Wednesday 16 April 2014

Brighton Marathon 2014

So here it is. My post about the Brighton Marathon. A little later than I'd hoped but I experienced something after the race which prevented me from getting my thoughts on the whole thing out. I will try and put that into words later... I get mindful of rambling too much...

A couple of my friends from work were going to be at the race (one - Colin - as a pacer, the other - Tom - looking after lots of pacers and the athlete who would go on to finish second). I had to tell them that I was taking part in the race as there was no doubt I'd see them there.

I spent the Friday before the big day at work, completely unable to concentrate on anything. The feeling was very similar to how you feel pretty much all the live-long day on Christmas Eve when you're a kid, an excited and more than a little bit desperate churning inside. You know something big is coming, you can't wait to tear off the wrapping paper but you don't know if it's going to be the He-Man Snake Mountain with voice changing wolf head and working trap door that you wanted or just a poo in a box.
Best. Present. Ever
We set off early Saturday afternoon, arrived in a chilly and slightly blustery Brighton around 2pm and pegged it straight to the expo to collect our race numbers. There weren't really any bargains to be had at the expo but I did treat myself to a pair of hot pink calf guards.

Brighton is somewhere we really enjoy spending time. Mostly going to pubs, dribbling over the guitars in GAK, going to more pubs and spending far too much money in Dave's comics so it was very strange to be there and not have those things to do. We sat quietly in a cake shop scoffing carb loading with lemon sponge and milkshakes and watched it absolutely bucket down outside.

We both managed a pretty good night's sleep and woke on time to a very grey and overcast but thankfully dry sky. After a pre-race brekkie of peanut butter and honey bagels, his accompanied by a banana and mine by a nice healthy Mars Bar (I'm allergic to bananas, you know), it was race gear on and out the door. We followed the snake of people wearing running kit up to Preston Park, dropped our bag off at a truck, donned our bin bags and joined the queue for the loos. Someone had left an orange in the one I used. I did not take it with me.

Not entirely sure where time had gone, we had no time to take in the atmosphere (or get nervous) as it was coming up to 9:15am - showtime! As we walked up to the red start pen the gun went off and BAM we were running a marathon. Just like that. Blokey didn't even have time to get his Garmin going... We ran across the line past Paula Radcliffe (amazing hair) and within the first 150 meters or so found ourselves at a bottle neck, which forced everyone to stop and walk. This happened a couple of times but cleared up super quickly and we were on our way.

The route took us round some pleasant residential areas with some nice looking shops I'd never seen before (including a clothes shop selling 'road kill couture') with a couple of gentle inclines before guiding us towards town. The streets were lined with people and as we ran past the Pavillion I heard our names being hollered from a traffic island full. Tom from work was waving and shouting very energetically which gave us a lovely boost. He also very kindly took some pictures (blokey is the chap wearing yellow and a beard).

I can't remember an awful lot about the first 8 miles or so but as we ran up the seafront towards Ovingdean the elite men's field were already coming back towards us. I spotted Colin doing his thing, waved like a loon and he nodded and gave me a solemn fist pump. Past the marina, up a fairly long incline, past a boarding school that like more like a lair for spies and up to Ovingdean. Conversation between us died down so, to lift the mood, I recounted the thrilling tale of how someone had left an orange in the portaloo. He said I should have eaten it. I said I could have eaten it because the skin would have protected the fruit from the toilet germs. A man turned round and I thought he was going to tell us to be quiet but instead he explained how he ran his marathon PB after eating a banana he'd found on the floor in the race village...

We'd loosely planned to go through the halfway point in 1:55 and I decided to keep quiet that we were actually two minutes ahead of schedule. We were both doing really well and I decided not to ruin the atmosphere with facts. Instead we ear-wigged a conversation between three guys, one of whom was advising his friend to remember that either "Charlie might have sh*t the bed" OR "Charlie might be sh*t in bed". Either way I wasn't sure what comfort this guy's friend was supposed to be taking from this. Back towards the crowds and I felt very sorry for the owner of the dog that was nomming on a discarded packet of orange flavoured energy gel.

We ran some more, people cheered a lot and we were suprisingly on course for what my running maths were telling me could be a 3hr 45min finish. Through Hove, past a band of children (whose singer would no doubt soon find himself victim to puberty) playing 'Word Up' and that was when it hit me: we only have single figures left to go.

