The Hobbling & Lazarus...

More painful than it looks...

I was in pain and the light at the end of the tunnel was an oncoming train... A blister is a small pocket of fluid within the upper layers of the skin, commonly caused by forceful rubbing/friction. Most blisters are filled with a clear fluid called serum or plasma. (Fact of the week: The word "blister" entered the English language in the 14th century. It came from the Middle Dutch "bluyster", and was a modification of the Old French "blostre" which meant a leprous nodule—a rise in the skin due to leprosy....) I really couldn't care less about any of that. MY blister had formed across the ball of my right foot at mile 11 of last Sundays 20 mile race and, instead of stopping to check my foot, I ran on through the pain whilst the blister became bigger and bigger. At the end of the race it measured 2"x1/2". And it bloody hurt.
Seriously, it had stung a bit when I had gone for a light, float assisted, swim at lunchtime, but by Monday afternoon I was unable to put any weight on my foot and was hobbling and around as if I had one leg longer than the other. The blister had filled with a strange mixture of blood & fluid, which may or may not have been swimming pool water... How the hell was I going to be able to run this week, let alone race again on it next weekend, if it hurt to stand on it, let alone do anything else...? I was worried, big time. My running career was as good as over...
First things first - sod the infection, stab it a dozen times with a safety pin to let all the serum/plasma out in order to (create a fountain effect) get rid of the swelling, let the air get to it and let it breathe. Just before I went to bed, I washed it then rubbed some Germolene into it. Big mistake. I climbed into bed and closed my eyes. However, as the anaesthetic in the ointment started to work, so the pain/discomfort level began to rise. And rise. And rise... I didn't get much sleep that night. I could feel my pulse thumping away in my foot, and runners paranoia had set firmly in my mind "What if I can't run properly? How much is this going to affect my training? Will I still be able to run the marathon in eight weeks time?"

A few days off from running was not going to suddenly affect my fitness levels, although what it was going to do for my piece of mind was another story... So okay, to be fair, as I'm a runner who's training for a marathon, a big blister on the ball of my foot isn't the best thing in the world, but on the grand scale of things - it could be a hell of a lot worse. It's not exactly a broken limb, sprain, twist etc. I didn't even break the skin. (Unless you count stabbing it with a safety pin) With care, attention, good socks, and copious dollops of Vaseline and Germolene, I expect it to be uncomfortable and, at times, downright painful. I don't expect it to completely wreck my training. What I didn't expect was just how upset I would get from being unable to run...

Come Tuesday morning it was obvious that I wouldn't be training that day. No early morning jog, no lunchtime swimming, no quality session on the track in the evening - complete rest and let nature take it's course. My primary goal would be, for the time being, to aim for the Bourton on the Water 10K the following Sunday. Triple Tuesday simply didn't happen. It wasn't a triple, a double, or even a mono Tuesday. Instead I hobbled about all day, thoroughly depressed and close to tears, my mind full of an irrational fear that I had ruined all of my hopes for a sub-three hour marathon finish. I use the word 'irrational' because that's exactly what it was; and I know it was, and in retrospect it was an over the top reaction. But at the time... Once work was over for the day I got home, took off the blister plaster that I'd adhered to my foot before work, elevated the limb and watched Star Wars Episode Three: Revenge of the Sith. There's nothing like a bit of sci-fi escapism to soothe my soul...

Wednesday brought with it a ray of hope. I was pretty much able to weight bear again, and after I'd finished work for the day, I went for a swim. I won't lie; it stung a bit when I got into the pool. After that, thankfully, I was able to swim with no discomfort and, in what was my first swim session of the week, thankfully I was able to put in a half decent distance and give both my arms a very much needed work out. When I got out of the pool I found that a few people, who knew of my woes via Facebook and this Blog, where rather interested in seeing how bad my blister was, drawing a few complimentary "oohs". Well, it must have been bad if it was enough to stop me from running.

Thursday brought a partial smile to my face. Because I ran.  There was no point in trying to make up the mileage that I had lost over the past few days, so I simply followed the days schedule and managed to put in a 6.5 mile run. Well, when I say 'run' - I hobbled in a fast manner. In fact, my 'hobble' was done at an average of 6:39/mi - marathon pace. Before going for the run I smeared copious amounts of Vaseline and hoped for the best. By the time that I had completed 4 miles I was showing signs of discomfort. I stopped briefly to take off my shoe & check the foot. The Vaseline had evaporated so I replaced the shoe, and continued on my way. The brief hiatus didn't seem to affect my pace too much, however, what I hadn't realised was that I was over compensating and placing more weight/stress upon my other leg. I found out that little fact when I had a sports massage after work. Probably one of the most painful massages I have ever had...

