Chapter 39 - Running on Empty

In the last four weeks, I have run three times.  Once was at runclub this week, when I sat out part of the session, once was a so-called recovery run, where I did 400 yards and stopped, and once was the London Marathon.  Tomorrow I’m going to Huddersfield parkrun to volunteer, and on Sunday I’m watching Chris doing the Bluebell Trail.  Looks like it will be Tuesday runclub again before I get the next little trot in.

I’m confident that it will all come right, so am just waiting till I feel the urge.  In the meantime, I thought it was time I penned the last instalment of my blog.  I’ve enjoyed writing it, but now the race is over, I think it’s time to take a rest.  Besides, what would I write about?

So, in pensive mood, I’ve read back over my musings of the last seven months, and picked out a few highlights:

Top three races:

1.                  London marathon

2.                  Trimpell 20

3.                  Chevin Chase

Top three fundraising activities:

1.                  Jaz (OK – not an activity so much as a force of nature, but you know what I mean)

2.                  Laminating barcodes

3.                  The Hyde Park Harriers Calendar

Top three things that spurred me on during the race:

1.                  Seeing Chris, Judith and Gerry at mile 25, and realising I could beat 5:30

2.                  A small child giving me a cheese sandwich

3.                  A man with a sign saying “Get a move on!  My arms are aching holding this sign up”

Top three surreal experiences of the day:

1.                  The she-wee

2.                  The camel that ran sideways

3.                  The priest flicking the runners with holy water

Top three songs used as chapter titles for my blog:

1.                  The milkman of human kindness

2.                  One day like this

3.                  Running on empty

Top three times I fell over:

1.                  My last long run, on the canal near Apperley Bridge

2.                  In a lay-by at the foot of Pen-y-Ghent

3.                  In the car park in Golden Acre Park

…and finally – one weird thing that happened this week:

1.         Entered ballot for 2012

Chapter 38 - One Day Like This

Well – I did it.  It was bloomin’ hard, and bloomin’ hot, but I did it anyway.  What’s more, I’ve not ruled out doing it again sometime.  Who knows what will happen when the ballot opens later this month?

All in all, it was a great experience.  Running for Age UK was a real help – not only did they have cheerers along the route, they also provided a place to meet afterwards, with massage, free food and free drink.  Much easier than last year’s awful 30 minutes trying to find Chris in the meet-and-greet area.  They also gave me a massive round of applause when I walked in the pub.  What’s not to like?

The run itself is a bit blurred.  I was treating the first six miles as a warm-up, so I wasn’t really paying attention to my watch/heart monitor.  It was a bit of a shock, therefore, to find myself pumping along at more than 180bpm, when I’d never got much above 160 during long runs in training (including the two 20 mile races).  At 12 miles, when I was still practically fibrillating, I decided to walk for a bit, and that’s how it went from then on in.  Run a bit, walk a bit, jog a bit.  At 24 miles, I realised that if I legged it, I could get under 5:30, so that’s what I did.  Heart monitor ignored – 200 bpm clocked up, and a feeling of genuine elation as I crossed the line.  Go, me.

Everyone says the crowds are amazing – and they’re right.  I was helped at various stages by firemen with hoses, and spectators with oranges, sweets, and (joy of joys) cucumber, but particularly by the small child who gave me a cheese sandwich.  After all the sweet stuff, it was truly manna from heaven.  The crisps from her sister weren’t bad either.

I didn’t spot as many people in the crowd as I had hoped, but that’s partly because a) I had the iPod on, and b) I was practically comatose.  Fortunately, it didn’t stop me seeing Dave and Jan when I was beginning to flag, and it certainly didn’t stop me seeing Chris, Judith and Gerry at mile 25, when I was beginning to feel that I could do it.  The final mile up Birdcage Walk and into the Mall was terrific, and made the previous 25 seem OK after all.

Three days later and I can almost walk normally.  I even managed to stay awake all day today, and I’m planning to stay up late (or at least into double figures).  I can get up from a chair without yelping, and I can come downstairs without the handrail.  How cool is that?

London Marathon conquered in 5:28:35.  One day like this a year will see me right.

Chapter 37 Get up, Stand up/Fat-bottomed girls

WARNING - do not read this blog if you are of a sensitive nature

One of the more surreal experiences of the London Marathon weekend was the female urinal.  Not being a festival-goer, I have managed to avoid this, but faced with a fast-moving urinal queue versus a stationary one for the proper WCs, I decided to give it a go.

Now I’ve wee’d outdoors in many situations – on windswept moors, behind straggly bushes, or in thick woodland.  All involved squatting, and the vast majority ended up with me weeing into my shoe.  So at least one part of the urinal experience was familiar – but not the squatting one.

On entering the (very poorly) screened area, I picked up what can only be described as a cardboard shoe, with an opening in the toe.  The form seemed to be that one hoicks down the nether garments, clasps the she-wee to one’s front-bottom, and lets go with the toe pointing in the general direction of the urinal.  Brilliant – and quick.

The really surreal bit, though, comes with the arrangement of the urinals.  They are in long double-rows, facing each other over a barrier approximately rib height.  This means you are looking directly into the eyes of the person opposite – and over her shoulder you can see the rear views of the next set of women.  This row of bare bums, most of them quivering with fits of the giggles, was enough to take my mind right off the coming ordeal.

For comedy value, I can heartily recommend it.

Chapter 36 The Milkman of Human Kindness

When I was writing up my PhD, I had a whole range of work-avoidance tactics.  Mostly they were mundane things like sharpening pencils, or picking crumbs out of the computer keyboard, but the one I enjoyed most was writing the acknowledgements page.  Sometimes I moved myself almost to tears with my own eloquence, as I thanked family friends, and indeed, everyone who knows me.  Anything to avoid actual work.

