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.

Chapter 32 - I Fall To Pieces



Last long run today, and I was determined not to put myself under any pressure.  Following in the footsteps of David Womersley, I therefore decided to run along the canal from Silsden to Virgin Active – around 21 miles.  Most importantly, predominantly flat, with a slight downhill all the way (except for the massive (and lovely) downhills at Bingley Locks.)

My speedier training mates were running faster/further than I wanted to, so I ventured forth alone.  Jaz offered to meet me at about 14 miles and help shepherd me back to Virgin, where Chris was due to pick me up after his quick blast at Thirsk 10.

All went swimmingly to begin with.  Great weather; few people (even fewer dogs); big houses to gawp at; steady 12min miling.  Even better, I had finally got round to sewing elastic loops onto my running tights, so my gels and inhaler were handily placed for action.  Got to Apperley Bridge about 10 minutes later than planned, but Jaz was waiting, so after transferring some of her water into my backpack hydration jobbo, we set off together. 

This is when it all started to go wrong.  One minute I was running along, the next I was in some sort of slow-motion dance which ended, unsurprisingly, with me flat on my face.  Everything that either sticks out naturally (or can be made to stick out) hit the ground at once – knees, belly, bosoms, forearms, hands and chin.  Strangely, my nose was OK. 

A quick bodycheck revealed nothing broken, but all was not quite well.  Not sure how, but my teeth were definitely differently aligned.  None broken, and none loose, but the back right molars no longer connected.  Decided to ignore it and push on, but to walk whenever I wanted to.

We were at Rodley before Problem Two presented itself.  Feeling back to check my bruised hips I discovered a cold wet bum.  You’d think, wouldn’t you, that if your hydration backpack leaks its entire contents over your nether regions, then you’d notice, but I hadn’t.  Good job I wasn’t thirsty.

Finally, having walked more than we’d run, we arrived at Virgin.  No Chris.  Tried to phone – knackered Blackberry.  Thought about crying – bought chips instead.  Finally, Jaz spotted him as he was about to leave to drive home.  Came home, had Scotch bath, entertained in-laws with wonky walk, played cards, blogged.

As I write this, my teeth are coming back into line.  The back ones now meet, and it’s all feeling a bit more normal.  I have a massive bruise on my chin, but I am seriously smug.  Long run done in spite of tiny hurdles, and I now feel ready.  Bring it on.

PS.  Thanks, Jaz.

Chapter 31 - Moondance



Stand-by to freeze



Bugger. 

Was feeling well-chuffed with “Road to Hell” as title for chapter 29, and then Chris goes and slips “it’s a marvellous night for a moondance” into his blog.  This reminds me that I forgot two important weekend events – Nikos’s Friday night moonlit run on the Chevin, and dancing at Frankenstein’s Wedding (BBC3) on Saturday.

Both events really excellent – both things I would never have done were it not for the completely unexpected social life that seems to come with running.  Party on.

Chapter 30 - Road to Hell

It wasn't twilight when we didn't cross the bridge, but it was still beautiful.

Or Hull. 

This weekend saw us charging along the M62 to all points East – not just Hull, but to Holderness, where (I am told) Bad Things Happen.  No-one specifies what the Bad Things are, but the general consensus is that it’s a place to get away from, not to choose to go to.

I disagree.  I had a great time.  Twenty miles of (almost) pure flatness, with a ridiculous short, vertical climbing wall in the last half mile.  A friendly set up, with good marshals and an excellent spread at the end – just unfortunate then, that all the food had been eaten by the time I finished.  Still, Chris (who couldn’t eat any of it because it was all bread-based) said it looked lovely.

I wasn’t fast.   The results aren’t up yet, but I think I was around 3.48ish.  Slower than Trimpell (as intended) but my pacing was still rubbish.  Went off far too fast, then had to slow down in the middle before picking it up a bit at the end.  For a while I ran with two other Lizzies (or rather, a Lizzie and another Liz) but after the halfway point we spread out with me taking the middle slot.  I did overtake a runner from Knavesmire on the final hill, which felt good, but other than that I pretty much got into my place and stuck to it.  I was in a bubble for much of the back 10 – couldn’t see anyone in front or behind, but I have to say I quite like that now and again.  It was a confidence-boost in quite a different way from Trimpell - rather than sheer amazement that I managed it, I got a more solid feeling of  familiarity.  Book group in the evening was an excellent way to finish, and stopped me from seizing up too quickly.

