An expectant wobble...

With just six weeks to go until the London Marathon, there's been lots of exciting news in the Baldy household this week - and not all of it revolved around the news of the much-anticipated return of the Ice Warriors to Doctor Who for the first time since 1974... As I've mentioned in previous Blog posts, for more than the past few weeks now my mind has not been 'in the right place'. Aside from the physical 'wobble' that my body has been experiencing, coupled with the three-week training 'blip' (the huge blister, the muscles pulled by over-compensation, the extreme fatigue) I've been more than a little bit pre-occupied and, obviously, that has dragged my concentration away from the goal that is my sub-three hour marathon target. Now, I know that I've still been getting out there, getting the miles in and hitting my training properly, that much is evident with the good solid race times & PBs that I have been setting of late. Now, to 'lose your mojo', to have a mid-schedule 'wobble', to lose focus for a day or two, maybe even a week or two, is nothing new among marathon runners. But my 'wobble' was purely down to something else that I could do nothing about...

Thankfully, this wobble was stabilised a little after Sundays Bath Half and /8 mile warm down when, on Monday, I had a rest from training, took the afternoon off work and met MrsC in the centre of Bristol.
But the reason for this 'wobble'? Well, for weeks I've been telling little white lies to people. A few weeks ago I handed in my notice to the Running Club stating that I intended to step down from my position as one of the Club Captains. Since then I'd been keeping a low profile by not training with the Club on a Thursday evening, and when I turned up at races, or Tuesday track sessions, I'd breeze in, do what was required of me, then quietly disappear afterwards. The low-profile was because that I really didn't want to have to keep lying to people. People would ask me where MrsC was, or how she was, and I would fib and say that she "was fine" or that she "wasn't feeling too well" and I'd left her in front of the telly... At races, instead of being chief-cheerleader, club photographer, and keeper of many coats/car keys, as she usually was, MrsC would take a book & a folding chair, find a coffee shop, stay in the car, or stay in the race HQ.


This was how the news was announced on Facebook...

And the reason for all these fibs, evasiveness, deception, and the low profile? MrsC is pregnant and il bambino is due in September...!! Amazing news or what? I am so very chuffed and not at all worried by the daunting prospect of impending fatherhood again; even though it may well curtail some of my running activities (a bit). And, I know what you're thinking - I'm too old to be a Dad again. Funnily, a couple of my grown-up off-spring made the very same comment to me when I gave them the good news... So, now with the truth in the open there is no further need for secrecy & half-truths etc. I apologise to all I lied to, but you can understand the reason... Sorry!

The following day, with grin fixed firmly upon face, we broke the news to our respective colleagues. I decided not to run in the morning, due to sore quads, and opted for just the lunchtime coached swim session and a track session in the evening.
The swimming pool was very busy. It was hard to build up a rhythm in the swimming lanes as, being too fast for one lane and too slow for another, there, by necessity, was quite a bit of stopping to let others past me. But, by the end of the session I had completed 50 lengths and was thoroughly exhausted.

Smokey, but no Bandit...

The track session in the evening was, for me, tough. Not simply because of the three sets of 600m/400m/300m/200m efforts with 100m walked recovery, but because somebody in the adjoining allotments was having the worlds smokiest bonfire, and, because there was very little breeze, the smoke just kind of hung over the athletics track. Although I felt quite good, I could still feel Sunday in my legs and I wheezed my way through the session before returning home smelling as if I'd been playing with a bonfire all evening...

Wednesdays long run, through the brilliance of flexi-time, saw me put in during an elongated lunch break. After a loop of part of Keynsham, I ran along the side of the Avon Ring Road to Hanham. After a brief stop in the public-loos (again), I headed up through Kingswood and dropped down to Warmley Station. From there I ran along the Bristol-Bath Railway Path to Bitton, and then back to Keynsham, for a grand total of 12.8 miles. By the end of the run my legs felt very tight and very sore.