With the sole of my foot regaining it's strength with every passing hour, it was time to fall back on my old faithful Friday standard - the hills of Compton Dando. (That is the way of the weasel.) Instead of charging around at my usual pace, however, I opted to exercise caution and 'slowly jog' around the route. I could have done with some company to take my mind away from my foot, but with only myself for company, I managed to get 7.5 miles under my belt, without caning myself to do it, and still managing to get around in a sub-6:55/mi pace. The turn of speed was most probably due to the enforced rest.  In my mind it was just a process of slowly building up the strength in the sole of my foot which will, in turn, allow me to run faster. The restorative power it had on my mind though was worth more to me than the run though, ensuring a turnoff spirits that I could not have foreseen two or three days beforehand.
After work I packed the car, collected MrsC from her place of work, and headed up the M5 to the in-laws house in Broadway, in the Cotswolds. Our home away from home...

Give my regards to Broadway...

I was up early on Saturday morning for an easy 7 mile jog around the snow-dusted 'chocolate box' villages of Broadway, Willersey, & Childs Wickham before breakfast and catching up on all the local news and gossip with the family. Days such as these provide me with restorative powers - soul food as it were. To round the day off, as is always the way the evening before a race, a sumptuous pre-race pasta feast was prepared and devoured. Going hungry at the in-laws is one thing that will never happen...

The next morning, for the third year in a row, we headed into the picturesque village of Bourton-on-the-Water for the annual 10K race. This is small race, it only has 570 places available, it doesn't have an on-line registration system, relying on good old-fashioned printed entry forms & cheques, yet it is so renowned as a very flat, and fast, race, that entries are sold out within 4 or 5 days. International standard runners, such as Dan Robinson, Alyson Dixon, Ben Moreau, and Gemma Turtle have been known to toe the start line. Indeed last year, when MrsC was injured and unable to run in the race herself, she passed her number on to the woman at the top of the waiting list - Irish international runner Rose-Anne Galligan...
As the day before, the temperature stayed below freezing and the odd light flurry of snow blew through the village streets. Wrapped up like an Eskimo on my top half, and sporting my very short running shorts on my bottom half, I trotted around the village, and surrounding countryside, for a 5K warm up, finishing a short while before the race started, and thus helping my body temperature to stay as warm as possible on such a cold start line. The starting siren was sounded, by a fire engine of all things, and the stampede that always heralds a fast race was underway.

Under starters orders - Bourton-on-the-Water 10K

 The race consists of two laps of the village, including crossing over two very small bridges, then out past the Model Village and the Birdland Park & Gardens, along country lanes, around a traffic cone, then back the way you came, finishing with another two laps of the village. I pushed my body as hard as the rarefied cold air would allow my lungs to work. The blister on the sole of my right foot displayed no discomfort, although there was a strange pain in the big toe of the left foot, but the most discomfort was felt in both of my quads. There was a fallow period at around the 4.5 mile mark when as I felt the lactate building up in my legs (all this fast paced stuff is too much for me) the pace dropped slightly, but I carried on pushing through the pain knowing that every step was taking me closer to the finish line. And so it was that, thankfully, I re-entered the village and completed my requisite two laps to cross the line in a time of 36:52 - just 3 seconds away from my personal best time!! Unbelievable!! I quickly found MrsC, donned a jacket and merrily trotted off for a 5K warm down. Unbelievably, my quads were as tight as a, very painful, drum and I was glad of the post-race jog to ease them back up a bit...

So, in the space of 6 days I had gone from the very depths of despair to putting in my second fastest 10K time ever. It's amazing how quickly the body and mind can do a quick about turn when you're determined to achieve the end goal...

Weekly totals:

Run miles: 33.9
Swim lengths/metres: 64/1600m

Sit-ups: 640

Press-ups: 320

Falling apart at the seams...

I should have read the sign...

