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.