Zombieism was still possessing me on Friday morning when I drifted into work and sat through a meeting whilst on a completely different transcendental plain... I was lethargic and unable to warm my body up. All I wanted to do was get warm, curl up, and go to sleep. Alas my schedule told me that 15 miles was to be the order of the day. I got my running gear on, went out into the cold, and started to run. It was then that my body started to rebel. Firstly, my asthma reacted to the thin, cold, air and consequently my breathing became laboured, and started to make a noise like Ivor the Engine climbing a hill... After 5 miles it became pretty clear that the energy levels in my body were at their lowest ebb in many a week. I decided, for once, to listen to my body and to call it quits. Obviously all the running odd distances at odd times, slotting in runs whenever and wherever I could, not to mention working long hours in the freezing cold, had taken its toll and I needed to take a bit of a rest. A total of 8 miles were chalked off, 7 short of the days target, but caution is the better part of valour, and saving my body a bit now will undoubtedly help in the long run. My remedy was, typically, curling up on the sofa, with a mug of coffee, in front of the telly. Bloody luxury.

Saturday mornings early morning 5.5 mile run was pretty mundane, although I did notice that my swollen toe was throbbing. Worried that I may break part of the nail off during the following days race I decided to trim it back with a pair of scissors. As I made the first cut I realised why the toe was swollen - under the toe resided a big blister. And my scissor wielding antics opened the blister up in a spectacular fashion. It wasn't a pretty sight... A good, wash, clean, and a spot of Vaseline ensured that I could continue without any further bother.

Sunday saw a change in weather. No more snow, but a howling gale and the chance of rain. Great. I had to go to Lliswerry, in Newport, South Wales, for a very flat 8 mile race. Race HQ was at the Newport AC Athletics Stadium so, after tweaking a groin muscle simply getting out of the car (yeah, I know) and picking up my race number & timing chip, I was able to get changed and put in 8 laps (two miles) of the track as a pre-race warm-up. My PB for 8 miles stood at 52:14 so I know that in order to get a new PB I would have to run each mile slightly faster than 6:30/mi pace. Stay in front of that time and I would be laughing. So, me being me, I set my sights firmly upon 6:15/mi.

Headwind, here I come

The race started and, as ever, I went off far too fast. Noticing that I had logged the first mile at 5:50/mi pace I consciously backed off a little in order to slow down. The second mile was logged at 5:54/mi. (Dammit) Mile three was recorded in 6:02/mi. (Oh, for F**ks sake). Then something happened that made me slow down - 2.5 miles of head-wind. Now, this was no ordinary head-wind, this was as if a big bloke had put his hand on my forehead and defied me to run forwards... I ran hard into the wind, recording my 4th mile in 6:07, (What the..?) but working that hard into the wind had the effect of just exhausting me as proven when the 5th mile took me 6:27 just to get through it. The other problem that I was having to deal with was the fact that I was running on my own. When you run with one or more other people you are able to work with them, taking turns to block each other from the head or side wind. On your own, as I was, all you are able to do is work hard and try not to burn yourself out... Eventually I caught up with somebody and, although I wasn't able to overtake him, I was able to tuck in behind and use him to try and block out some of the wind. Two more miles passed, 6:19 & 6:14 respectively, until we passed the 7 mile marker. At this point I came up to the other guys shoulder and put in a determined spurt. Figuring that a healthy new PB was on the cards I was determined to try to get it as low as possible. The other runner eventually came back and overtook me again with about 50metres to go but we both made each other work hard for that final mile, one that I completed in 5:46, to cross the line in 48:42 for 41st place, 8th in my age group, and first home for the club. My average pace was 6:05/mi. In comparison, the winner, Philip Matthews of Swansea Harriers, finished in 40:49 - that's an average pace of 5:06 per mile!!!

Whilst putting in a 3 mile 'warm-down', which consisted of a jog back to the race HQ and then 10 laps of the athletics track, I noticed my toe was throbbing again. When I got changed later I discovered that my toe had 'leaked' and I was, in fact, stuck to my sock. Urrgh! I really don't think that I will be keeping that nail much longer...  