I had heard that the road leading up to the power station was pretty bleak but had no idea until we were running up it that it had been dubbed the Road to Hell. We ran towards a group playing some awesome tribal sounding drums but, as we went past, they went quiet and, in a strange turn of events, all us runners began shouting "keep going!!" to the drummers. As we ran around what I think was some kind of industrial estate blokey began to flag. I tried to cheer him up to keep him going but he doesn't really respond well to that kind of thing.

At around 22 miles the route starts to head back to the sea front and he took a short walk break but managed to start up again.Then he stopped again and told me to carry on without him. I made the mistake of telling him to dig deep, there was little more than 5k to go and it would all be over, he'd never have to run again if he didn't want to. He told me he'd been digging as deep as he could since half way and had nothing left. I managed to get him going once more but then he stopped a third time and I knew that was it, I was going to finish this thing by myself.

I was terrified.

Off I went; I couldn't look back because I knew that if I did that I would stop for good too and he would be really upset with me. I got back on pace (we'd been averaging 8.27 minute miles for almost the entire way), shut my emotions off and let my legs get on with it. 23 miles, 24, 25... Someone had told me that the pier was the finish line and as I rounded the corner at the 26 mile marker I was literally distraught that the finish was nowhere in sight. For some reason this infuriated me and out of nowhere my legs just took off, desperate to finish. I'd later learn that I ran my final mile at 7:31 pace. I've never done the 'picking people off' at the end of a race before but everyone in front of me I just wanted to take down.

 

I saw Tom waiting at the finish gantry and ran towards him, stopping my Garmin at 3:51:12. He surprised me by yelling "keep going you haven't crossed the finish line!" but by then I had lost 14 seconds, crossing the chip mat in 3:50:26.

Someone put a medal over my head, Tom put his arms around me said "you did it - you ran a marathon!" but all I could think about was blokey and worry about where he was and how I would find him. Two minutes later he ran across the finish and someone put a medal over his head. He promptly took it off. We were given some breakfast biscuits, said goodbye to Tom and made our way to the Beach Village to get a beer. I had to dunk my breakfast biscuits in my beer just to be able to chew them. Classy.

 


After at least three beers (each) and many, many tears (just mine) we walked up to cheer the last few runners home. We yelled for them, we clapped and shouted their names, told them they were nearly there (they really were) and then headed back to our hotel, packed up and went home and just like that, it was all over.

To be continued...





Thursday 3 April 2014

Three more sleeps.

Three more sleeps.

That's all that's left between me, blokey and Brighton Marathon. I say 'all that's left' but in reality it feels as though this week is never going to end. Ever.

I can't say that I'm enjoying taper time. I've become used to running higher mileage and I feel a bit tubby and lethargic from running so much less and when I do run I'm finding it difficult to take it easy. But I haven't truly suffered from taper-madness which I feel truly lucky about and I think there are four reasons for this.

Tapier madness!
The first is that I know I have trained hard. I do think that I could have done some more and I'm sure that's natural but I was there for every single one of those tempo runs, all of those double run days, both of those 20 milers and most of the sessions on my training plan are ticked off. There is nothing left that can be done about the ones that aren't. I am at peace with that. Today.

I have had two episodes of bravery failure, both prompted by the fact that I read the marathon guide. Both times I had a marathon nightmare that night. In the first, the marathon was a three lap race in and around a huge stadium. When you completed a lap you had to do it again but backwards. It was dark by the time I finished and everyone had gone home. Then I dreamed that blokey won a spot prize and we were allowed to start in the elite pen. He went to the front and left me behind and I got trampled by the next wave. Make of that what you will.

Read at your peril!

The second reason is because I have managed to keep this endeavour under wraps. The lovely Katie of Splutter and Roll asked me on Twitter why I am doing this in secret and the question did make me wonder whether I just being a bit precious but my recent 'episodes' have cemented in my mind that I have done the right thing.

I work with some truly amazing honest-to-goodness athletes. The guy who sits opposite me at work is a 2:17 marathon runner. The guy who sits next to me may have retired from athletics now but still thinks, on the occasion that he does run, that 6 minute miles are a bit slow. Where I work, anything under 16 minutes for 5k is considered a bit slow.