Voluntary mugging

They still felt the same way the following day when I jogged a 6 mile loop, via Saltford and Bitton, during my lunchbreak. After work I had what can only be described as a painful massage. Seriously, my quads, hamstrings, and calves were as tight as a drum, and to ease them up again a lot of pressure, and elbows, was applied. It's difficult to explain a sports massage, as opposed to a holistic or Swedish massage, but, basically, it's a type of massage that is used to work on athletes of all abilities, not just the elites. People who do sports massage can be professional massage therapists or some athletic trainers may also do it. However, although it isn't a specific technique, it requires extra training in anatomy & physiology, as well as working with injuries, the need to have an understanding of how the body moves and works during the many sporting events.
In the evening I jogged over to the Running Club to catch up with old friends and spread the good news about the pregnancy, and, as I was there anyway, I then jogged a slow 5.4 mile route with a group of runners. By the time I arrived back at the Club, MrsC had arrived in order to give me a lift home.
By the time I got home I was absolutely exhausted. I cannot remember ever being so tired during a training schedule. To tell the truth, I'm starting to get to the point where I am seriously considering my options with regard to training. I just seem to be stuck in a vicious cycle of work, train, eat, work, train, eat, sleep, and repeat. I'm almost losing track of the days...

Just a small cuppa...

After an awful nights sleep (why do they call it a bad nights sleep even though you've hardly had more than a snooze and you basically laid in bed all night watching the minutes tick by on the clock?) I felt more than a little rough in the morning. Coffee helped. To help with my diminishing energy supplies (Just how am I going to cope once we have a shit-covered screaming bundle of joy?) I dropped both the mileage and the pace of my lunchtime run and elected to jog around the country lanes whilst chatting to a colleague from work. It was a wise decision, one of almost restorative powers as, for once I didn't work myself into the ground and actually enjoyed myself. Just two blokes out for a jog and putting the world to rights along the way...

Saturday was taken as another day of rest for two reasons. Firstly I was sharing the driving duties as MrsC and I were, once again, heading for the Cotswolds and the home away from home that is the in-laws abode; and secondly, I had a half marathon race booked for Mothering Sunday that I was hoping I could perform well in...

Sundays race was the Blackminster Half Marathon, also known as 'The Scorpion Run' because it had a 'sting in its tail'. Namely what was marketed as a bloody big hill. In the last mile. Nice...

After yet another awful nights 'sleep', race day arrived and the temperature was firmly set at zero. It was bitter out. Seriously bitter. Their was a cold wind blowing and, unfortunately for the 256 runners, that cold wind whipped across the countryside and blew in a manner which chilled every bone in the body. The race started outside Blackminster Business Park, and for the first mile I was in the lead. Thereafter I slipped back through the lead pack until I was able to settle into a comfortable pace. I had hoped that, building upon last weekends Bath Half, I would have been able to hunt for another PB, but the cold, thin, air and headwind, put paid to that idea, so I stuck steadfastly to a 6:20/mi pace. After initially struggling to get going, after about 6-7 miles it suddenly became easy. It was almost as if my body said, "yeah, okay, you've had to force me to run but I'm okay on my own now..." The 'sting in the tail' wasn't as bad as it could have been. After training on the hills around Compton Dando for so many weeks, the 'sting' wasn't as bad as I was expecting. After reaching the peak then it was downhill all the way to the finish at Blackminster Middle School where I crossed the line in 9th position with a finishing time of 1:23:24, my 4th fastest Half ever!!!
After the race I checked my position with the race organiser to see if I'd won a prize. The reason I asked was that MrsC's family were gathering for a Mothering Sunday lunch and, if I hadn't won anything then I wouldn't wait around for the prize giving. "Yes", he said, "you've won the Vet-40 prize." Brilliant! I got changed into some warm clothes and waited for the prize giving, whereby I watched the Vet-40 prize be presented to a bloke who'd finished a couple of positions in front of me...
It begs the question: How on earth can you not figure out who's won what when you only have 9 peoples results to compare...?

So, a sort of good end to a mediocre week. I've had a blip in my training which hasn't been good for me mentally, but, fingers crossed, all should return to normal now. Yes, I've lost some of my mileage, and one long run was cut a bit short, but there's no long term damage done, although my weight is creeping up. (I must try to remember that it's not me who has to eat for two)
Next week sees a return to high mileage. Should be fun. I think. Six weeks. Complete focus. Hit every training target between now and London. Bring it on...

Weekly totals:

Run miles: 57.03

Swim lengths/metres: 50/1250m

Sit-ups: 640
Press-ups: 320

Buns in oven: 1