With next week looking both chaotic and a logistical nightmare - the weekly mileage rises sharply, the weather is taking a turn for the wet & windy, and I'm back on call all week - the only thing I am looking forward to is to sleep. Thankfully, I have the unwavering support of MrsC to back me up; a favour that I am only too glad to return whenever I get the chance...

Weekly totals:

Run miles: 58.15
Swim lengths/metres: 130/3250m
Sit-ups: 640
Press-ups: 328

Half a nail that's not long for this world.

Insignificance is important

Gandhi once said that "Everything you do in life will be insignificant ... but it's very important that you do it." And so it proved to be with me this past week... The whole picture may not have been visible, but each training session or effort that I made was part of the main goal; or, as Aristotle put it, "The whole is greater than the sum of its parts."

Monday was a rest day. I needed a lie-in and thankfully I got a good one courtesy of the cache of flexi-leave that I'd built up at work. Also my feet hurt. Literally. The soles of my feet and the underside of my toes hurt from the previous days off-road race in Naunton and I was more than happy to give them a rest. A good rest. The kind of rest that you only get from surfacing a few hours later than usual, making a cup of coffee and a pile of Marmite on toast, and going back to bed, plugging your headphones in and listening to a DW audio double-bill (8th Doctor: Blood of the Daleks Pts 1&2). Well, okay, maybe the last bit was just me... A light & easy swim at lunchtime, followed by a spot of lunch, then a trip to the Cinema to watch 'Les Miserables' (who on Earth told Russell Crowe that he could sing?) made it a thoroughly enjoyable day off... Shame it was only the one day though.

After the luxury of a lie-in on Monday, 'Triple Tuesday' kicked me hard in the bum to make me get up and on with my training regime. As ever, the early morning pre-work 5.5 mile run was more of a trudge than anything else. My lunchtime swim was a little weird as I kept 'switching off', slipping into auto-pilot mode, and just going through the motions. (Not in the way described in my last blog I hasten to add) Before I really knew where I was or what I was supposed to be doing I'd ploughed my way through most of the coaching session and was fifty lengths to the good... Once again, at the evening session at the Whitehall Athletics Track, I was not really concentrating on the task in hand and in a little world of my own. The session, which was freezing cold, was 6x 800m with a 2:30 minute rest between each rep; affectionately known as 'Yasso 800s'. (Basically, the way it works is that if you can consistently run your 800m reps in a certain time then they co-relate to your projected marathon finish time. Therefore 6x 800m run at 3:00 per 800m equates to a 3 hour marathon. 6x 800m run at 2:50 per 800m equates to a 2 hours 50 min marathon time.) Even though I was struggling with the cold air rasping through my lungs when I ran, I was running my reps at approximately 2:45-2:250 per 800m, although I clocked the last rep at 2:38... Not bad for somebody who wasn't focused on the session.

Wednesday started out as a cold day and didn't really warm up, therefore filling me with dread for the evenings planned 14 mile run... As it turned out, that dread was well founded. It was bitterly cold when I set out and although I was wearing two pairs of gloves and socks, my fingers and toes started to go numb. Painfully numb. So painful in fact that after just 5.5 miles I called it quits. I just couldn't function in such low temperatures... I could have cried. (But my tears would only have frozen and welded my eyes shut)

So, 8 miles were now missing from my schedule. What was a guy to do? Obviously the sensible answer would be to just forget about it and move on. My answer, however, was to ditch Thursdays lunchtime swim in favour of a hilly 8 mile run around Compton. To tell the truth, I'm glad I chose this option. Compared to the previous day, this was a lovely run. Eight dry miles, completed in 58 minutes, with a weak winter sun poking out from behind grey clouds and, for once, temperatures at just above freezing. In contrast, the evening 5.5 mile run still felt like a bit of a slog as the temperatures took another dive and the country began to prepare for snow...

