After my physio treatment last week, my training got back on track this week, although the pain has been coming back in fits and starts. I've been trying to recreate what he did with my own fair hands but it doesn't feel quite the same. Nonetheless, I've managed to do all my runs this week which is a good sign. I think I'll try to be a bit more cautious in my extreme reactions to everything from now on though. I either seem to be completely and utterly desolate or ecstatically happy. I truly never anticipated what an emotional journey this was going to be. I knew it would mess up my body, but I thought I'd be better able to control my mind.
Woke up this morning knowing that I had to run 15 miles, and felt a nervous dread hanging over me. Still felt so tired, don't really know why. Ate a high-carb breakfast of yesterday's leftover pasta (yum...) a banana and a yoghurt, plus loads of water and lucozade sport.
Worked out a route which basically took me through the streets of Hove to Portslade seafront, which was four miles, and from there all the way along the seafront to Ovingdean and back.
Warmed up, stretched, put my gear on, made a new 78-track running playlist for my iPod and loaded up my new water belt with liquid fuel. Glanced in the mirror and I looked like a complete twat.
Found it really hard to muster any enthusiasm whatsoever and eventually left the flat at 1.15pm.
The first few miles were tough, as always. It takes me such a long time to get into a rhythm. After four miles, as usual, my right foot started to go numb. I can normally deal with this; it usually goes away again by mile six or seven. But now my left foot was starting to follow suit and I was having to really concentrate on my form just to stay upright. With every footstrike, I felt like I could feel every individual bone in my feet, and it felt like they might snap at any given moment. I decided to stop and walk for a couple of minutes to get some feeling back, which worked.
Ran along the seafront, which is getting increasingly crowded now as the days get warmer, and had to dodge in and out of the daytrippers dawdling along with their chips and ice-creams. I always feel like screaming GET OUT OF MY WAY! but I'd probably get beaten up and am certainly not fast enough to avoid being chased by a bunch of Brighton teens.
For the first time, ventured further than the marina. Went up on to the cliffs that run all the way to Rottingdean and onto the grassy verge, thinking this would be a kinder surface to run on. But it was so uneven and slippery that I was convinced I would turn my ankle at any moment so went back to the paved path. By now I was up to about mile nine or ten I think, and starting to feel very wobbly and a bit sick.
Once I got to the Ovingdean roundabout, I turned and headed back, walking for the first couple of minutes.
When I got back to the Marina (around mile twelve or thirteen), Eminem's Lose Yourself was in my ears, which gave me a real boost - it's such an intense song, and funny how lyrics can take on a much more literal significance when you're almost at the point of collapse.
Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted - One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?
The last stretch was agonizing - I had a sharp pain in my left hip and my knees were crunching like a bag of rusty spanners, but I somehow managed to increase my pace very slightly; for some reason it seemed to be less painful to run a little bit faster. My heart rate was up around 175, which is pretty high, but I know I can keep going at that level. 10 beats higher and I'd only have a limited amount of time left before going up in smoke. So I was confident of getting home in one piece.
The last mile was all gently uphill, but finally I was at the bottom of my road and could see my flat at the top. Head down, and ran to the top. Made it home in pretty much exactly three hours. Slow, slow, slow.... but who cares.
Woke up this morning knowing that I had to run 15 miles, and felt a nervous dread hanging over me. Still felt so tired, don't really know why. Ate a high-carb breakfast of yesterday's leftover pasta (yum...) a banana and a yoghurt, plus loads of water and lucozade sport.
Worked out a route which basically took me through the streets of Hove to Portslade seafront, which was four miles, and from there all the way along the seafront to Ovingdean and back.
Warmed up, stretched, put my gear on, made a new 78-track running playlist for my iPod and loaded up my new water belt with liquid fuel. Glanced in the mirror and I looked like a complete twat.
Found it really hard to muster any enthusiasm whatsoever and eventually left the flat at 1.15pm.
The first few miles were tough, as always. It takes me such a long time to get into a rhythm. After four miles, as usual, my right foot started to go numb. I can normally deal with this; it usually goes away again by mile six or seven. But now my left foot was starting to follow suit and I was having to really concentrate on my form just to stay upright. With every footstrike, I felt like I could feel every individual bone in my feet, and it felt like they might snap at any given moment. I decided to stop and walk for a couple of minutes to get some feeling back, which worked.
Ran along the seafront, which is getting increasingly crowded now as the days get warmer, and had to dodge in and out of the daytrippers dawdling along with their chips and ice-creams. I always feel like screaming GET OUT OF MY WAY! but I'd probably get beaten up and am certainly not fast enough to avoid being chased by a bunch of Brighton teens.
For the first time, ventured further than the marina. Went up on to the cliffs that run all the way to Rottingdean and onto the grassy verge, thinking this would be a kinder surface to run on. But it was so uneven and slippery that I was convinced I would turn my ankle at any moment so went back to the paved path. By now I was up to about mile nine or ten I think, and starting to feel very wobbly and a bit sick.
Once I got to the Ovingdean roundabout, I turned and headed back, walking for the first couple of minutes.
When I got back to the Marina (around mile twelve or thirteen), Eminem's Lose Yourself was in my ears, which gave me a real boost - it's such an intense song, and funny how lyrics can take on a much more literal significance when you're almost at the point of collapse.
Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted - One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?
The last stretch was agonizing - I had a sharp pain in my left hip and my knees were crunching like a bag of rusty spanners, but I somehow managed to increase my pace very slightly; for some reason it seemed to be less painful to run a little bit faster. My heart rate was up around 175, which is pretty high, but I know I can keep going at that level. 10 beats higher and I'd only have a limited amount of time left before going up in smoke. So I was confident of getting home in one piece.
The last mile was all gently uphill, but finally I was at the bottom of my road and could see my flat at the top. Head down, and ran to the top. Made it home in pretty much exactly three hours. Slow, slow, slow.... but who cares.
posted by Rab at 11:58 PM
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