Monday 18 August 2014

Two half marathons and wobbly bums

So I've been quiet over the last few months, as I was secretly planning to attempt my first marathon this autumn. Chris, the coach at Lliswerry had very kindly put together a training plan which was going well, and I had taken my long run distance Sunday run up to 15 miles by the end of June. Then my injury curse struck again, initially shin splints, followed by a hamstring strain, then an almighty chest infection requiring antibiotics and steroids to clear it up. I ended up having to miss thunder run and the training plan was abandoned for six weeks. So the marathon plans are put on hold for another year....

It's not all doom and gloom though. The chest infection has cleared up, and I went out for a slow run yesterday and easily managed 7 miles at marathon pace. So not to do things the easy way, today I have signed up for the Cardiff half marathon in just under seven weeks, and the Exeter half in nine; I figured that I might as well make the most of the training and get two races in. 

And in an attempt to shift the extra few pounds that have taken up residence on my backside over my enforced layoff, I decided tonight to go along to an exercise class at the local leisure centre. I mistakenly thought that a class entitled "legs, bums and tums" would be full of slightly chubby women in their 50s gently bobbing up and down in time to some Abba music. In fact, I was the oldest person there by at least a decade and the fattest by at least two dress sizes. The class involved far too much bending my legs in directions that they are just not designed to go, and scary lunges and squats while waving weights above my head. Within two hours I am having to side step down the stairs crab-style, which is always the sign of a good workout and I feel like I have done something.

I have also signed up to a four week challenge on the dietbet website. This concept involves paying $30 into the pot, having your weight verified online, and then re-verified after 4 weeks. There is also a useful section where people can share their experience with the rest of the group, all a little too American for my tastes; lots of high fiving and good jobbing, but strangely supportive at the same time.  Everyone who has lost 5% of their starting weight in the specified time period gets a share of the pot. Quite possibly the only thing that will stop me stuffing my mouth full of chocolate on a daily basis is the thought of missing out on some bonus cash, so I'm hoping that the challenge will help me along the way a little.

I'll try to keep this more updated than I have been as I get back into training again, and I'll end with another motivational quote:



 






Monday 28 April 2014

Pain in Plymouth

I've struggled with training over the past few months, starting with my arm in a plaster cast throughout February, and two injuries - one to each leg which have kept me on enforced rest for three of the last six weeks. However, my place and hotel was booked for the Plymouth Half, so I decided to travel down with my Dad as planned. 

If anyone is thinking of doing the Plymouth Half, I can highly recommend the Holiday Inn. From the outside, it looks like a dated concrete monstrosity. However, it was very convenient, being located 200m from the start/finish line, and they kindly agreed to extend our check-out time by three hours so that we could have a shower after the race.

I had been popping painkillers and spent hours with oddly positioned freezer blocks in the days prior to the race in the hope that the niggle in my right hip might go away. And fortunately yesterday morning, I woke up feeling fine. I'd taken my breakfast with me, so we were able to have a lie in and just stroll down to the start with 15 minutes to go.

My good friend of twenty years, Lucas Meagor was also running and we met up briefly before the start. I have not seen him for several years, as he now lives in Hull, and me in Devon, so our short but unexpected catch up was nice. Lucas has taken part in a number of crazy running and cycling adventures over the years; please visit his website here to read more about him.

So with my stomach full of shredded wheat, Dad and I headed off to the start line, joining in near the back, and within a couple of minutes we were off. It took us around 6 minutes to cross the start line, and another five minutes or so before the crowd thinned out and we were able to start moving at a reasonable pace. We kept up a fairly good speed for the first couple of miles, although I don't understand why, if a person needs to walk in the first mile they start in the middle of the field. Take your brand new trainers and shiny designer gear to the very back, as you get in way of everyone else!

I more or less stayed with Dad until the second water station. Dad has managed to perfect the 'drinking on the run' technique, whereas I have to stop and walk otherwise I choke, so after this point he was making faster progress then me. The rain then started to come down just as I reached the first of a series of inclines, and it was at this point I wondered whether my lack of consistent training might mean that I would not make it to the end.

The mile markers passed by far too slowly. By mile 8, I could feel a blister forming on my left foot, and by mile 10 every muscle in my body was screaming at me to stop.  However, there is an out and back section at this point where I was able to see the runners a mile or so ahead of me coming in the other direction. Ahead of me was a brave girl whose t-shirt announced that she had the lung condition cystic fibrosis, and a chap with a below knee prosthesis; seeing them stopped the voice of self pity in my head and made me determined to get to the finish. 