77% of all accidents happen in the home, so, technically, it's safer to go out and play with the traffic... Last weekend I had to put some stuff up in the loft. The dust caused by the loft insulation causes my asthma to play up, so the rule in our house is that MrsC goes up into the loft and I pass everything up to her. Our loft hatch is, for some unknown reason, in our bathroom and the only way to open/close the hatch involves standing on the side of the bath. Last Saturday we'd put some things in the loft and, after closing the hatch, I jumped down from the side of the bath. As I landed I felt a sharp pain at the top of my foot. The pain was such that it elicited a cry of a non-biblical nature. The pain was short-lived and I got on with whatever I was doing. However, after Sundays Wiltshire 10 race I felt further discomfort in my ankle, and again after swimming and playing badminton in the evening. Whilst not painful enough to prevent me from training, it has been sufficient for me to swallow some ibuprofen (this runners recreational drug of choice) and rest the ankle whenever possible. So it's a good thing that I'm on annual leave this week...

Bigger on the inside

On a rest day from training I find it difficult to motivate myself to do anything... On annual leave from work, and lacking the tight structure of my usual working week, I find it difficult to even find the motivation to train properly. The lure of extra long lie-ins with a a cup of tea and a good book (or, in my case, a copy of either Runners World or Doctor Who Magazine) makes it hard to rise and exercise (Saying that, I did find time to read Chrissie Wellingtons autobiography 'A Life Without Limits') I've really had to force myself to get up and do my usual press-up/sit-up routine. Thankfully my hyper-activity won't let me stay there too long and, eventually, I do manage to get up and go. I seem to have spent a lot of time watching old episodes of Doctor Who, Mrs Browns Boys, University Challenge, Star Wars, and, for some strange reason, Fantasia & Fantasia 2000...

Triple Tuesday arrived and I dragged myself out of bed for my press-up/sit-up routine, before heading out the door for a 5.5 mile run which I completed in just under 39 minutes.
My lunchtime coached swim session was as hard as usual and, for the second time in my life, and for the second week running, I managed to swim a mile over the course of the session.

Whitehall Athletics Track aka 'Packers'

The evening training session saw me, once again, at the Whitehall Athletics Track. The session was 8x 800m with a 2:30 minute rest between each rep, which, as I explained in a previous Blog Posting, are affectionately known as 'Yasso 800s'. The last time I ran these I had only done 6 reps and had covered each rep in approximately 2:45-2:250 per 800m, clocking the last rep at 2:38... This time however, I covered the first rep in 2:46; the next five reps in 2:39 each; followed by a 2:40; before finishing with a 2:37... It hurt, but it was worth it. It instilled a little bit more self-belief into me as I was really, really, surprised that I was able to sustain that level of top end consistency throughout the session.

According to my schedule, Wednesday aka 'hump day' brought with it a 15 mile run. Oh joy... Okay, so I got the distance slightly wrong and clocked up 16 miles instead, but what I found so weird about this run was that I was on the receiving end of some of the finest British weather that I've ever had the displeasure to run in. Not only was it bitterly cold throughout, with a lovely cold breeze thrown into the mix every now and again, but it started off snowing, then it was sleet, then drizzle, a very brief glimpse of sunshine, then more sleet and even more drizzle..!!! The run itself was good, considering the beasting that my quads had received the previous evening, and not only did I manage to run at a decent pace, completing the run in a time of 1:56:20, but I also managed, for probably the first time in my life, to execute a negative split. Pretty good going for somebody so lethargic of body...

I just didn't want to get up out of bed and go for a run on Thursday morning. So I didn't. I stayed in bed for a while longer than is normal for me, had a bit of a lazy morning, before MrsC and myself met an old friend for lunch at the Cafe in Bristol Guild on Park Street (lovely food but, a tad pricey if you fancy shopping in there...) When we got back home later that afternoon I got changed and trotted off for a quick 5.5 mile run. My quads were still tight from the previous day so, although it felt as if I was putting in a swift pace, it was, in fact, just a standard (for me) jog... Cue a quiet evening in front of the telly... (Well, it was Valentines Day after all.)

It hurts here, here, here, & here...

Friday morning began with me returning to the theme of 77% of all accidents happen in the home. Not fully awake I managed to fall down the stairs at 5:30am whilst heading for the kitchen to put the kettle on... Why up so early? Another luncheon had been arranged, this time with offspring #3, but 'the schedule' called for a 13 mile run; and who am I to go against the schedule? So, now with a bruised sole of foot, I went through my week-day sit-up/press-up, jog around the block routine to ensure that all was alright with my middle-aged body... As soon as I'd completed the first mile of the run I knew that I was in trouble. My quadriceps were tight and painful. So tight and painful, in fact, that I dropped the pace and intensity of the run. By golly it ached... By the time I had run 7 miles I knew that I was going to cut it short. My mind was set on self-preservation with a view to performing well in Sundays twenty mile race, so a two mile loop was summarily exorcised from the planned route and I headed for home. Once there I ran a Radox bath, clambered in, and soaked my aching legs...

