Orlando is HOT! Dang! I bought my water bottle and ran for 75 mins and even in the sun with my top off (concur not the nicest vision of under exposed whiteness) to help keep cool I still ran more like a tap than a marathon runner. I hope and pray that summer arrives in the UK post April 22nd and that at the expense of marathon supporters, the runners can benefit from a nice wet, grey day keeping temperatures down.
Gav (Informa Colleague) is also out here at CTIA and preparing for the marathon with his 3 hr training run co-inciding with the trip - he graciously invited me along but for a raft of good reasons I had to decline.
Why - Primarily, when I run I love to run alone. Its hard enough monitoring breathing without trying / feeling obliged to make conversation. (Sorry Gav -I'm not saying you're boring, I'm just a running introvert!)
Secondly, when I do one of my long runs I need to mentally mark significant milestones, 5 miles / 10 miles / 13miles / 18 miles. The only way I can do this is to run a route I know and one which I've mapped out using a fantastic mapping/mileage application based around google maps.
Thirdly - I need to know where I can pick up water en-route. I didn't bring my isotonic drinks powder (have you ever tried coming through customers with 3 table spoons of white powder in a freezer bag?) or my post run protein drinks, and finally, I need a day off to go and run 3 hours / 20 miles. Its not just the 3 hours on your feet, its the writing off a whole day to prepare before hand and then recover post.
There, that's my raft of excuses. I'm also buy riding roller-coasters, dining out with colleagues and pressing flesh with the telecoms industry. Next big run is April the 1st - fools day for some but 20 miles and no fooling around for me.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Thursday 22nd March - 1 hour around the park
Day off - YAY!
Flying to Orlando tomorrow so have taken time out to get million and one admin bits under way. Moving house as well as moving other things certainly taking time and effort which can't be done whilst at work. Plus I needed a new pair of shoes and some shirts pre-CTIA (Orlando trip - business, not pleasure - well, not too much pleasure!)
Really enjoyed a good run around the park, lengthening it out to take me to an hour - felt strong, especially in comparison to where I was when I last ran, (Sundays meeting with the wall) so I guess that a positive outcome of the hard work was increased strength.
Have read up on the wall and established that I didn't sufficiently carb load pre-run. Have eaten anything and everything since unless its been nailed down. Janeywife pointed out that carb loading doesn't necessarily include fat loading - guess she meant the whole grain loaf and pot of taramasalata that disappeared from the fridge over the last couple of days (well Monday pm and Tuesdays am.) as well as 4 pots of creme caramel in same 24hr period.
Will take trainers to Orlando but its looking like 28-30degrees in the shade (sob, sob, wail) so I won't be heading out for much more than an hour. Have promised myself to revisit and run through the wall upon my return to London April 1st.
Note to self - pasta/rice/potatoes good. Pork Pies, troblerone, taramasalata, creme caramels BAD.
Flying to Orlando tomorrow so have taken time out to get million and one admin bits under way. Moving house as well as moving other things certainly taking time and effort which can't be done whilst at work. Plus I needed a new pair of shoes and some shirts pre-CTIA (Orlando trip - business, not pleasure - well, not too much pleasure!)
Really enjoyed a good run around the park, lengthening it out to take me to an hour - felt strong, especially in comparison to where I was when I last ran, (Sundays meeting with the wall) so I guess that a positive outcome of the hard work was increased strength.
Have read up on the wall and established that I didn't sufficiently carb load pre-run. Have eaten anything and everything since unless its been nailed down. Janeywife pointed out that carb loading doesn't necessarily include fat loading - guess she meant the whole grain loaf and pot of taramasalata that disappeared from the fridge over the last couple of days (well Monday pm and Tuesdays am.) as well as 4 pots of creme caramel in same 24hr period.
Will take trainers to Orlando but its looking like 28-30degrees in the shade (sob, sob, wail) so I won't be heading out for much more than an hour. Have promised myself to revisit and run through the wall upon my return to London April 1st.
Note to self - pasta/rice/potatoes good. Pork Pies, troblerone, taramasalata, creme caramels BAD.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Sunday 18th March - Discovering the wall - 20 miles - 3hrs 15mins
I'd always wondered exactly what hitting the wall meant and today I found out in spectacular style.
