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

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