Saturday mornings 5.5 mile jog reminded me that, given 18 hours rest, the pain in my quads could recede, leaving me with only the nagging pain in my left ankle to worry about. So, with this in mind, we packed the car and headed along the M4 to Reading where we spent probably far too long wandering around the large Oracle Shopping Centre before moving on to our final destination for the day, the Premier Inn at Grazeley Green. Somewhere along the way however, something went wrong in my race day planning... My food grazing was starting to affect my digestive system. In view of this fact I posted on Facebook that, although it was a bit late to give things up for Lent, but, in view of all the crap I'd eaten of late, I was giving up all kinds of those horribly addictive cheesy biscuit things as well as all forms of chocolate...

In the morning I felt no better. In fact, I felt worse and my running mojo was missing. I couldn't remember the last time that I felt so sick & nervous before a race. If I could have given up my running addiction then Sunday would have been the day... We arrived at the Bramley 10/20 race, in Bramley of all places, and walked to the race HQ/start area where I was able to meet up with some other members of Bitton Road Runners and share pleasantries before the start.

The entrance to Stratfield Saye Estate (Pre-verge decorating)

Once the race started I quickly settled into a 6:20/mi pace but I knew that I was in trouble. Within two miles my stomach lurched and quickly went into spin cycle. I ran to the opposite side of the road, paused for a moment, then brought up my breakfast. Feeling slightly better, I quickly picked up the pace and all was well; for a few more miles. At the gated entrance to the Duke of Wellingtons Stratfield Saye Park estate I once again redecorated the verge. This was starting to get silly. I got to the 10 mile/halfway point of the race at 1:03:00 and veered off the course, diving into the nearest portaloo. (Not literally, obviously. That'd be too literal a definition of 'in the s**t'). At 1:06:00 I was back on the course and quickly started making up for lost time. Until, that is, the 11 mile mark when I noticed an all too familiar pain under my right foot. A blister; and by the felt I could tell that it was shaping up to be a big one... I had to make a decision; either stop at a first-aid post for a dollop of Vaseline to smear over the blister, or try to ignore the pain and carry on running as fast as I comfortably could. I opted for the latter and pushed on, only slowing momentarily on a further two occasions to decorate the verge... Limping badly I crossed the finish line in a time of 2:11:45 - a Personal Best time of over three & a half minutes . Huge waves of emotions crashed into me; elation, pain, exhaustion,  thirst, and worst of all, hunger. Bearing in mind that I'd been emptying my system of nourishment virtually all morning, my body had been working on an empty tank. How, I don't know, but work it had...

Nothing left to give...

After the race I removed my sock to reveal a 2" long & 1/2" wide blister that started just below my big toe and traversed the ball of my foot. Nice... That'll be sore for a while... Whilst getting dressed I consumed a bottle of For Goodness Shakes recovery drink and a couple of mini muffins. Within two minutes I wished I hadn't as they came straight back up. Outside the race HQ I sat quietly on a bench an sipped some water in order to rehydrate. Not long after that I was able to lie back and regain a bit of energy via a quick snooze before heading back to the car and then home.

My average pace throughout the race had been 6:33/mi, as opposed to 6:46/mi the previous year, which, in theory equates to a prospective marathon finishing time of 2:51:43. That sub-three hour target for the London Marathon is now surely within my grasp... IF I can get my head straight, my fuelling system correct, and start eating properly as opposed to grazing away on junk food... 

Weekly totals:

Run miles: 75.01
Swim lengths/metres: 64/1600m

Sit-ups: 640

Press-ups: 320

All I have is all I've worked for...

I've said it before and I'll say it again - all I have is all I've worked for.... I'm the wrong side of forty, an ex-smoker, an ex-heavy drinker, an ex-overweight couch potato, and not a natural runner.

Wide load circa 2007

I start jogging many moons ago, just to try and get a bit fitter, but back then 3 miles would have had me sweating for England and a wonderful shade of burgundy. If I did run then I would have to take the rest of the day off. When I left my second wife, and moved, pennyless and possessionless, into a one bedroom flat in Bristol, I started to use jogging as a way to explore the neighbourhood. This coincided with an entry into the London Marathon and, although woefully pitiful as it was, my 'training' continued to be a plod around the streets of Bristol. I think my longest training run was 15 miles and I had to take the next couple of days off work to recover... After that marathon I vowed "never again". 'Never again' lasted about three years, then, somewhere around my 40th birthday, I had a running epiphany. I joined the beginners group at Bitton Road Runners and, basically, just plugged away at this running lark. A little by little I got fitter, lost weight, and improved my running. Fast forward six years, and six more marathons, and I'm still not a natural runner; everything I've achieved, in life as well as in running, can be put down as a stubborn refusal to let my body or brain tell me when I'm beaten...