I had planned well and was looking forwards to a sunny yet windy Sunday afternoon run, and in glorious spring conditions, that's exactly what I got. All went well including reaching the 10mile marker on time at 88 mins, (9 minute-ish miles) before setting off for the final 10 miles, which would hopefully be completed in the same style and time.
All went well for the next 30 mins, at two hours I'd completed 13 miles, still keeping 9min 15 seconds a mile, however, then the wheels started to come off.
Unfortunately from hour 2 to hour 3 my pace dropped to 12 minute miles instead of 9 minute miles. I think over miles 14-16 I didn't feel the slow down much but it definitely happened after I'd checked my split times vs. location later. This slowdown wasn't exactly critical, as long as I'm moving its OK but it certainly doesn't bode well for chasing down Bisons time!
His time of 3hrs 56mins and 41 seconds looks a million miles away when your legs lump up which is exactly what happened at mile 18.
I turned onto the Mall feeling OKish - I'd run a slight incline (truly minor) off horseguards parade and then as the sky clouded over (dramatic but again true!) and with my blood sugar hitting nil, my glycogen stores long gone and no more carb gels to swallow, I ran out of steam, it was if I'd been tagged by a tranquiliser gun.
Mentally my head was screaming to run on but my legs were made of lead, and irrespective of any want/need/desire, I couldn't conjure any additional height out of my knees.
Over the space of a couple of meters my run deteriorated into little more than a light pensioner style amble, an ungainly hobble clad in lycra. I defined the 'all the gear and no idea' type yet didn't care a jot.
Marathon running this was most definitely not. Running per-se this most certainly wasn't either.
The sunny, breezy day turned almost as rapidly as I hit the wall and within 30 seconds I had hail, wind and no company on the mall, with legs that were running in treacle. I was plodding along, with head down into the storm, being pounded by hail.
Although it didn't look like I was going backwards, it definitely felt like it.
I know what my Dad means when he says 'that's character building!' - I still loathe that phrase and in some perverse personal hellish way I was glad that I was out there alone in the hail, not having anyone else witness my implosion, or stand there shouting at me to come on.
This personal hell wasn't for sharing and I definitely didn't want to some fresh legged bystander trying to empathise, let alone think that their high spirited cheering was going to spur me on.
Call me a marathon humbug but its my pain and I'm the only one who can do anything about it. Period. I'm thinking about disguising my run on the day in order to enjoy the anonymity whilst relishing the 100% ownership of my gut wrenching sickness that the last couple of miles of anything physically demanding brings.
Ultimately I didn't stop. Running in treacle, feeling like I'm going backwards to go forwards, fighting through the hail all added up to a feeling of pride to have cracked 3 hours. I'm also proud that I stayed on my legs for 20 miles but want to improve the last hour - I'm bloody well going to have to improve to come within a sniff of Bisons 3hrs 56:41.
His time is still motivation, however its the wall I've got to crack first. Even if this means chucking up my ring over the next 5 weeks before marathon day then so be it. I'm in the USA next week but in 2 weeks time I'm going for it again, this time with more pre-run sleep, more carb-loading the 3 days prior, more en-route carb gels and come hail or high water I'm going to funking clear the wall.
I had planned well and was looking forwards to a sunny yet windy Sunday afternoon run, and in glorious spring conditions, that's exactly what I got. All went well including reaching the 10mile marker on time at 88 mins, (9 minute-ish miles) before setting off for the final 10 miles, which would hopefully be completed in the same style and time.
All went well for the next 30 mins, at two hours I'd completed 13 miles, still keeping 9min 15 seconds a mile, however, then the wheels started to come off.
Unfortunately from hour 2 to hour 3 my pace dropped to 12 minute miles instead of 9 minute miles. I think over miles 14-16 I didn't feel the slow down much but it definitely happened after I'd checked my split times vs. location later. This slowdown wasn't exactly critical, as long as I'm moving its OK but it certainly doesn't bode well for chasing down Bisons time!
His time of 3hrs 56mins and 41 seconds looks a million miles away when your legs lump up which is exactly what happened at mile 18.
I turned onto the Mall feeling OKish - I'd run a slight incline (truly minor) off horseguards parade and then as the sky clouded over (dramatic but again true!) and with my blood sugar hitting nil, my glycogen stores long gone and no more carb gels to swallow, I ran out of steam, it was if I'd been tagged by a tranquiliser gun.