Yep.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think that if they knew what I was doing they would think I was stupid. I know they would be extremely supportive and would give me some wonderful advice. And therein lies the problem. Every time I give the marathon proper airtime I just go into meltdown. The reason I can cope with taper is that I don't have people constantly asking if I'm ready for Sunday, no one is telling me nightmare stories about their marathon and no one is being indifferent to what I'm trying to achieve. Quite simply: I don't have to deal with the fact that on Sunday I will attempt to run 26 uncharted miles.

Reason number three is this blog and the subsequent people I have encountered through it both in real life and on Twitter / The Running Bug / UK Runchat. Talk about the kindness of strangers! I was actually very lucky recently to meet ASD and Si from the 100km to Brighton blog. These guys are so full of enthusiasm for the task ahead and have thrown themselves into it so wholeheartedly that you would have to be made of stone not to take on some of their buzz. I'm sure that anyone who reads this (if anyone does at all) already knows of these guys but I urge you, if you can, to sponsor them as they are really earning every penny for their charity, Tree of Hope.

I was also completely rumbled by Tess 'FitBits' Langley. I do hope I get to meet her at the weekend.

The final reason is because ultimately, I know and accept that none of this adventure has really been about me. It's all about blokey. And I say with a heavy heart that I feel like I've failed him in some way. If not for an idea of mine in the pub to conquer his insomnia I wouldn't even be writing this now. Marathon training appears to have no positive effect on this part of his life, in fact the long run days have actually made it worse. Regardless, he has put so much effort into meeting the sessions on the training plan. He looks fit and healthy. He's been so tenacious throughout and has rarely complained about the process and it turns out he's really good at running. He seems quite unfazed about Sunday and if he's not worried then why should I be?

We will do this. We will do this together. It won't be easy but we will get it done, put our medals on and head to the pub. It's what we do.

Funny thing is that secrets must be my thing because he doesn't (to my knowledge) know that I'm even writing this blog...

Photo courtesy of Born to Plod







Thursday 20 March 2014

Reading Half Marathon

Ah Reading. The one that was, but wasn't quite but still very much was.

In a bid to prevent blokey experiencing as little stress ahead of his first ever race as possible I booked us into the Reading Ibis Hotel. This meant not having to get up at a particularly ungodly hour and being able to get ourselves together at a leisurely pace. The pick up point to get us to the Madjeski Stadium was also only a few metres away so... happy days.


I love a list, me.




Having spent the day in Oxford (buying Primark hoodies to discard at the start line) we arrived in Reading fairly late. We were a bit worried when we arrived as the hotel was on the high street and Saturday night was in full swing in all it's youthful WKD-soaked glory. Thankfully, Ibis seems to take its double glazing duties very seriously and we had no noise from the street at all. We popped down to Jamie's Italian to load up on carbs and then headed back to our room, both very concerned that his insomnia would choose today to go utterly insane (my other half's insomnia that is, not Jamie Oliver's. I'm sure he sleeps very well). Alarm set. Lights out.

I won't say we leaped out of bed full of energy at 7am but get up we did, both having had some rest. It was mildly fitful, kind of Christmas eve style nervous rest, but it did the trick. I didn't quite plan how we were going to toast our tried and tested peanut butter bagel race breakfast so instead we scoffed a bag of pain aux chocolat - no complaints here, I tell ya!



Kit donned, pins attached, shoes on and we're out the door only to come face to face with the most gigantic queue for the race shuttle bus I have ever seen. It snaked around three entire streets and was growing rapidly. Oh dear.

Jumping forward in time slightly, I've read that lots of people had issues with the bag drop at the race. I wonder if we'd left our bags there and had to wait for ages my opinion of the race would've been lower. As it goes, from that giant snake of a bus queue I was bowled over by how well organised everything was. It only took us about 10 minutes to get on a bus (which might sound like a long time but you really had to see the queue) which left as soon as it was full and dropped us off at the stadium with loads of time to have a mooch. There were plenty of clean and well stocked portaloos and our only real worry at that point was that it was going to rain.

Oh yeah, and the 13.1 miles waiting for us.