Monday was a rest day and I needed it. My body was feeling washed out after the previous days long run, so I had a light swim, with pool bouys, at lunchtime and left it at that. Which was a good thing too, as, after a few weeks of absence, Triple Tuesday raised it's ugly head once more. I awoke from my slumbers, did my usual early morning set of 64 press-ups & 128 sit-ups, and headed out of the door into what would was already a fairly cold and breezy day. I knew that this run was going to be a difficult one as I turned into a sharp headwind after only 400m. Then, at 6:20am, roughly 2.2 miles into the run, my stomach lurched, went into 'spin cycle' and I was mugged by the Gingerbread Man. Thankfully I was rescued by Ronald McDonald. Well, not the red-nosed freak of commerce himself, but, just as my digestive system moved into 'bomb doors doors open', the Golden Arches hove into view which, in my predicament, only meant one thing - toilets! Relief was quickly found and I was able to carry on my merry way with no further mishaps. (As an aside - why the hell do people buy McDonalds food for breakfast? There was a queue at the counter as well as the drive-through...! Seriously folks, a bowl of sugar-coated cereal is a hell of a lot easier, cheaper, healthier, and stands little chance of containing a faller at the 8th fence in the Grand National...)
My coached swimming session at lunchtime saw a momentous moment in my progress. After 20 lengths as a warm-up, followed by the main 'fitness session', I realised that I was only 12 lengths short of a mile, so I cracked on with it. I eventually stopped after completing a grand total of 70 lengths! 1750 metres! I was quietly very, very, chuffed with that... Strange that it happened on the very day that Rebecca Adlington announced her retirement. (Maybe she was aware of my feat and was worried about the extra competition. Or maybe not.)
Tuesday evenings track session was a bit of a toughie. Not only was there still a cold wind and a spot of diagonal driving rain to contend with, but the session itself, four repetitions of 300m/500m/300m was only ever going to hurt me if I put the efforts in. And it did. (Which must mean that I had put the efforts in...) I felt seriously sick and would happily have walked away halfway through the session, and hidden in the toikets. But I didn't, and before I knew it we'd reached the end of the session. They say that there is such a thing as a 'runners high'. I think I achieved that 'high' when I finished the session and stopped running because I felt a hell of a lot better than I did whilst I was charging around that track...

Wednesday saw a first in my running career. Due to work pressures and logistics, a post-work run was on the cards. So, when I got home, I changed into my running kit and trotted off through Hillfields, down Fishponds Road, up Muller Road, & down Gloucester Road, to meet Mrs C from work. From there I ran back along the railway path to Hillfields. However, as I approached Morrisons, in Fishponds, I realised that it had been hours since I had last eaten (couscous & mixed bean salad for lunch) and now, 11 miles into the run, my stomach told me that I was running on empty. Completely empty. So empty that running in a straight line was requiring considerable concentration, and the growling noise in my stomach was becoming audible. And I was still just over two miles from home... I was in trouble. Luckily, in her pannier bag, MrsC had some pizza that she'd had boxed up after a working lunch. Even luckier for me was that it was a vegetarian pizza, so she fished a slice out of the box for me and I ate it as I carried on jogging along, allowing me to finish the run. As a Hogweed Trotter friend of mine later pointed out to me via Facebook - if eating pizza mid-run is good enough for Dean Karnazes, then it's good enough for me... Although DK ate a whole pizza rather than just a slice. (A good way to carbo-load on the go, but it's not something that I'd like to make a habit of...)

Relief yes, but miles away from an Andrex puppy

In order to free up some post-work massage and recovery time, I decided to run again on Thursday lunchtime. A 'gentle' eight mile route that took in some nasty hills felt quite a slog and, unfortunately, I was plagued, once again, by the Gingerbread Man and had to make an unscheduled pit-stop in the undergrowth. Thankfully I was running in the countryside and not the local park... (Blimey, that'd scare the living daylights out of a dog walker...)