Mentally my head was screaming to run on but my legs were made of lead, and irrespective of any want/need/desire, I couldn't conjure any additional height out of my knees.
Over the space of a couple of meters my run deteriorated into little more than a light pensioner style amble, an ungainly hobble clad in lycra. I defined the 'all the gear and no idea' type yet didn't care a jot.
Marathon running this was most definitely not. Running per-se this most certainly wasn't either.
The sunny, breezy day turned almost as rapidly as I hit the wall and within 30 seconds I had hail, wind and no company on the mall, with legs that were running in treacle. I was plodding along, with head down into the storm, being pounded by hail.
Although it didn't look like I was going backwards, it definitely felt like it.
I know what my Dad means when he says 'that's character building!' - I still loathe that phrase and in some perverse personal hellish way I was glad that I was out there alone in the hail, not having anyone else witness my implosion, or stand there shouting at me to come on.
This personal hell wasn't for sharing and I definitely didn't want to some fresh legged bystander trying to empathise, let alone think that their high spirited cheering was going to spur me on.
Call me a marathon humbug but its my pain and I'm the only one who can do anything about it. Period. I'm thinking about disguising my run on the day in order to enjoy the anonymity whilst relishing the 100% ownership of my gut wrenching sickness that the last couple of miles of anything physically demanding brings.
Ultimately I didn't stop. Running in treacle, feeling like I'm going backwards to go forwards, fighting through the hail all added up to a feeling of pride to have cracked 3 hours. I'm also proud that I stayed on my legs for 20 miles but want to improve the last hour - I'm bloody well going to have to improve to come within a sniff of Bisons 3hrs 56:41.
His time is still motivation, however its the wall I've got to crack first. Even if this means chucking up my ring over the next 5 weeks before marathon day then so be it. I'm in the USA next week but in 2 weeks time I'm going for it again, this time with more pre-run sleep, more carb-loading the 3 days prior, more en-route carb gels and come hail or high water I'm going to funking clear the wall.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Tuesday March 13th 1hr run with hill session
Good run around Regents Park fringe before returning to Primrose Hill to build upon last weeks hill session. Once warm clipped aroud the park, felt good, pace suprisingly good. Racing makes me work harded, being pushed along by fellow racers is great for stamina work and I think I'm already seeing dividends.
Hill session not too bad either. Ran 4 x 3min shuttles and tried to increase pace on each one, with a recovery light jog back down the hill each time. Not alone, quite a few runners on Primrose Hill doing the same. Out for 60 minutes - long run planned for Sunday and may try and squeeze a park lap in tonight.
Hill session not too bad either. Ran 4 x 3min shuttles and tried to increase pace on each one, with a recovery light jog back down the hill each time. Not alone, quite a few runners on Primrose Hill doing the same. Out for 60 minutes - long run planned for Sunday and may try and squeeze a park lap in tonight.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Sunday 11th March - Six weeks to go - 10K race
10K race - Completed in 46mins 47 seconds. Results link here ;
http://jand.co.uk/Results2007/Wimbledon10k_Mar.htm
http://jand.co.uk/Results2007/Wimbledon10k_Mar.htm
See 205th for me, 12th for Swifty (living up to his name and greyhound on crystal Meth impression), 81st for Neal, 248th for Bison and 267th for Mrs Iona Neal who came nowhere near kicking Bison's arse. (E&O - addendum Friday 16th March - my blog stated I came 105th when it should have stated 205th - thanks to Bison for politely pointing out my charlatan grandiosity)
Ran round Wimbledon for 10k race including a lap of the common, with a long climb and fast descent.
Arrived early and warmed up, had an early breakfast after leaving Janeywife in bed (admittedly it was Sunday morning and I was out by 7.15am!). Hit the spaghetti house last night and loaded up on carbs. Not sure if it properly served its purpose as still woke up feeling somewhat heavy!
Felt OK before starting, but once started I struggled hard all the way around. Warm and sunny race conditions not ideal, much prefer cold/wet, no watering stops placed around the course so not as refreshing a race as could have been.
Ran a respectable time (46:47) but still 3 minutes slower than the last flat 10K race I ran in 2000. Faster than the Jan Epsom 10k but that was cross country.
Normally I'm just starting to warm up at 46 minutes into a run.