My sole preparation for snow was to ensure that my off-road shoes were serviceable and packed. Unfortunately things didn't go my way. Friday was snow day and the entire region ground to a halt. I had to get from Kingswood to work in Clutton as early in the morning as possible. A journey of roughly 10 miles. It took me two hours to get out of Bristol and then only another twenty minutes to reach my destination! I spent the rest of the day working with the Councils gritters trying to clear as many roads as possible. But this meant that I didn't get a lunch break, nor the planned run therein. I also got nowhere near a swimming pool... As soon as I got home I changed into my running gear, donned my cross-country shoes, and put in a rather treacherous 5K loop. Small fry compared with what I had really wanted to run but it was better than nothing.

Saturday morning saw me attempt a rather dangerous walk/run/jog/slip/slide/stumble around a 5.5 mile loop that had nothing to do with time or pace, just the fact that I got out to put some miles in. The problem was that the snow on the footpaths was so compacted that it was too dangerous to run on them. Clear sections of road, verges, un-trodden snow, and the slush in the gutters were the safest parts to run on. When I got home I was just relieved that I had managed not to fall over at all during the run. Although I'm sure that, at times, it must have looked more like Disney on Ice...

Sunday, unfortunately, fell victim to the weather. My schedule informed me that I should have run 18 miles with 10 of them at marathon pace. Obviously, with all the snow and ice around, that was going to be out of the question. But what to do? Well, the simple answer was just to get in the equivalent time on my feet. I knew that the eighteen mile run would have taken me approximately 2:10:00 on the road, so I decided to run as far as I could for an hour, then turn around and run back again. So, last weeks off-road running kit and shoes went back on and I decided to run one of my favourite off-road trails, from Netham Lock, and through the Conham valley to the Lock Keeper pub at Keynsham, and back again; a total distance of 15 miles. Getting to and from Netham Lock was a bit dicey underfoot but worth the effort. The path alongside the river was full of deep, wet, muddy puddles, cunningly concealed beneath a layer of ice and snow in order to lull you into a false sense of security. The crunchy noise that I made ensured that all wildlife was absent from view, save for a low flying bird of prey that swooped down from a pylon where a cormorant was also perched. (Bill Oddie would have wet his pants. Then had to suffer a frozen crotch...) At the Lock Keeper I stopped, had a Torq gel, courtesy of Kurt at Cotswold Running, then turned around and headed back whence I came. Another 7 miles slip-sliding through the mud followed before my aching legs delivered me back home in just over two hours. As far as time on my legs is concerned, it ticked all the boxes and delivered an exhausting workout over quite difficult terrain.
A small, easy, swim in the evening, followed by a game of badminton, rounded the week off.

So, a frustratingly fragmented week where the winner was most definitely the weather. However, by altering my training I was able to get something back, snatching a minor victory from the jaws of defeat, whilst aiming for a higher goal... Aristotle & Gandhi would both nod their heads in agreement.

Weekly totals:

Run miles: 54.54
Swim lengths/metres: 95/2375m
Sit-ups: 512
Press-ups: 256

You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man...

Runners are a strange breed. Get two or more people running together and during the course of their run they will talk to each other about life, the universe, and everything. Get two or more runners together when they're not running and all they will talk about is running...
[If you are of a delicate nature, or have a weak disposition, then scroll down to the paragraph which starts "For Gods sake..." Everybody else - read on...]

But almost every runner, myself included, will every now and again take somebody out for a run with them that they don't really want to take. That person grumbles along, making them feel uncomfortable, making them change their pace & slow down, until, inevitably, that person makes them take a pit-stop. Who is this person, you ask, and why do people take him running with them? Well, the truth is that no runner has the choice whether this person accompanies them or not. This person is - The Gingerbread Man. No, not the fairy tale about a Gingerbread Mans escape from various pursuers and his eventual demise between the jaws of a fox; this Gingerbread Man is the curse of all runners.