I was very pleased to pass the 12 mile marker as the crowd then got bigger and cheered everyone on to the finish. The course planners had cruelly decided that the last third of a mile needed to be uphill onto the Hoe to cross the finish line, where my pace dropped to a shameful 14mm. Still the end was in sight, and it was with great relief that I crossed the finish line. The official photos show me looking exhausted, and unlike the Cardiff half I would not have been unable to have gone any faster, or run another 50 metres. 

Hobbling back to the hotel through the race village, I was approached by a student of Plymouth University, and asked if I would like to have my feet checked by the podiatry students in their marquee. Removing my trainers revealed a fetching blood blister down the inside of my left foot, which they kindly cleaned and dressed for me. Unfortunately this meant that I was unable to get my shoe back on, and the kind receptionist at the hotel who had extended our stay gave me a pair of slippers from the health club to save me having to walk to the car with bare feet.

I woke up today with possibly the worst DOMS pain in my quads that I have ever had, which caused some amusement for my 91 year old patient this afternoon, when I was unable to demonstrate how to do a mini squat. A colleague kindly burst and redressed the blister for me so I am able to wear shoes to work again - one of the few perks of working in the NHS, the Government may have withheld our 1% payrise again, but they'll never stop us helping each other out. 

The half marathon itself was well organised at all stages, with the water in pouches rather than bottles, which I think makes them easier to drink. The crowd was friendly and supportive, with lots of friendly locals handing out much needed jelly babies and noisy vocal support. The route itself was a nice mix of city streets and country parks and although I cursed at the time, an interesting variety of flat and incline. This one may become a regular fixture for Dad and I. 


My chip time was a less than impressive 2:31:34, and Dad came in 6 minutes faster than me, but I am so pleased that I stuck with it, when the easier option would have been to given up and been driven to
the end. I'm not quite sure what my next challenge will be at the moment; getting off the loo is difficult enough at the moment. But pain is temporary and triumph is forever!














Monday 10 March 2014

Choose your words carefully.



The euphoria of finishing the Cardiff half lasted for a few days. My medal was proudly taken to show to colleagues and friends, and the t-shirt worn at every opportunity. I then made the small error of engaging in conversation with an ex about the experience. I mentioned that I had felt that I had  a little more energy left inside me at the end, and that perhaps next time, I would be able to go a little faster, with a longer term aim of running a half in 2 hours 10 minutes.  He told me that I should expect to be disappointed if I tried to go faster, as Cardiff is an “easy half” and I would be unlikely to beat the time that I had achieved.  

I’ve not had anything other than positivity from everyone else that I encountered, but this one comment rather took the wind out of my sails, and I have struggled to get back into training with any real enthusiasm. Put this together with two chest infections requiring steroid inhalers, and my right arm in a plaster cast along with moving house, and it has been a difficult few months.

Mind you, the more I think about it, that particular chap has a special talent for managing to piss on the party. In the last six months or so,  I have relocated my entire life to Devon, where I have a job that I love, and a cute little terraced house which makes me happy. He recently enquired how things were going, so I told him in much the same way as I have stated above. Most normal, rational people have just been happy for me, appreciating the five years of hard work it has taken me to get to this point.

 His response?  “Doesn’t it make you want children?” 

Yes, why not point out the one “failing” that I have in his eyes, and virtually the only thing that I can do very little about in my present circumstances, and use it to take the edge of my happiness.  I despair about the men that I meet;  I don’t know I manage to find them, but that’s a whole separate blog. I’m just grateful that he is my ex, and I’m not stuck married to one of the many men that I have encountered with all the sensitivity and finesse of a gorilla eating a banana.

Anyway, I have been inspired by the fabulous Lliswerrians completing the Newport half, and having read all the reports on facebook, had wished I was there. I have also found a lovely running club not too far away from where I am living now and have enjoyed a couple of training sessions. With this is mind I have signed up to do the Plymouth half on 27th April, and have just done my first proper week of a 8 week training plan. My dad has also agreed to run it with me and not wanting to let him down, I'll stick with it. 

I’ll end with the lesson learned from my recent experiences; choose your words carefully, and be kind. If you cannot be kind, be quiet. 

Thanks for reading. As always, I am touched that you do.