Most of the same route (but not the pit-stop) was revisited the very next day as I ran a hilly 10 miles in the company of 2:40 marathoner MattEll, who dragged me up some nasty inclines, including the infamous Peppershells Lane & Slate Lane, ensuring that, no matter how much I bitched & moaned, slowing to a walk was not an option. I say that I 'bitched & moaned', but even up the steepest parts of the route my pace never dropped below 7:30/mi, which, as my legs were still aching from everything else I'd asked from them lately, was fairly surprising. The 10 mile route was completed in a, for me, rather satisfactory time of 1:10:00, whilst I'm sure that Matt was just happy to have some company whilst he jogged along. I've said it before, but I'll say it again, but when I run with others who are much faster than myself, I am sure that they drop their pace for the run, whilst I have to up my game and climb out of my comfort zone... If you fancy sampling some of the delights of the hills surrounding the Compton Dando area then I suggest that you enter this years Pensford 10K. It's an experience that you're not likely to forget in a hurry...
Post work I headed to the pool grabbed a couple of floats, which I put between my legs, then, just using my arms for power, ground out 30+ lengths before heading home.

An uneventful early morning 5.5 mile jog allowed me to spend the rest of Saturday vegging out on the sofa, watching some rugby on the telly, and completely failing to complete the crossword in the paper. It did, however, allow me to rest up before Sundays race - The Wiltshire 10.

 My race day routine was the same as it has been for years: An early morning alarm, stumble downstairs, put the kettle on, stumble back upstairs to the bathroom, stumble back downstairs again, make coffee & porridge (not in the same bowl) eat porridge & drink coffee, go for a jog around the block (in the rain), get home, go back to the bathroom, put on race kit followed by a tracksuit, then head out of the door. This week saw a trip to Melksham. (Ooh, gird my loins...!!!)

Lacock - Possibly picturesque on a dry day...

It was raining when we left for Melksham, it was raining when we arrived at Melksham, and apart from a brief lull for the first half an hour or so of the race, it pretty much rained all the time that I was there. After a crammed warm-up run, I joined the throng of runners mustering for the start of the race and briefly caught up with a few other runners from the Club, as well as a few from different clubs. The local running scene, being what it is, is such that there are always a few familiar faces to say hello to. You also get to know who runs at much the same pace as yourself and who is the person to try and beat. The organisers shouted "go" and we went!!!
The race itself wound it's way out of Melksham, out and through Lacock, home of 'Pride & Prejudice', 'Harry Potter', & 'Cranford', then back into Melksham again for the finish. Now, I'm sure that it was a very scenic route; unfortunately it was raining, the clouds were low, it was basically grey & overcast, which kind of prevented me from noticing any of the scenery, and besides, I was more concerned with trying to find the shallowest parts of the lake-sized puddles to run through... So, in all honestly, I can't say much more about the race apart from that it was wet. Very wet. So wet that even a duck would moan about the wetness of it all...Oh, I did get a cheer from some people queuing up to get into Lacock Abbey... (Bloody tourists...) Anyway, I don't wish to sound conceited or 'up my own arse', but I finished the race in 14th place, splashing across the finish line in a time of 1:03:38 (avg. 6:23/mi) and frankly I wasn't too impressed. Why? Well, not because of my time or position... No. I was supposed to be running at marathon pace (6:45/mi) to give me a time of 1:07:30... I really must learn to get my pacing right instead of charging off like a demented whippet...
In order to keep a promise, after the race I put on a dry jacket and, as part of my post-race warm down, jogged back down the course until I met up with a couple of friends from the club who were running at a slower pace than I had. I then turned and headed towards the finish with them and saw them across the finish line. We may not all run at super-fast speeds and times, but we are all runners, and to each of us, our times are relevant to us... I may take part in races, but I don't race. My only true opponents are myself and my watch. Everything else is inconsequential...

The traditional Sunday evening trip to the swimming pool, followed by a game of badminton rounded off the week in a nice way. Especially as the following week was one where I was on annual leave...

Weekly totals:

Run miles: 61.91

Swim lengths/metres: 174/4350m

Sit-ups: 640

Press-ups: 320

Two Bridges & Problems with wind...

The marathon provides a good metaphor for life, but a real metaphor that you actually live. You think there are so many other things in life that look like things that are insurmountable and suddenly you realize what you are able to do...