Am feeling it today – not in terms of stiffness as much as bone-weariness (again).  I fear you will hear more of my quest for sleep.

Blinded by the Light/Hippy Hippy Shake

I don’t think of myself as easily star-struck, but last weekend’s Close Encounter with Paralympians has given me much food for thought.  It’s made me reassess both my personal situation (bloody lucky) and my determination (somewhat less than that shown by others).  I know that I won’t ever be the best runner in the world, but listening to Noel Thatcher (many-times gold medallist) made me more conscious of the fact that I can choose to be a better one – it just might hurt a bit.

So, armed with this new-found grit, I embraced the pain that is the post-Trimpell recovery week.  Having embraced it, I gave into it.  All I have managed to do this week is sleep.  Even eating has taken a back seat.  Four (slow) miles with runclub on Tuesday, a supposed 12 mile run that turned into a 5 miler on Friday, and 4 miles on Saturday.  For the last seven weeks, my shortest long run has been 13 miles – this week, 13 was my total for all runs.  Just like that – kaput.

The main problem has been my hip flexors.  They don’t flex, they don’t extend, they just hurt.  Not an injured sort of hurt, more a complaining, bemused kind of hurt.  If they could speak, they would say only one word – “why?”  They’ve come over all reproachful, like a neglected puppy or a disappointed parent.  If I treat them well (ie I walk slowly and carefully) then they stay quiet, but if I run, they rage.

So, I’ve given them a break.  I’ve listened to my body and I’ve done what it advises.  Next Sunday is East Hull 20 – till then I’m following Paul Sanderson’s advice, and resting.

Another double-A side.  When will it end?

I’m on My Way/Don’t Stop Me Now

The Eccleshill girls like to end their runs with a hoe-down

A double-A side today.  Also a chapter out of order, as I have enough to write about this weekend to fill two separate episodes.

My brush with Paralympians was inspiring, humbling and thought-provoking.  So thought-provoking in fact, that it needs a chapter to itself, and I still need to do a bit more mental processing.  Watch this space…

Trimpell 20, however, needs no thought at all.  Glorious sunshine, a lovely course (flat, flattity-flat), and a huge boost to my confidence.  After last week’s horrors, I needed it, and if ever I moved from misery to happiness, I did it today.

Partly, it was about the soundtrack.  I’ve pretty much stopped running with music, as I’ve been trying to think more about my style, and develop some positive mental attitude.  Today though, I was back on the iPod Shuffle, and it really did help.

I am a complete technoprat, and so I am unable to make up my own playlist.  I’ve therefore copied from Chris’s iPod all the songs I sort of like, and it makes for interesting listening.  His chosen version of Neil Young’s “Like a Hurricane” for instance, is the one with the huge self-indulgent instrumental bit in the middle, whilst I go for the altogether better (shorter and quieter) version.  I start off liking his choice, but halfway through I just get cross and move on.

The problem with the Shuffle of course, is that you get the songs in the order the machine wishes.  This is tricky, as I have to finish to Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” at full blast.  By sheer coincidence, this was playing when I finished my first-ever half-marathon in Sheffield, and it gave me such a fillip that whenever I do run to music, I have to cross the line with this.  This means that I have to be on random until about half an hour out, when I have to leap onto any artist anywhere near “Q”, flick to alphabetical and then go back or forward to find the divine Mr M.  Sometimes I find myself panicking that I’ll never get there, whilst other times I get ahead of myself and end up listening to it about four times.

Whatever, Craig and Charlie (P) gave way to Freddie (Q) at 2 miles out, and set me up for a blistering (for me) finish with a 9ish minute final mile.  Given my 11.11 average over the 20, I was dead chuffed with this, and smirked all the way home.

Also, when I checked the old Polar, my total calorie consumption was less than for last week’s 18 miler.  Whilst I don’t believe the absolute calorie figure, I do accept the relative values.  I’m therefore taking this as proof that I got through today with less effort than last week, and am seeing this as progress.

Looks like I took a right turn.

Chapter 27 Eighteen, with a Bullet

Not really an eighteen mile run – more a twelve mile run with a 10k jog/walk at the end.  Nicky was the bullet – Kay and Harp the attendants.  They ran beautifully – I didn’t.

A struggle for me for the last 6 miles, but not as much as the struggle for poor old Kay when she got back to the start to find she’d lost her car key.

Horrid, horrid, horrid – but it’s in the bag and we are on track for Trimpell.  Bring it on.