Its one thing training for a 4 hour race, its an entirely different story training for a comparative 10K sprint. If I'm going to run 10K races then I need to drop a stone, or 3.
Currently I'm built for comfort, not speed, more St.Bernard and less whippet.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Weds 7th March - Hill session 60mins
Trotted out to Regents Park to make my way up to Primrose for a hill session after a long period apart!
Absence does not make the heart fonder here. Toughed out 3 climbs - somewhat pathetic but have promised myself another visit next week - 3 climbs equals 12 mins pure hill. Felt ok, just ok, nothing too special though. I know that the hill sessions help with strength building and I'm going to need all the strength I can get.
Clipped along nicely home and slept like a dog. No more runs so I've got good fresh legs for the 10K race Sunday.
Absence does not make the heart fonder here. Toughed out 3 climbs - somewhat pathetic but have promised myself another visit next week - 3 climbs equals 12 mins pure hill. Felt ok, just ok, nothing too special though. I know that the hill sessions help with strength building and I'm going to need all the strength I can get.
Clipped along nicely home and slept like a dog. No more runs so I've got good fresh legs for the 10K race Sunday.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Sunday 3rd March - 16.5 miles
I'm back!
16.5 miles in 2hrs 25 mins.
No pain other than sore knees Monday am. but good strength at the end of the run.
Bought myself protein drink mix for post runs, energy gels for consumption during runs and isotonic mix for pre and during runs. Started taking Glucosamine Sulphate for my joints and although this may be partialy psychosomatic, I'm confident all helps in some way, shape or form.
Sunday 11th is a 10k race but next Sunday 18th I'm looking to hit my 20 mile 3 hr mark. Bring it on.
16.5 miles in 2hrs 25 mins.
No pain other than sore knees Monday am. but good strength at the end of the run.
Bought myself protein drink mix for post runs, energy gels for consumption during runs and isotonic mix for pre and during runs. Started taking Glucosamine Sulphate for my joints and although this may be partialy psychosomatic, I'm confident all helps in some way, shape or form.
Sunday 11th is a 10k race but next Sunday 18th I'm looking to hit my 20 mile 3 hr mark. Bring it on.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Thursday 1st March - Gentle Jog followed by violently Bruising Sports Massage
Little thursday run around the park, 40 mins of gradual pace, low impact, low pain, nice. Then 60mins of teeth gritting agony.
When asked by Jane 'What would I like for Xmas'? I suggested a massage (half tongue in cheek!!), so on Xmas day when I received an hours massage I had only myself to blame.
It turned out to be slightly more massage than I had bargained for (and I'm not talking about a massage with a happy ending for you perv's that are asking that question to yourselves..)
Never have I been so rough housed by a masseuse. I can't remember her name such was the broad nature of her accent but I established that she was definitely Eastern European (probably called Helga to help paint the picture for you), had been trained in many types of massage but specialised and most likely had deep tissue pain based massage as her favourite.
Maybe Helga liked young (well, young and 33 yr young) blond boys, maybe Helga liked to demonstrate her immense physical strength, whatever it was, Helga took a shine to my naked little body lying nervously under the towel on the massage bed, and proceeded to knead me like I was a cross between a ragdoll and bread dough asking for, or in knead of some tough love.
Janeywife hadn't held back either - my massage was booked in at a Men only spa tucked away in a mews behind Berkley Square, called Gentleman's Tonic.
The spa is a subterranean oak paneled juxtaposition, a throwback to colonial days of wet shaves and hot towels, whilst still equipped with all the necessities for the average metro sexual man, specifically barbers chairs meets back, crack and sack waxing and of course, the massage benches.
Little gave away the forthcoming torture I was about to endure. It wasn't as if the door locked, the walls were padded or the bench had manacles, however in hindsight maybe the way Helga cracked all her knuckles before starting could have indicated the duress to come.
Within moments of me stripping butt naked and draping a towel over myself the pain arrived. Initially all went well, lots of lubricating cream, slathered on like some Greek wrestling preparation, and gently rubbed in.
Then, out of the blue Helga replaced man sized sausage fingers with a man sized elbow and a little more than half of her somewhat substantial weight.
Not that Helga was fat, or squat, more like tall and stacked, like a cross between a polish bull tosser and a former eastern block bulldozer.
Its rare that I'm made to involuntarily shout in pain, or groan like a man shot repeatedly, however Helga knew how to orchestrate a symphony consisting of little else than grunts, groans with a yelping percussion section.