But why the Gingerbread man? Well, according to running folklore, there is a man with whom every runner can identify. His nickname was 'Gingerbread Man'. This particular man knew the location of every public toilet on his local running routes in the Leeds area. He even knew whether the nearest ones would be open or closed. He also knew of every pub, cafe, supermarket, thicket, bridge, and bush that he could dive behind in order to gain a little relief if he were ever caught short whilst out on a run. And there's not a runner out there who hasn't been, at some point in their running career, in need of some relief...
Gingerbread Man, and the use of his name for evacuation purposes, was brought to the publics attention by Tony Audenshaw, who plays Bob Hope in Emmerdale, during one particular episode of the weekly Marathon Talk podcast. As Tony once said, and so many runners will nod in agreement, "once your stomach switches to 'bomb doors open' there's no going back - an attack is imminent". Now, I am blessed with a number of conveniences on some of my running routes, so why, during my long runs are they not always open? Thankfully South Gloucestershire Council open their loos early and the ones in Kingswood & Hanham have both come to the rescue on many an occasion, even though they are only a mile from my front door. Thankfully there are also two loos to be found on the Bristol - Bath Railway path (although rumour has it that on one occasion a group of runners were to be found early one morning, stood around in the Gents, sheltering from the rain & drinking Bucks Fizz...)  Further afield I have had to make use of many public conveniences throughout Bristol, one in Uphill, W-s-M during a race; as well as various pubs and branches of Burger King, McDonalds, Morrisons, Sainsburys, & the Radisson Hotel (my apologies to anyone who went in there after me). And still, even with all these conveniences, there has been occasions where I have been forced to bite the bullet, throw caution, modesty, and decorum, to the wind and bare my buttocks to nature... There's nothing quite like a handful of grass, leaves, and stinging nettles to help focus the mind early on a cold & wet morning...

For God's sake! Quick, stop painting nasty mental images and change the subject!!!
Okay on Monday I had a rest and didn't run. Well, nearly a rest with no run. Well, okay, I didn't run but I swam 34 lengths instead. But I used floats so that I didn't have to use my legs. So that sort of qualifies as a rest doesn't it? Possibly...

Triple Tuesday came around again, as indeed it does on most Tuesdays, with the exception of Christmas and New Year... A 5.5 mile run to start the day, arriving back home at 6:45am... A lunchtime swim coaching session during which I beat my distance record again and swam 58 lengths. I could have gone further; but they roped off the shallow end for swimming lessons and I nearly garroted myself... The evening saw my return to the track (after an 18 month absence) and it was, predictably, cold and damp. The session itself, 8 x 400m, with 90 second recovery between each 400m effort, wasn't too bad; it's the amount of effort you put in that hurts. I managed to complete each repetition in 78-79 seconds although by the end I was really struggling to keep going at that pace. Obviously, the harder you push yourself then the less your body can recover before you have to do the next effort. Only you can decide how hard is too hard... It was also nice to find I wasn't the only one with a 'Triple Tuesday' on my schedule, so maybe there are some who read this and think, "I feel your pain..."

Wednesdays 14 mile run was done straight after work in an effort to free up some time in the evening, but I failed. Three, ever decreasing loops from home, but with me never any further than 5 miles from my front door was a good idea, especially as the Gingerbread Man paid me a visit, forcing me to make a pitstop at the 9 mile mark. On the down-side, it probably wasn't the flattest route that I could devise but it was easy to remember; and after the day I'd had at work, easy was just about all that my work-addled mind could cope with. Oh, and a van driver, who didn't know what his wing mirror was for, chose the exact moment of my passing by to swing open his door & jumped out... How I joyfully questioned both his eye-sight and parentage as I bounced first off the van door, then a wall, then him as I rebounded back... On the plus-side, I did manage to listen to a Doctor Who audio story (Voyage to the New World) whilst I was running. (Oh no, no banging tunes, no Gangnam Style music to run to; just a story about the sixth Doctor travelling with two elderly Victorian gentlemen...)

Work commitments meant that Thursdays 5.5 mile recovery run didn't happen until stupidly late in the evening (but at least that meant that I also had the maximum amount of recovery possible between Wednesday & Thursday). Saying that, it was absolutely bloody freezing cold when I did get out. I swear that I heard a brass monkey complaining about a loss of assets...