We went to our start pen (also resplendent with loos!) and listened to the lady giving the announcements, chuckling when she pronounced Mizuno 'Mizunu' and when she announced elite athlete Paul Martelletti as Paul Marlinelli (we were nervous so most things at this point were very funny). The pen got more and more full. The sky got pretty dark. We eventually took off the Primark hoodies we'd become strangely attached to and shuffled along to the warm up. The gun went off a little bit late and I hear the fateful words:

"I need a wee."

So off to the side we go as hundreds of people pour past. There goes the 1:50 pacer. Then the 1:55 pace flag goes by and we're still not running. He finally emerges from the portaloo and we jog to the gantry, fiddling with our Garmins and smirking at each other like idiots. The smirking does not last long for me. Within the first mile my leg starts to throb again. Following my trip to the physio the pain I've been having has been manageable but today my leg decides to be difficult. For the first thee miles I can feel myself limping and it's hard to get my pace where I need it. I finally find my stride and the mile markers seem to be flying by. Blokey is tearing it up and I am hanging on to his not-at-all-literal coat-tails.

Coming back into town centre was mental - people were actually in the road on the course cheering their nuts off, which was both exhilarating and nerve wracking. We pass our hotel and there's a brief moment off wanting to plough through the crowds and head back to bed. We run past the Nags Head Beer Station (right past it - drat!) and there really aren't that many miles to go. I knew it'd be a close call but I'd been monitoring mile splits pretty closely and knew that if I could push a bit harder there was every chance we could make the sub 1.50 time we'd set as the ultimate goal for the day. This seemed even more achievable when we caught up with and took over the 1.55 pacer.

Between mile 11 and 12 is a stretch of very bleak main road. Very bleak indeed. There is no protection from the wind, which by then had really picked up, and I started to flag. The difficulty of this seemingly endless stretch was made even harder by the lady supporting a runner in close proximity to me. She ran alongside me for about 1/2 mile literally screaming GO KATY at the top of her lungs, right into my ear. I started losing it in my head and I wanted to cry. I really hope it spurred Katy on, though. We made the out and back stretch that brings you to the home straight to the stadium, now passing the 1.50 pacer. Signs started to appear: 1800 metres to go, 1200, meters to go, 800... things started to get a bit crowded and I struggled to find that extra bit of zing that I normally feel towards the end of a race and then BANG - blokey dropped me and made for the sprint finish! This lit a rocket up my butt and my legs came back to life and I don't know if I've ever run so flat out. I would like to say how amazing it was to finish in the stadium but I have no real memory of that part...

He was waiting for me just over the line and we just burst out laughing! My watch said 1:51:22 and although I was kicking myself that we were so close to our target it was still a PB for me by almost 5 minutes and no lame effort for his first ever race. My leg exploded and I hobbled along to the goody bags / medals area. I asked him how he felt after his first race. "Well," he says "I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. I felt pretty comfortable and I think I could have gone faster."


Medal and goody bag in hand we made our way back to the bus where my official finish time came through to my phone: 1:50:21. Blokey's was 1:50:14.

I won't lie, I was pretty proud of us both.

Now, I'm not sure I'd do Reading again. Not because there's anything wrong with the race, it was fantastic and I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone, but there are so many races out there that I want to try. The medal was brilliant, very weighty, and the goody bag was bountiful with treats and a tiny pack of Worcestershire Sauce that I appreciated for its sheer randomness (and for it's use a few days later during what could have been a gravy-tastrophe).

All in all, not a bad day at the office.

Friday 28 February 2014

Lessons in Love

Well smack me sideways and call me Judy - I have finally found a small window of time to update my little blog!

Sorry to have been so absent but juggling marathon training with work has left precious little time for anything else. But here we are in the days leading up to the Reading Half Marathon, aka Taper Week, aka A Week to Get Shiz Done.

Training has been going pretty well for me and Him Indoors. Even though his sleep patterns are still all over the place we've managed to stick pretty closely to our training plan. We had a proper belter of a long run a few Sundays back, a good 17 miler at a steady pace which took in St. James's Park, Green Park, Hyde Park and Regents Park. Tempo sessions have been going well and have become something I actually look forward to. He even did a ten mile run and came back with the words I never thought I'd hear: I quite enjoyed that.