Bleary eyed I crawled out of bed and fell into a wet and windy Monday morning. Lack of sleep has been beleaguering me for so many weeks now that a 5-6 hour sleep is viewed as a good result. There are some that would say "you're tired because you're over training". Well, the simple answer is "no". I'm tired because a) As opposed to my youth when I wouldn't have woken up if World War Three had started on my doorstep, these days I'm a very light sleeper, b) On a weekday my alarm goes off at 5:30am. My body clock has become hard-wired in such a way that I start to wake up at about 4:30-5am, and even on my days off I'm a very early riser, and finally c) There seems to have been hurricane force winds, howling gales, driving rain etc attacking my bedroom window since Christmas... I'm developing bags under my eyes that Barry Norman would be proud of... All of these things combined worried me as, according to my training schedule, I was about to embark on my highest mileage training week yet...

No good at easing the weather...

 But the wind this past week has been terrible!! (And I'm not talking about an all out attack of the Gingerbread Man) I thought Sundays Lliswerry 8 was a windy affair, but the gales that seem to be blowing strongly around the South West at the moment are even worse. I seriously fear for the safety of MrsC when she cycles both to and from work! After having a nice easy swim at lunchtime, I tried to run after work on the Monday evening but gave up after just 5K due to the strong winds both knocking me around, and making it difficult to control my asthma. It was almost as if my breath was being taken away from me before I could even fill my lungs ready for the next one...



Tuesday lunchtime saw my usual good coached swim session, whilst Tuesday evening brought about my monthly torture - the Pomphrey Sports 5K. It used to be called The Bridge Inn 5K but a sports ground was built just up the road, so the race organisers, B&W AC, moved the race HQ there instead... 2.5K along a cycle/pedestrian path, running alongside the Avon Ring road, run around a traffic cone, then back to the beginning. At night, in the dark, with streetlights to guide you, Marshall's with torch lights on the darker corners, with the roar of the passing traffic in your ears... Not the most scenic of scenarios, granted, but the race itself is fast and a good test of metal. As it turned out, there wasn't much of a head-wind for the greater part of the course. There was a bloody big side-wind instead. The head-wind saved itself for the final kilometre, making for a very tough run for the finishing line... The bad weather had obviously given some of the regular runners a reason to stay at home in the warm, and it was a smaller than usual field that took off at the sound of the starters whistle. Due to the fact that the race starts, and finishes, under a bridge, plus the narrowness of the course, the first few hundred metres was, as always, a frantic melee of arms and legs as runners jostled for position, working hard to get past the runners who were a little further forward than  

You can't see the path as it's underneath the bridge (honest)

they should be (race etiquette: the faster the runner then the closer to the start line) whilst a small tail-wind pushed the runners on towards Emersons Green. I know there was a tail-wind as I'm hoping that my 5:38 first mile wasn't purely down to me going off like a complete lunatic. Although I normally do. I kept the race leaders in sight for the first kilometre then, as lactic acid started to build in my legs, they disappeared from view - although I did get to see them again as they came past me in the opposite direction. I tend to blot the vast majority of this race from my memory because, to be truthful, I run 5K races as hard as possible and they hurt... Before I knew it I had less than half a kilometre to go and I was battling the head-wind (oh joy) before crossing the line in 13th place with a time of 18:36, placing me as 3rd MV40. Now, if my maths serve me correctly, and with fellow club runner JaykeeBoy finishing as the 1st MV40, between the two of us we have effectively sown up the 1st & 2nd MV40 series prizes for a second consecutive winter season!! Mind you, we'll probably both still turn up next month and hammer ourselves into the ground just to be 100% certain...



Due to a lunchtime meeting (yes, I know, that sort of thing just shouldn't be allowed) Wednesdays longer distance, 12.7 mile run, was done after work. Anyone who has to put in double figure runs after work would tell you how mind-numbingly boring and lonely they are. Your mind can tend to wander and, after a long day at work, your body is more likely to want to give up, go home, and have a nice cuppa in front of the telly... My solution this day, which was to run into Bristol city centre, meet the wife and then run home again whilst she cycled alongside, seemed to work, and, consequently, it's something that I'd probably like to repeat in future weeks. One thing that did annoy me during the first half of this run though, was the number of cyclists, bereft of lights & bright/reflective clothing, who were cycling on the pavement, forcing me to move out of their way. What made matters even worse was that they were cycling along a pavement located right next to a designated cycle lane! Bar stewards.