Helga's elbows pinned me to the bench and proceeded to tear any shred of tension (alleged tension - I felt fine before entering!) out of my back. I haven't shrugged my shoulders since as it makes my eyes well up with tears. I'm not sure I'll ever shrug again.
I said I was running in the marathon and would like some attention paid to my legs, however my massage agenda didn't match Helga's, instead she tried her damnedest to cripple my back and through some perverted logic, try and sell me into returning on a weekly basis to ensure that the tensions she'd erased (ripped out of me) would be relieved for good if I took her advice.
I'd have hoarsely laughed at this suggestion but through a combination of fear and a desperate need to be able to walk out of the spa, I thought it better to grunt my agreement in between salvos of elbow blows.
I did make it out of the door, however, I had as much enjoyment as I would have if I'd have been slamming my fingers in the drawer.
There is one easy resolution to avoid future oversights like this, don't flippantly answer wives questions about Xmas wishes unless you expect to get what you asked for.
Therefore, by default, I asked for the pain Helga inflicted last Thursday, and only have myself to pin the blame upon.
When asked by Jane 'What would I like for Xmas'? I suggested a massage (half tongue in cheek!!), so on Xmas day when I received an hours massage I had only myself to blame.
It turned out to be slightly more massage than I had bargained for (and I'm not talking about a massage with a happy ending for you perv's that are asking that question to yourselves..)
Never have I been so rough housed by a masseuse. I can't remember her name such was the broad nature of her accent but I established that she was definitely Eastern European (probably called Helga to help paint the picture for you), had been trained in many types of massage but specialised and most likely had deep tissue pain based massage as her favourite.
Maybe Helga liked young (well, young and 33 yr young) blond boys, maybe Helga liked to demonstrate her immense physical strength, whatever it was, Helga took a shine to my naked little body lying nervously under the towel on the massage bed, and proceeded to knead me like I was a cross between a ragdoll and bread dough asking for, or in knead of some tough love.
Janeywife hadn't held back either - my massage was booked in at a Men only spa tucked away in a mews behind Berkley Square, called Gentleman's Tonic.
The spa is a subterranean oak paneled juxtaposition, a throwback to colonial days of wet shaves and hot towels, whilst still equipped with all the necessities for the average metro sexual man, specifically barbers chairs meets back, crack and sack waxing and of course, the massage benches.
Little gave away the forthcoming torture I was about to endure. It wasn't as if the door locked, the walls were padded or the bench had manacles, however in hindsight maybe the way Helga cracked all her knuckles before starting could have indicated the duress to come.
Within moments of me stripping butt naked and draping a towel over myself the pain arrived. Initially all went well, lots of lubricating cream, slathered on like some Greek wrestling preparation, and gently rubbed in.
Then, out of the blue Helga replaced man sized sausage fingers with a man sized elbow and a little more than half of her somewhat substantial weight.
Not that Helga was fat, or squat, more like tall and stacked, like a cross between a polish bull tosser and a former eastern block bulldozer.
Its rare that I'm made to involuntarily shout in pain, or groan like a man shot repeatedly, however Helga knew how to orchestrate a symphony consisting of little else than grunts, groans with a yelping percussion section.
Helga's elbows pinned me to the bench and proceeded to tear any shred of tension (alleged tension - I felt fine before entering!) out of my back. I haven't shrugged my shoulders since as it makes my eyes well up with tears. I'm not sure I'll ever shrug again.
I said I was running in the marathon and would like some attention paid to my legs, however my massage agenda didn't match Helga's, instead she tried her damnedest to cripple my back and through some perverted logic, try and sell me into returning on a weekly basis to ensure that the tensions she'd erased (ripped out of me) would be relieved for good if I took her advice.
I'd have hoarsely laughed at this suggestion but through a combination of fear and a desperate need to be able to walk out of the spa, I thought it better to grunt my agreement in between salvos of elbow blows.
I did make it out of the door, however, I had as much enjoyment as I would have if I'd have been slamming my fingers in the drawer.
There is one easy resolution to avoid future oversights like this, don't flippantly answer wives questions about Xmas wishes unless you expect to get what you asked for.
Therefore, by default, I asked for the pain Helga inflicted last Thursday, and only have myself to pin the blame upon.
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