Chapter 26 - In a Big Country

It was a very big country indeed.  Last week’s National Cross Country Championship at Alton Towers was the biggest club event I’ve been to, and was made all the more daunting by a tiny little mud problem. I had decided not to run weeks ago, on the grounds that I would be so far off the pace that everyone would go home, but when I saw the mud I was actually a tad envious.

You see, I like mud.  I like splashing and glooping and squelching, and I specially like running through muddy puddles.  What I don’t like is big hills and fast competitors, so all in all I think I made a good choice.  I was still slightly wistful though.

It was great to see the really top athletes running.  Based on the fact that we were once at the same barbecue, I feel I can call Liz Yelling a close friend, and she certainly looked the business as she charged up the hills.  The world-class runners are like a different species (thoroughbreds in comparison to my carthorse) and I enjoyed watching their form and trying to compare it with my own.  It was like trying to compare Billy Whizz with a three-toed sloth, but I did pick up some useful tips – ie run faster and you’ll finish nearer the front.  It looked so bloomin’ easy.

Hyde Park Harriers put in a fine showing, and the boys managed to finish as third Leeds club, behind Leeds City (who were the overall winners) and Valley Striders.  The individuals did well too, especially Kay and Ali, who flew the flag for the girls, and Ellie and Bex, who formed our junior section.  All in all, a great outing.

I’m off for an 18 miler tomorrow in preparation for Trimpell 20 next week.  This means I will miss the last PECO cross country of the season.  How will I get my mud fix?

Chapter 25 - Feets Don’t Fail me Now

I’m in new territory every week now.  Today, I ran three firsts.

1.                  First long run in my own

2.                  First long run (outside a race) where I didn’t walk

3.                  First long run over 15.75 miles

I did the first of these first properly.  I started on my own, finished on my own, and never saw anyone I knew.  The latter two first were a bit more dodgy.  I definitely didn’t use a walking motion, but I can’t honestly say I ran in any meaningful sense of the word.  And although I did my longest distance ever, it was only 16.09, so I think I’m well within the “10% maximum increase” the proper chaps recommend.  I can’t imagine where the other 10 miles is going to come from.

My understanding of the word “promise” is pretty dodgy as well.  Sorry guys, but I can’t resist it.  It’s a girl thing.  The splendid red shoes are still feeling pretty good, although I have to report two slightly sore big toes (thumb-toes as they are known in this house).  I’m not certain yet whether to stick with them or return to the old ones.  Decisions, decisions.  Still, I’m pretty sure I won’t take them back, even if I only gaze at them.

Decisions, or rather the lack of them, are playing a big part in my life as I get more and more tired.  I remember the feeling from when the boys were babies – that gut-wrenching tiredness that makes it impossible to decide between a four-pint bottle of milk, and a six-pint one.  It’s just as well that Chris does all the shopping and most of the cooking, because at the moment I couldn’t plan a sandwich.

Is it very bad form to go to bed before 8.00 on a Friday?

Chapter 24 - New Shoes

Three times in nine days.  For a blog about marathon training, this is starting to look suspiciously like a blog about footwear.  The verdict so far?  I’ll wait to see what tomorrow brings in terms of overnight stiffness in the Achilles, but for now, me and the NBs are NBFs.

Liversedge half-marathon was possibly the hardest race I’ve done so far.  Dingle may have been comparable in terms of total climb, but the hills there were short and frequent, whereas today they were concentrated into two beastly ‘orrible things.  Fantastic downhills, though, and the usual Roberttown warm welcome and pouring rain.  Didn’t manage a particularly good time, but loved every minute.  Even saw old parkrun buddy Rob Hamilton, whose unexpected cheering was most welcome, just as I started to fade in the last half-mile.

Only three Hyde Park Harriers (me, Chris and Chris Taylor), but a nice clutch of Eccleshillians who waited in the rain to see all their runners in, and who gave me a rousing cheer as well.  Best bit?  Chris came third in the MV50 category, and won a £7 voucher, which he promptly gave to me.  I spent it on a monster tub of rehydration salts, which we will drink together on Valentine’s Day.  Who says romance is dead?

I promise I won’t mention shoes in the next chapter.

Chapter 23 - Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes

Lead weights, more like.  As the runs get longer, my legs get slower and my feet get sorer (is there such a word?).  Twinkle-toed I definitely am not.