Baldy Clark - not Superman

  On Thursday lunchtime I managed the most comfortable, easy, swim I'd ever managed; everything just seemed to click into place, whilst Thursday evenings run, done with fellow club runners, reminded me just how fast I am not. I struggled to stay up with the group for approximately 2.5 miles, but then they suddenly upped the pace and disappeared from sight! Thankfully I still knew the route which meant that I had no problem completing the run. It was a good reminder that I am not Superman, but a middle-aged bloke currently training at the outer limits of his capabilities. I know that to some I seem to be a good runner but, believe me, I'm not even gifted. It's taken years of hard work to get to the standard that I am at now, and I'm nowhere near the top of the pile. It's only three years since I gave up smoking & cut out/back the booze... 



Saga filling the pool with pensioners

 Due to yet another lunchtime site meeting (yes, I know, this sort of thing still shouldn't be allowed, and I did complain bitterly. Well, I asked nicely. In a blunt manner) Friday was a day that had, out of necessity, to start differently. I left home at 6:45am and, instead of heading straight into work, headed for the local swimming pool in order that I wouldn't miss my habitual end of week swim. It was a good session, although there was so many pensioners in the water that it looked like a Saga Ocean Cruise Holiday had capsized... The evenings post-work run was, once again, made more palatable by running into the centre of Bristol at 6:40/mi pace, meeting MrsC and then running home again, at 7:30/mi pace, whilst she cycled alongside. Good company, a good 11 mile run, and home by 5:15pm, equals, in my book, a good training session.

Saturday saw a trip up to the Oxstalls Tennis Centre in Gloucester for the final GAAA Cross Country fixture of the season. It was here that I was also reminded that I am not super-human. It was also here that I voiced the opinion that I should consider retiring from taking part in cross-country races. (Obviously, I didn't really mean it, but at the time I was deadly serious...) A lap of a small field, followed by a run along a river embankment, and back to the starting area (a distance of 1.4miles) whereby you ran the same loop a further three times for a total distance of 5.4 miles. But, I'm sad to say, that I had a bit of a humour by-pass. The ground was, well, very sticky mud to say the least; the cold air made breathing difficult, and I wanted to stop for the loo. I voiced my discontentment to MrsC, who was freezing in support, but plodded on nonetheless. When my race was over, in a time of 37:58, all my concerns and discontent immediately vanished from my mind... Strange that. If I had a pound for every time, during a race, that I have told myself that this is going to be my last race, or that from now on I will only be a fun runner/jogger, then I'd have no need to play the Lottery...

The Bridge over the River Avon...

The next day, Sunday, an early start was on the cards. The alarm roused me at 5:30am, and after a small coffee & a pot of Oat So Simple, I headed out of the door for a quick jog around the block, just to ensure everything was working, before I got back and prepped myself for the weeks long run - 21 miles... MrsC wasn't feeling up to cycling the distance at low speeds, so we agreed that I packed a bag of clean clothes for her to bring to the end of my run, and that we'd meet on Pultney Bridge in Bath. Simple enough. As I was running solo, I packed a drink, waterproof coat, phone, & small first-aid kit into my Inov-8 running bag, strapped it to my back and headed out the door at 7:40am to begin my run. After first looping out through Kingswood, then down towards the centre of Bristol, I picked up the A4 outside Temple Meads Station and headed towards Bath. The weather was perfect for running; not too cold, and just enough moisture in the air to keep my core temperature down, but the running was, strangely, spot on... I was soon out of Bristol, through Keynsham, passing the house where I grew up & spent my childhood, and heading into Saltford, where I encountered MrsC, checking to make sure that I was doing okay as she headed towards our rendezvous in Bath, and a large group of Bitton Runners, heading in the opposite direction, who were also training for their respective Spring marathons. At no point during my run did I feel as if I was having to force myself along, nor did I feel as if I was going to struggle to finish the run; in fact I will go as far as saying that I was completely in control of the pace and that my running 'form' was spot on... I entered Bath at the 18 mile mark and followed the Bath Half Marathon course to my 21 mile finish point where I was greeted by Mrs C. Onlookers looked puzzled/bemused as I 'Mobotted' up to Pultney Bridge in a time of 2:31:31...

The best thing about this long run was that afterwards, I still felt good, not thoroughly exhausted. I still had the energy to wander around the shops in Bath with MrsC, but what impressed me most was that I could do that after I had run 21 miles at an average of 7:12 per mile - that equates to running a marathon in 03:08:46 !!! That sub-3hr marathon must now surely be within my grasp - if I stick to the game plan...

As is the norm I rounded the day off with an easy swim and a few games of badminton. I think I also earned the pint or three of Guinness I consumed afterwards too.

Weekly totals:

Run miles: 68.32

Swim lengths/metres: 142/3550m

Sit-ups: 640
Press-ups: 320