A couple of Thursdays ago I had a really good fartlek (snigger) session. During the faster bits of running I felt strong and really confident that I'd made progress over the course of my training plan but when I hit my cool-down I noticed an odd sensation in my right leg, like someone really big had kicked me really hard wearing boots made of rocks. Friday was a scheduled rest day but this pain wouldn't go away.

Undaunted, on Saturday I treated to blokey to his first ever hill session. Eight lots of up-and-over Primrose Hill with a 30 second recovery in between.

Imagine it but more in focus and with a LOT more weather
Now the weather was not kind - it rained, it was freezing, it hailed and the wind was so strong that it almost took my legs out a couple of times - but he dropped me like a hot potato. If I didn't think so much of him I'm sure I'd have become sick of the site of the back of his head as he galloped, seemingly effortlessly, uphill.  After the session he landed another bomb on me: I think we should do more of those sessions.

Say whaaaaat?



Our long run the day after was not quite so joyous. I think I'd be generous to say that he had slept for around an hour on Saturday night but was still determined to bosh the three hour run on the plan. We set out at a pretty conservative pace and things were not going too badly. In fact we had a lovely surprise when we hit Green Park as we ran past the Run with Haile group, organised by Adidas. It was brilliant to see the man himself and a whole bunch of run-bloggers that I admire. We decided to pip in front of the group so as not to seem as though we were hitching a ride on someone else's star but every time we turned to look back there was a tide of blue t-shirted runners coming up behind us!

After about 1hr 45 blokey was showing signs that he was struggling but kept it to himself and managed to keep going. At just gone 2hrs 15 he had a small walk break but managed to carry on a bit further but I was a bit worried for him and myself. He couldn't breathe and every time we stopped it felt as though my leg was going to explode. We carried on with walk / run the rest of the way home and he was just in pieces, physically and mentally, in no way convinced that he will make the 26.2 miles we've committed to and it was hard work to try and help him understand that he'd still achieved so much that day. It was the longest and furthest he'd ever run and to do that when you're so barrel scrapingly tired is not a feat to be sniffed at. We all have bad days at the office and the best thing you can do after a bad run is just forget about it. Beating yourself up about is not going to change anything but it might just set you in the wrong frame of mind next time you're lacing up. Let go. Move on.

My leg pain forced me to take a week's enforced rest before I owned up to the fact that I might need some help. A very nice man at HFS physio gave me a thorough checking over and eased my fears that I'd have to drop out of my upcoming races, explaining that I'd tightened a muscle with my high mileage and that it was in a place that stretching just would reach. Cue some deep tissue massage and me trying my very best to man right up and not whimper too loud and Robert's your mother's brother* - woo hoo!

So why did I call this piece Lessons in Love? Yes, I may have seen the Level 42 video twice in the past week, but it's more than that. I certainly did not go into marathon training thinking that it would be a doddle. I love running and I don't regret a single moment of the journey so far but there have been down sides to the process:

  • I am tired a LOT of the time which makes me cry at dog food adverts on TV. After some sessions I can barely string more than two words together.
  • People keep telling me that I look tired. Even strangers.
  • I can't commit to any social engagements and am turning down friends left right and centre and because no-one knows that we're training this must be coming across as just plain rude.
  • People also tell me I've lost weight in a healthy looking way (which is good) but the downside is that I'm losing my boobs.
  • Hurting my leg and the pain required to get it fixed.
  • Etc etc
And that's the thing about marathon training. You've got to accept that for three or four months, this is your life and there are some tough balances to strike. As well as lots of positive things (and there are many) there is some pain and uncertainty but you have got to push through and you've got to REALLY want it.  I'm not sure why this has come as a surprise to me as I'm not new to running. It's been a hard lesson to accept to a certain extent but there it is.

I'll be running Reading Half Marathon this Sunday as prep for Brighton and I hope my legs and asthma both hold up to see me through to a sub 1:50 PB time. In the meantime, I'll leave you with this:




*Or Bob's your uncle.














Sunday 19 January 2014

I Can't Get No Sleep.

I was reminded of two important things recently.

1) Running in shoes that have passed their best is painful;*
2) Running with little to no sleep is also painful and does no good.

I took two days enforced rest to get over some seasonal germs. Thankfully, it was over quicker than an X-Factor winner's career so I felt safe enough to get straight back on my marathon training plan with a steady hour on Saturday morning.