I am, however, beautifully-shod.  Brand new shoes (New Balance 1080s) to go with my brand-new plantar fasciitis and my long-standing Achilles tendonitis.  Who said running was good for you?

I went to Sweatshop intending to buy another pair of asics gel cumulus.  As ever, though, I ummed and ahhed and eventually changed my mind.  The NB are more cushioned, but use a denser material, so are paradoxically stiffer.  I can’t decide whether the foot problems are entirely due to upping the mileage or to my shoes, but it will be interesting to see how these take me.  A slow trot round parkrun felt good, so we will see what tomorrow and the notorious Liversedge half-marathon brings.  The Sweatshop lady assured me I can bring them back if I don’t like them, no matter how muddy they are.  This seems too good to be true, but at least I can revert to asics if these turn out to be more beautiful than functional.

Because make no mistake about it, they are truly beautiful.  These shoes are properly red.  I am a bit of an Imelda Marcos, so being able to match my shoes to my club vest is important to me.  I’m sure the reason I hated my last pair of Sauconys is because they were a horrible grey with no pretty bits.  The NBs are not only a lovely shiny red, they have orange soles and trim – what more could a girl want?

PS - Is it normal to blog about shoes?  That’s twice in eight days.

Chapter Twenty-Two Goody Two-shoes

I’m not normally an envious person.  I like my life very much, and I’m content with what I’ve got.  But really – some people do take the biscuit.  Not content with getting the Jones ballot place in the VLM, Chris has gone and got both the parkrun “runner of the month” shoes (asics gel nimbus), and a free pair of adidas to boot.  The latter, apparently, he “won” simply by entering both our names into a draw.  His name was pulled out, mine was ignored.  Pah!

I wouldn’t care, but we take exactly the same size shoes (I’ve got huge feet – his are normal), and we’re both neutral runners.  I’ve dropped hints galore, but neither pair has made its way to my bit of the trainer-shelf yet.  I’ve even played the “Ken Fox turned down his second pair of free shoes” card, but to no avail.  However, I shall rise above it, and buy my very own gel cumulus, which I happen to prefer.

In running terms, this week has been less hit, and more miss.  I did a lovely bimble around the canal basin on Monday (I recommend it) and I sharpened my appetite for the HPH curry by turning in a decent intervals session on Tuesday.  Other than that, nothing – until today.

Today was my long run – 15+ miles with Nicky.  We had originally planned to run with Harp and Kay in the morning, but work intervened, so we took the afternoon shift.  I’m glad we did, because by then it had stopped raining, but oh my – that wind!  On the outward leg, it pushed us along nicely, but coming back, it was absolutely in our teeth.  Poor old Nicky even kicked herself when the wind blew one leg into the other.

From my point of view, the biggest problem was my eyelids.  Ever since my so-called best friend (the same one who told me my feet were ugly – see Chapter 4) told me that I needed plastic surgery, I’ve been aware of my rather full (some would say baggy) eyelids.  But never before today have they actually flapped.  Coming down from Five Lane Ends to Golden Acre Park, they almost generated enough lift to send me airborne.  It was a really strange feeling, and one I will be glad not to have again.

Tomorrow – a steady trot round parkrun, and then on Sunday it’s Dewsbury 10k.  This was originally on my plan for a possible PB, but given my success in the Abbey Dash, I decided to sack it in favour of today’s long run.  The plan now is just to treat it as a training run, and save myself for next week’s Liversedge Half.

PS – Chris did give me a splendid yellow T-shirt from his stack of adidas goodies, and he’s promised me a half-share of his stack of free gels.  And as for the best friend – we’ve been two-thirds of the best three-part friendship in the world for over 30 years now, so I think she’s entitled to dispense cosmetic advice.

Chapter Twenty-One Parklife

Actually, this isn't the perfect song for a running blog, because whatever the good folk of Blur might think, it really is all about you joggers who go round and round and round.  Obviously, I prefer to think of myself as a highly-tuned athlete rather than a jogger, but I can't deny that going round and round and round a park has become a significant part of my life.  Parklife, even.

parkrun has to count as the most important spur to my running, both in getting me going to begin with, and in keeping me motivated from there on in.  Every runner should try it.  If you aren’t blown away by both the concept and the reality, then you’re a poor thing indeed.

I heard about parkrun by accident, from a friend who single-handedly keeps our house functioning.  Not content with doing all our joinery, plumbing, electricity and general repairs, Andy Scott is also our running guru.  So when he said, a couple of years ago; “there’s a free timed run every Saturday on Woodhouse Moor, you should give it a go”, we knew that we had to join up.