And now here I am again, avoiding getting ready for the marathon by blogging my thanks.  Somehow though, it seems to matter.  It’s been a long road, and I couldn’t have travelled it alone.  So here they are – my thanks.

First – always – Chris, George and Harry, and the rest of the family, especially Judith and Gerry.  Then the people who made me believe I could do it, especially Tom and Helen, and the rest of Hyde Park Harriers and Leeds parkrunners.  Particular thanks go to the training buddies, especially Nicky, who cajoled, encouraged, pushed, pulled and if necessary dragged me round my long runs.

Last, but not least, there’s the people who paid good money to Age UK in my name. Top of the list is Jaz, who I can heartily recommend as a fund-raiser, but in fact the list is almost endless.  I’m within sight of my target, and I’m confident we’ll get there.

To all the milkmen (and women) of human kindness – thanks for the extra pint.

Chapter 35 Wide-eyed and legless

Chris shows how to hop

I was certainly wide-eyed last night when Tony (King of Pain, and our sports masseur) got his thumbs into my soleus.  “Gosh, Tony”, I said, “That nips a bit, could you possibly press more gently?” 

Those may not be the exact words I used.  In fact the exact words were the same as I used on the canal towpath when I measured my length on my last long run, and if you ask her nicely, Jaz will tell you what they were.  I couldn’t quote them in a blog for fear of being closed down.  Suffice to say that I did not like the sensation – and I liked even less being told that I was not to run AT ALL until Sunday.

I do trust Tony when it comes to calf injuries.  He has a brace of scars down the back of each leg that extend from knee to Achilles, and he knows everything there is to know about running too soon on a dodgy calf.  He is determined to get me to the start line fit and injury-free, and if that means not running all week, then that’s just what I’ll have to do.  It’s not doing my nerves any good though, and as a measure of my desperation, I actually went swimming this morning.  It helped a wee bit, but what I actually want to do is run.  If you’re reading this, perhaps you could just slip in a couple of steady miles on my behalf.

Other than having only one functioning leg, I’m feeling really good.  I haven’t swum for yonks, so it was a pleasure to see how much my improved fitness helped.  I’ll never be any good as a swimmer, but it was certainly easier than last time I tried it.  I only managed a couple of lengths of decent front crawl, but that’s almost entirely down to the fact that inhaling is best done at the point that the head turns away from the water, not back into it.  If I could crack the technicalities, I’d be away.  As it was, I contented myself with feeling smug because I was the only person in the pool who was putting her face in the water at all.  There was even someone swimming with glasses and a (bone-dry) curly perm.

So – coffee club instead of runclub tonight; exercise bike instead of treadmill tomorrow; and joy of joys – Marathon Expo on Thursday.  Lots of love and attention to the poor soleus, and if all else fails, I’ll just copy Chris and hop all the way round

Chapter 34 - Lazy Sunday Afternoon

It’s been a very lazy week.

I haven’t run at all (not one single solitary step) since last Monday, due to a sore calf and a severe case of over-anxiety.  I’ve walked a wee bit, and one day I did some desultory stretching, but mainly I’ve rested.  Paul Sanderson tells me this is good, and he should know, but I’m starting to feel a bit antsy.

So it was good today to go to watch the Baildon Boundary Way - a tough off-road half marathon – in the glorious sunshine and with the promise of a three mile walk to stretch out the legs.  Two HPHers in the mix (Rich Quinn and Khara Mills) and a sprinkling of other folk we know, although I admit to a touch of jealousy as I saw them all running home down the fantastic last hill into Baildon Cricket Club.  I’m looking forward to that bit when we do the much shorter Baildon Carnival Canter in the summer.

After that – nada.  We bought a barbecue, so I guess I expended a tiny bit of energy putting that together, and I cut (butchered?) George’s hair, but beyond that I’ve done what can only be described as the square root of bugger all.  I’m now off for a bath, so I imagine that’s me done for the night.

Tomorrow – sports massage on crook leg, and then (please, please) the all-clear to run so that at least a get a couple of five-milers in before the big day.  Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Chapter 33 - Poetry in Motion

A Freudian kip?

This week, I have been mostly tapering.  An aching back and a sharp niggle in the calf have effectively stopped me running – but have not stopped me eating.  Still – it’s given me chance to catch up on the theory (I'm re-reading all our  marathon books) and to try to pick up some style tips from the many people who lap me as I bimble round parkrun on Saturdays.  Certain people stand out – week in, week out….

Gwil floats irritatingly six inches above the ground, and never bothers to put his feet down.  This is clearly cheating. 

Tom runs as if he’s made of compressed rubber – all power and elasticity, and short, dynamic steps.  This is also cheating, and anyway my legs are too long to move that quickly.  It’s against the laws of physics.

Roy and Bernie are poetry in motion – a joy to watch.  I haven’t worked out if this is cheating or not, because I am so jealous.

Ellie has a fantastically high back-lift, with heels that reach approximately head height with every step.  This is probably not cheating, but it’s not normal either.

Helen is a ninja runner – perfectly silent (and probably deadly).  Not only do her feet make no sound, she apparently doesn’t breathe either.  Cheating.

George runs like the sprinter he is – powerful shoulders and a brilliant finish.  This isn’t cheating if you’re doing a 5k, but I can’t see it getting me far in the marathon.

Dave runs like an express train – arms like pistons and steam coming out the top of his head.  This is definitely NOT cheating, but there’s no point me trying to do it, as I just don’t have the drive.

All round me, at my pace, are my kind of runners.  We may not have the prettiest styles, but we push each other when required to, and when the occasion calls for it, we run and gossip at the same time.  This does terrible things to our form and our times, but sometimes you just have to give in to it.  Just like I’m giving in to chocolate and the lure of the sofa.