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.