And we’ve never looked back.  We now run it pretty much every week, even though I personally detest 5k as a distance, and we often volunteer.  I’ve even been known to do a bit of event directing.  I like to think it will stand me in good stead for the time when Hyde Park Harriers takes the next step, and organises a club race.

So, this instalment is dedicated to Paul Sinton-Hewitt, who founded parkrun, and all the volunteers who work tirelessly to deliver a free, community-based event at parks across the UK, Denmark, and (soon) the world.  If you do nothing else as a result of reading this blog, make sure you visit your nearest parkrun (www.parkrun.com)

Chapter Twenty – On the Road Again

After the joy of Bramley Falls cross-country last week, it’s back to the road for me, and the Brass Monkey Half-Marathon.  It’s not a race I particularly love, as it’s a) a bit boring, and b) in York, where I always get lost, but it has the attraction of being as flat as a fluke and therefore PB territory.  It also has the lure of a post-race lunch at the Fox and Grapes, which is jolly fine, for us if not for the poor bar staff.

I had put a Brass Monkey PB into my VLM plan, but decided to scrap the idea as my back was still sore after the adventures of Chapter 17.  I then compounded things by going off too fast (what on earth made me think I could stick with Harp and Nicky?), but wasn’t too despondent as a long run was my priority.

It was a pleasant surprise therefore, to find myself well on track for a PB at the halfway stage, and (even more pleasant) with coccyx intacta.  Spurred on by excellent marshals, and the appearance of Rich Kennington and his camera, I decided to go for it.  I even overtook Harp at 9.5 miles.

Needless to say, I didn’t stay in front long.  Harp clawed me back at about 12 miles and from then on she was pulling away all the way.  It was a good feeling, though, and if I am to be overtaken by anyone, I do like it to be someone in a Hyde Park Harriers vest.  Everyone did well, and there was a clutch of PBs at the end that made for good post-race celebrations.  A strong turn-out from the family helped as well.

In a fit of madness, I agreed to a long run next Saturday that involves running to parkrun, running parkrun, and then running from parkrun.  This has two consequences – both severe, and therefore a measure of how much I am sacrificing for the blessed marathon – first, no coffee after parkun, and second, no PECO next Sunday.  I shall marshal instead.

Chapter Nineteen - Back with a Bang

It’s situation normal in the Hogan-Jones VLM Women’s Championship.  After a fluky couple of wins, I’ve returned to my rightful position watching Dawn’s back.  Actually, this is a lie, as I never even saw her after the first 100 yards at today’s PECO cross-country in Bramley Fall Woods.  She started ahead, pulled further away and finished in front.

I saw lots of other backs, though.  Mostly, these were people lapping me on the three-circuit course, as those folk who are supposed to run at my speed accelerated away and left me to trail in as last HPH runner.  It’s a position I’m used to, so no complaints there.

The course was a beast, with some gloopy mud and a couple of killer hills that we had to deal with three times.  There was also a rather tremendous bank that was only scalable either with ropes and a partner, or at breakneck speed with eyes tight shut.  On the third time round I kind of got the hang of it, but it wasn’t attractive.

I was feeling pretty heavy-legged after a 12 miler on Friday, but not as heavy as poor old Shane, who collapsed on the third lap and ended up in an ambulance.  Latest news is that he’s OK, but it certainly cast an extra cloud over an otherwise excellent event.

I’m back on track in terms of mileage for the week – in fact if anything I’m a bit ahead.  I’ve made a ridiculous leap from 17 miles last week to 33.5 this, but in my defence, most of it was very slow due to last week's unscheduled fall, and the resultant (still painful) battered coccyx.  I’ve read all the guff about increasing by no more than 10% per week, but frankly (given my start point) at that rate I’d never get there.  It’s an increase of less than 100%, so I’m calling it correct within an order of magnitude.

Next week – Brass Monkey half-marathon where (sore back permitting) I’d like to do well.  After that, it’s no more speed and a steady increase in mileage till April.

Chapter Eighteen - Calendar Girl

I can’t believe I've chosen a Neil Sedaka song for a blog title.  Unfortunately, it’s just too good to miss – rather like the Hyde Park Harriers 2011 calendar.