I'm sorry, Steve who?
Something unusual and lovely happened. My cold had aggravated my asthma a bit (not so lovely) and my blokey says he'll come on the run with me, just in case. It's the first time we've run together in a loooong time; not just because he hates running but also because the last time we ran together he left me in a cloud of dust after about 2 minutes and I spent 20 minutes looking for him, unaware that he was already home and in the shower. Hmmm.

True to his word, he ran every step of the way with me and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I noticed some discomfort in my feet and lower legs but put it down to tying my shoes too tight as it eased up when I stopped to loosen my laces. He also seemed to really enjoy the run and was pleased to discover that I was telling the truth when I promised that the canal route I had planned was chock full of dogs.



Pooches everywhere = happy camper.So happy that he agreed to join me the following day on the long run of the week. 1 hr 45 mins. I hadn't run for that long since training for the Ealing Half last year. The longest he'd ever run was, well, that hour we'd just done.

That night he didn't sleep very well. In turn, neither did I. He suffers with some monumental insomnia which we both hoped that marathon training would put paid to. We laced up Sunday morning feeling pretty groggy but geared up to bosh this run. Again, early on I got a feeling like the muscles in my lower leg were trying to explode out of my skin. Worse than yesterday but it seemed to go after half an hour and we ran along the Thames feeling pretty good. Time just flew by and before we knew it we had 11 miles in the bag and it's fair to say that blokey had a massive chufty on (translation - seemed very pleased with himself). We congratulated each other with a tasty, if a little tired, lunch and a trip to the cinema. We were both completely knackered and expected to be out like a light as soon as our heads hit the pillow. This was not quite the case. Between us I reckon we managed about 3 hours sleep and this carried on for the next three nights. Gah.



I still pulled a double on the Monday; we still managed a speed session together on the Tuesday and I ran with a friend on the Wednesday but my pace was pants, my legs hurt more than ever and my mood was pretty bleak. By Thursday I barely had the energy to speak to anyone, let alone run. We both decided to forgo the scheduled tempo session to get some rest as, due to commitments we had at the weekend, we needed to get our next long run in on Friday. I made a few adjustments to our bedroom and left a calm radio station on all night to take his mind off of his negative associations with bedtime, which seemed to help, and we both woke up feeling more human.

Our second long run was not quite as successful as the first but not a complete bust. We had to really drop our pace, almost down to 10 minute miles, as my legs hurt so much and he was experiencing some pretty harsh groin pain. But for the entire (almost) 13 miles he did not complain, he did not whinge and he did not stop. My admiration for how much effort he's putting went through the roof. Afterwards, I asked him if he's starting to change his opinions about running and whether he's getting any enjoyment out of the training. His answer: Well, I'm still doing it.

Ah. Oh dear.

Last night we had dinner with his folks. His dad has been running for years. He lives for running. He loves to talk about running. He has no idea what we are up to. Conversation turned to how my running was going and I just felt awful that, when his dad commented on how well I was doing, I couldn't boast about how proud I was of how blokey was doing and everything he's achieved since the start of the year. I felt really shallow, like I shouldn't be having the conversation and that it wasn't fair to not give the real credit where it was due. When we got home I brought this up. His answer: It's ok, I know how much I've done and I'm really pleased with it all so far.

Which is nice.

Our race numbers for the Reading Half arrived yesterday morning. His first ever race. I'm excited enough for us both.

This is how the plan has panned out recently:

Day 9 - 6.58 miles at 9:31min pace
Day10 - 11.1 mile at 9:17min
Day 11 - Run1 -  3.91 miles at 8:27 / Run 2 5.58miles at 8:47
Day 12 - Speed session (15 mins warm up, 6x 3 mins fast,1 min easy, 2 mins faster, 1 min easy, 10 min cool down) 7.2 miles at 9:10
Day 13 - 7.41 miles at 8:58
Day 14 - rest
Day 15 - 12.8 miles at 9:54
Day 16 - rest
Day 17 - 4.61miles at 8:50 (*Less than a mile into this run I was ready to have a small cry and walk back home. The pain was so bad but it gave me an epiphany: I need new running shoes, stat. My Nike app confirmed that my trusty steeds have borne me over 400 miles and it's time to commit them to the void. WOOOOOHOOOOOO!! NEW SHOOOOOOES!!!!)