As cold weather was forecast, warmer running kit was duly packed for Fridays lunchtime run around the same Compton Dando route that I had done the previous week. And the weather forecast was wrong(ish). Long-sleeved shirt & leggings were duly greeted by warm winter sunshine. Over the next 70 minutes I think I sweated out more fluid than the Evian bottling plant gets through in a day... A good easy 10.5 mile run in the countryside can't be sniffed at. At least isn't wasn't raining; which these days is nothing short of a miracle...

Saturday started with a short, early morning 5.5 mile recovery run before a quick spot of breakfast followed by a jaunt up the M5 to the Cotswolds; there to lodge with the in-laws for the night in preparation for Sundays race - the Naunton 19.

It was cold when we arrived at the in-laws at Saturday lunchtime. It was bloody freezing when I went for a jog around the block first thing on Sunday morning though. On our drive over to the race start in Naunton the temperature gauge in the car registered -5c !! (Fact of the week: The 1998 Grand National winner, Earth Summit was prepared for the race in the village of Naunton.) The sun was shining though as the starting time got closer, but the temperature didn't rise much; or if it did then I was too busy shivering to notice... At the allotted time we set off across a field, startling horses along the way. but, after a lung bursting uphill start I started to warm up quickly and within a mile was suffering from a 'kit malfunction'. The chest-strap on my rucksack, whilst there to do a job was actually restricting a full inhalation of air. I snapped it open & tucked it away before plunging down a hill towards the first checkpoint. Here I stopped, stripped off my fleece hat, gloves, and gilet, stuffed them into my rucksack & carried on with words of support from MrsC ringing in my ears. Within a mile I was regretting losing the hat as my head was freezing. I decided to sacrifice a warm neck for a cold head and pulled my Buff up over my head instead. This was how I stayed for the rest of the race. You have to remember that this race was in the Cotswolds so it went up, and down, and up, and down, through some stunningly beautiful countryside & picturesque 'chocolate box' villages. The ice in some fields disguised the deep wetness of the terrain, and getting really wet feet just before the halfway point wasn't much fun, especially considering how cold the ground was, but all in all it was almost perfect running weather. A cold fog descended as I headed into Guiting Wood so I had to delve, once again, into my rucksack for a pair of gloves as my extremities began to feel the chill factor. At the final checkpoint I was greeted by the frozen figure of MrsC who had spent the morning cycling from checkpoint to checkpoint in order to follow the race. (Bless 'er. By my estimations she must have cycled 15 miles over the course of the morning - and I reckon that at least 14 of them were uphill...) I pushed on over the final hill, past yet another frozen lake (I think it was a lake; it may have been a field) and gratefully crossed the line in tenth place with a finishing time of 2:22:00. Now, don't get me wrong, I was very happy with my time and the tenth position I attained, especially as I was using the race as a tough training run for the London Marathon. The average 7:45/mi pace wasn't too far off the 7:30/mi 'easy' pace I usually manage on the tarmac. However, even after getting changed, putting on warm dry clothes and drinking several coffees, my body was still numb; in fact it took several hours for my feet to thoroughly thaw out afterwards.

But the most important things to come out of the day were the knowledge that I can now run 18 miles over inhospitable terrain and in testing conditions and that my soul had been thoroughly replenished with the sheer joy of running... It was effing cold though.

Weekly totals:

Run miles: 64.96 (most miles I've ever run in a single week)
Swim lengths/metres: 100/250m
Sit-ups: 640
Press-ups: 320

It's a rough road...

An old proverb reads that "No one is so powerful that they can stop the march of time as time and tide wait for no man..." This, unless you are Doctor Who, is very true and, like King Canute, you'll look a prize lemon if you tried to halt either time or tide... However, if you approach things in the right way, you can achieve more within a certain timespan - like running a race in a shorter period of time. Or using a vortex manipulator to travel within your own timeline. Although, of course, there is a possibility that doing so could rip a hole in the fabric of time and space. A hole the size of Belguim...
Which rather leads me to the week that was. The week that saw the end of 2012 and ushered in a New Year. Yes, I know that all that technically happened was another Gregorian Calendar year rolled by but, to me, the celebrating of a new year makes a lot more sense than the ideal of Christmas. Or the Governments idea of a fair and equal society for all.