The calendar was Kay’s idea, but I needed very little persuading.  I was even ready to get my kit off and pose behind a pair of trail shoes, until a colleague at work (you know who you are, Vicki Finlay) suggested I might need clown shoes.  Hurt and bewildered, I agreed to the non-horror version, featuring as many as possible of our HPH clubmates.  At the bargain price of £12.00 (£1 per month), all 34 have been ordered, and Kay and I are looking at a healthy addition to our Age UK coffers.  Thanks to all who ordered one, and especially to Harp (www.IamHB.com) who did all the design and found us a printer.

I’m Dr June, by the way…

Slip Slidin’ Away

If the weather had been like this, we'd probably have gone for it

Having done a longer-than-planned run on Monday (11 miles), I decided that it would be acceptable to kick today’s long run into the long grass, and go for a walk instead.  Eight miles running, versus 20-odd miles walking (including Pen Y Ghent and Ingleborough) sounded like a fair swap.  Off we went, spending Thursday night in High Bentham so as to get off to an early start.

By tea-time yesterday, we had decided to do the two hills, but leave out the eight mile yomp across Black Dubb Moss.  By this morning, Ingleborough was covered in low cloud, and with snow forecast we cut our expectations even further, and set off just to do Pen Y Ghent, taking in a 5-miler over the Three Hares as a backstop on the way home.  This is where it all got tricky.

Having been married to Chris for over 20 years, you’d think I would know what he’s thinking.  But sometimes the man is complete closed book.  So when he said; “You just say the word if you want to turn back”, I really had no idea whether he meant; “Lord, this is ‘orrible, let’s call it a day”, or; “I’m thoroughly enjoying this invigorating climb up a mountain in the snow and fog, but if you’re too much of a wimp, I won’t hold it against you”.   In the end, I made the call, and about a quarter of the way up Pen-y-Ghent, with the snow blowing horizontally into my right ear, and no prospect of any sort of view, we turned round and headed back to the car.

Now, I’ve got a science background.  I know what happens when water gets very, very cold.  I also know that when a lay-by that is noted for its ruts and bumps looks smooth and inviting, there’s probably something wrong.  But did I put this knowledge into action?  I did not.  Instead, I landed up on my arse on a sheet of ice, in front of two newly-arrived walkers (one offered sympathy, the other was, I suspect, guffawing into his Three Peaks Buff).

All the way home, I planned my blog title.  “Black Bottom Stomp”, perhaps, or “Sky Blue and Black”, or “I Bruise Easily”.  Whatever; its aim was to celebrate the enormous haematoma developing over my coccyx.  I even wondered about posting a photograph.

Back home (via Tesco’s, but missing the Three Hares) and guess what?  Yep – nothing, but nothing to see.  Not even a slight reddening.  I can’t move, I can’t sit and I can’t stand, but absolutely no evidence of injury.

It’ll have to be Paul Simon again.

Chapter Sixteen - Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones

My pretraining aims were simple and few.  Run faster over shorter distances, conquer my fear of hills, gain control of the asthma, and lose a few pounds in weight.  In varying degree, I’ve done all of them. 

It isn’t strictly true to say I’ve lost weight.  I haven’t.  But I have definitely changed shape a bit, and for the first time in over 20 years, I find myself contemplating a pair of little hollows at the base of my neck.  If I tense my jaw muscles very hard, and sort of grimace, I can deepen these hollows until I can see my collar bones.  Isn’t that lovely?  I’d completely forgotten I had any.  I shall track their re-emergence as a sort of bony barometer of my new-found athleticism.

My first week of training hasn’t exactly gone to plan, but I’m not too despondent.  Today, I was supposed to do a 6k cross-country in lieu of a long run, but I made the mistake of looking up last year’s results.  Assuming a similar field, I estimated that I would have been last by around 10 minutes.  I don’t mind being last (it often happens) but I do like to be able to see at least one other runner’s back in front of me.  As it ‘appens, it would have been even worse – this year’s field was smaller and faster, and I had no regrets about my decision.  Kudos to speedy club-mate Ali, who came around 6^th, and to the chaps, Dave, Tom, Chris and Rick, who between them took 4^th place in the men’s team event.

My sensible decision (aka total wimp-out) means I have to find another long run.  So tomorrow I’m off to do a slow trot round Eccup in the early morning.  Eight miles (ish), so not exactly enormous, but better than the big fat zero currently sitting in the spreadsheet.  As long as I get another 10-12 miler in on Friday, I’m pretty much back where I should be.