Woah! Next level graphics!




                                                     
Do you have a 'go to shoe' that you always wear or are you a running shoe maverick?

How's your training going?


Friday 10 January 2014

Happy 2014 - training is in full swing!


We are now into the second week of January and I am in the second week of my training for the Brighton Marathon. I thought that I would be able to post more frequently but the reality is that lots of extra running combined with long, busy days at work equals not an awful lot of time to write. I take my hat off to other bloggers I follow and admire who combine running successful sites with full time work and hope to find a nice balance very soon.

So the training - so far so good! Things did get off to a shaky start, not so much for me but for my blokey, who's the reason I'm running the marathon in the first place. He spent some time in December building base fitness and getting used to the Garmin I got him for his birthday. It seems to have really spurred him on being able to see the progress he's made and he has now acknowledged the fact that he starts out waaaaay to fast. We're talking the first mile completed in under 8 minutes and the noveltly of running being well and truly done in pretty much immediately.

Christmas came and went in a blur, New Year passed as quietly as you can expect when you live near the Thames (and by that I mean as quietly as an air strike during an apocalypse and turned up to 11).


The decision to stay in for NYE was made so that we could start our training plans on January 1st. What could go wrong? We are dressed. We are ready to get out the door. Blokey goes to the living room to picks his keys up from the coffee table and from the other end of the hall I hear a sad and painful "aaaaarrrooooomphaaaaaaaah". I find him doubled over, hand clutched to his side and clearly in a lot of pain. A few months ago during a gentle jog on a treadmill at the gym, one of the muscles around his ribs popped and it seems that the act of bending down has done the same. Quick change of plan from New Year's Day run to him writhing in agony on the sofa and me trying to find somewhere open to buy painkillers.


 First three days of his training plan out of the window, yes, but when the pain died down he was more determined than ever. He's completed every run in the plan since then and even invested in a copy of Men's Running. Plus, because he was still a bit sore he learned the secret art and benefits of (you've guessed it) running slower. You can't just go all out all the time or building stamina is nigh on impossible.

I've really enjoyed the training so far; the double days, the long runs, recovery runs etc, but I decided to take a very big step this week. I do most of my running solo. All the runners I know are far, far better than me and I find every excuse in the book to not run with their group. This week I took the plunge and went to my first ever track session. I bought new, lighter shoes (Mizuno Wave Precision 12, if you're interested) so that I'd be financially invested and less likely to back out. I was nervous but a bit excited and planned to get there nice and early to warm up and do my best. Unfortunately work was manic and I left 40 minutes later than I needed to and forgot my new shoes. There was no time to warm up and I went too hard and too fast on the first couple of reps, upset my asthma, got left at the very back of the pack and generally did pretty rubbish. It was soul destroying to see everyone else peg it off into the distance. However, I learned a LOT and am actually really looking forward to giving it another go next week.

Quick overview of my schedule so far:

Day 1: Easy 50 mins, 5.63 miles covered, average pace: 8:54 mins per mile.
Day 2: Easy hour, 6.82 miles covered, av pace: 8:44.
Day 3: Long run on Hampstead Heath, 8.36 miles, av pace: 9:11. Lots of mud and dogs.
Day 4: Double day. Run 1, recovery run of 30 mins, 4 miles covered in 8:05 pace (strong backwind and downpours). Run 2, easy 50 mins, 5.68 miles covered in 8:55 pace.
Day 5: Track session - 2x1000m, 3x800m, 4x400m and 3x200m. Av pace 6:48 (ouch). Sense onset of seasonal lurg.
Day 6: Steady 75 mins, 8.38 miles, av pace: 9:11 and acknowledge definitely getting the lurg.
Day 7: Lurg.
Day 8: Lurg.

Hoping to get out for an easy hour tomorrow, lurg permitting. As you can see my pace and my germs are all over the place at the moment but I am confident this will even out over the next couple of weeks as I get used to the extra miles. I know it's a long journey but right now we're both really focused and I'm selfishly really enjoying that we can chinwag about training together.

Do you run on your own or with a group? If both, which do you prefer?

What races are you training for this year?