So, how did I celebrate the passing of another year? Hmm... Well, on New Years Eve I got in a good 40 length swim session at lunchtime, queued a stupid amount of time for a cuppa at Coffee#1 in Keynsham, watched four episodes of the DW: Series Five BoxSet, ate a lovingly prepared vegetable linguine, and had an early night... (Not exactly the rock & roll lifestyle that I dreamed of in my youth.) Well, I did have an excuse of sorts. I was on call-out (again) and was also racing my now traditional New Years Day race - The Hangover 10K.

The Hangover 10K takes place in and around the village of Kewstoke, which for geography buffs stands on Sand Bay between Weston-Super-Mare and Sand Point... I've done this race a couple of times before (if you are a runner & are sober on New Years Day then I'd recommend it) so I knew what to expect - two loops around the village, one hill - attacked twice from opposite directions, a few country lanes, and two long stretches along the sea front.
I arrived early at the Race HQ, taking one of the few remaining spaces in the car park and, in order to get in my requisite mileage for the day, I set off for a two mile warm-up, making my first ascent of the hill, before sorting myself out for the start of the race. Ten minutes 'til the start and JaykeeBoy arrived, cutting it fine for time as ever...
All I can say about the race was that I found it tough. I thought that my body would warm up, but it didn't really do so as the cold wind blew in from the Bristol Channel and I struggled not to let the cold air too deep into my lungs through fear of having an asthma attack. At times, especially on the uphill sections which really seemed to take all the speed out of my legs, I felt as if I were really struggling to maintain any decent forward momentum. I could see Jaykee and another member of our club, RobF, in the distance and knew that I wouldn't be able to catch either of them as they seemed to be running well, and at a much better speed than I could muster. After the first lap I could feel the lactic build-up in my legs and, for a fleeting moment, seriously considered dropping off the pace and just jogging around in order to avoid recording a DNF... Just then I heard the effervescent MrsC cheering me on, which snapped me out of my meloncholic introspection. (Three big words in one sentence! It's just like being on Radio Four...) Running past her I think she could tell that I wasn't enjoying myself. It was probably the that I grunted the words, "I'm not f**king enjoying this" as I went past her that gave me away... Up the hill I went (again), past the 6K marker, downhill (again), and back into the country lanes for the last time. The last kilometre along the seafront saw a few people trading positions but, thankfully, I was able to maintain the speed just far enough for me to prevent others passing me. I knew that I'd pushed myself as hard as I could, for the moment I crossed the line, in 19th place, I began to retch. I wasn't physically sick, I just spent a good minute doubled up over a fence shouting for somebody called Hewie...
Once I was over that, and had drunk a cup of cold water, I felt a hell of a lot better. Which was handy as I still had a three mile warm-down to do... Accompanied by Jaykee & RobF, who had finished 8th & 15th respectively, we trotted off around the lanes again. We must have annoyed the living daylights out of the back of the pack runners who were still making their way around the course as we ran past them merrily discussing aspects of our own perspectives of the race, speeds, times etc. Up the hill we went for the final time, and back to the village hall for a well earned shower. My hard work was rewarded when at the prize-giving presentation I was awarded a really nice bottle of Merlot for finishing as 3rd MV40. (See the Post-Script at the end of the blog)

The negative vibes returned for another go at me the following day. At lunchtime I struggled to find the enthusiasm to swim. I was going to pack in when I hit the 20 length mark, but something deep inside me made me carry on until I hit the 32 length barrier. How I got there I don't know, and frankly I don't care how I got there - I'm just happy that I got there. However, what I forgot completely was that I don't normally swim on a lunchtime if I've got a long run planned for the evening... (This poor bit of planning came back to bite me on my arse as the post-work run had some mentally dark moments.)
It was cold & damp that evening. My legs still ached from the previous days 11 miles, and my stomach kept doing an impression of a Hotpoint washing machine on a spin cycle. I didn't enjoy the run from the moment I stepped outside the front door. Wearing more reflective clothing and lights than your average pavement cyclist I managed a trudging four & a half miles before Burger King came to the rescue. Gratefully I utilised their lovely warm, and (for once) clean lavatories. Later, at the 7 mile mark, I met up with MrsC, who was cycling home from work, and, I must admit, I was grateful for her company. Just as Jaykee had done on the previous Sunday, we chatted about everything and anything as I ran and she cycled. Once again this really helped to take my mind off the task at hand and the miles (slowly) clicked by. I, for some strange reason, developed a food craving during this run and, after 13.5 miles, when I finally made it home I was able to gorge myself with a delicious goats cheese & runner bean chutney sandwich (Yeah, I know, sounds strange, but I've never had a craving before) before diving into a warm bath. A lovely warming bowl or two of home-made soup & a DW DVD double-header, The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang, worked wonders for cheering me up and invoked magical powers of recovery. Very much like temporal rift energy recharging the Tardis...

The very next morning, however, the demons were back on my shoulder to accompany me for a 5.5 mile recovery run. Now, the emphasis here is on the word 'recovery'. At 6am it felt more like 'purgatory'. Somebody may as well have tied my shoe laces together. I struggled round a familiar route at a speed that, for me, felt almost pedestrian, before finally making it back home for a belated bowl of porridge then heading off to work. After spending several hours climbing in and out of a ditch whilst working on a blocked culvert I thawed my feet out by putting in a small swim session during a late lunch break. Late afternoon saw me partake of a good, hard, sports massage, (think part massage, part mugging) which, thankfully, helped to breathe a little bit of new life into my tired limbs.

Fridays lunchtime run with work colleagues, around the hills surrounding Compton Dando, coupled with a relaxed post-work swim session, helped the restorative process of the mind (no nasty voices telling me to walk, that I'm too old to run fast, that I'm kidding myself that I can run sub-3hrs). Alas it did little for my sore calves and quads.The usual runners were all out to play, but there was also a surprise appearance from MattyL, a fellow club runner of mine, with a sub-2:45 marathon under his belt, who just happens to work in the office next to mine... Matt, who is also training for London, was doing a fairly similar run to me so we just sort of ended up going off the front and running together. The tempo was fairly high and we upped it to my marathon pace after 2.5 miles. What happened after that still bewilders me. It hurt. I felt like I was running harder than usual to keep up with Matt, who I also suspected was running easy to allow me to keep up with him. Up the steepest incline, Peppershells Lane, I even dropped into a quick walk for 30m, but I kept giving it as much as I could and was surprised to find that my legs were still able to turn over at a decent pace. Not as surprised as I was at the end of the run, however, when I discovered that not only had we done just over 10 miles (slightly further than I'd worked out) but 5 of the miles were at sub-marathon pace and the slowest mile was completed in 7:37 - going up the steep ascent when I'd walked a bit!!! I was absolutely gobsmacked, but very, very, happy with the session.

Saturday mornings early-morning 5.5 mile run, with the promise of a breakfast of tomatoes on toast upon completion followed by a return to bed (ahh, the classic carrot and stick approach) was purely another lesson in just getting out there and getting it done. As was Sunday too. Although nicely ticking off 15 miles, it also saw me working on the ascents, and cranking up the pace on the flat sections and descents. Once again I was accompanied by the indefatigable MrsC on her bike, who, although bemoaning the 7:40am start, admirably passed me drinks when I needed them, kept check on the pace, and, as always, kept me company during the run. Her reward? Scrambled eggs on toast once we'd returned home... An easy evening swim session and a few games of badminton rounded off my heaviest training week since July.

Post Script: To (finally) end this weeks Cecille B. DeMille epic of a blog, and to prove that I do think of my other half, let's go back to that nice bottle of Merlot that I won at the Hangover 10K. MrsC doesn't drink red wine, and I'm back on the old training wagon thus preventing me from drinking it myself. So I swapped it with another runner for a bottle of Chardonnay that MrsC could drink and then I gave it to her. Call it a consolation prize. God knows, I think she deserves one for putting up with me.

Weekly totals:

Run miles: 64.03
Swim lengths/metres: 150/3750m
Sit-ups: 256
Press-ups: 160