Testing times

Two weeks ago, I had my 4th shock wave treatment for this bloody heel spur and plantar fascia-not-quite-itis.  Lars the Osteopath gave me the thumbs up to do some test runs last week so, with his guidance firmly in mind, I tested. 

Three jog-walks, all 30 minutes in length.  The first one was 2 minutes jogging/2 minutes walking, which I did on a football pitch for some extra softness underfoot.  The second one was 4 minutes jogging/1 minute walking on the road.  And the third was 2x15 minutes with 2 minutes of walking, also on the road.  All of which had the Lars stamp of approval.  And they all felt fine.  The first one was ached slightly but there was no discomfort at all with the second session, and both of those felt fine afterwards.  However, although the third session felt absolutely fine during the jog/walk (and actually felt the best of the three sessions), by that evening the discomfort had increased to 3 out of 10 on my personal pain scale.  And when I got out of bed the next morning, it initially was 4 out of 10 which is the highest that it had been since I started the shock wave treatments.

I was gutted.  Even though the discomfort quickly decreased to 2.5 and then to 1, I feared that it wasn't a good sign.  I spent most of Monday morning at work in Shetland (where I am this week) firing off shrieking panicky texts to Adam, Ben, and Lars.  Adam and Ben both said the same thing:  don't panic, it could just be your heel getting used to being used, see what Lars says.  And what did Lars say?  It's clearly not better, these things can take a long while to clear up, be patient, and come back for a 5th and probably 6th shock wave.  Gutted again.

On the slightly positive side, Lars did say that it's okay to keep doing jog/walks as long as they are at a level that doesn't aggravate my heel.  So, with Ben's guidance, I did 30 minutes of 2 minutes jog/2 minutes walk yesterday in torrential rain and 20mph wind.  (Ben didn't suggest the rain and wind, by the way - that was a bonus extra.)  My heel ached a bit (only 1 out of 10) but was fine afterwards and is okay today, and for a brief time, I felt like a hardy Shetland runner again.

I am so close to putting all of this to one side - no more running, no more jogging, no more walking, no more cross-training - and just letting this bloody heel get on with healing in the absence of any impact whatsoever but have been told (with varying degrees of politeness) by Adam, Ben, and Lars that this is possibly just a bit of an over-reaction.  Good thing that they can't see my IT'S NOT FAIR AND I HATE BEING PATIENT face as I'm writing this then.

You get what you pay for

Now that I'm firmly into the semi-retired stage of my life, my need to make the 50 mile round-trip from home to Inverness (where my office is located) has drastically reduced.  This has meant that if I wanted to use the gym on days when I wasn't scheduled to work, I had make extra trips into town.  This wasn't as much of a problem when I was running - all of my cardio was outside, and I just used the gym for strength and conditioning when I was in town for work - but during my recovery from this heel injury, this added at least an extra 150 miles (and corresponding petrol costs) to my weekly travels.  So I finally made the change that I had been thinking about for a while:  I cancelled my membership at my posh Inverness gym and signed up for the Highland Council scheme that, for half the price of my posh gym, lets me use any of the Council gyms.  Two of these are within 20 minutes of my house, which is much more practical for a rehabbing runner.

Now, I am someone who likes my luxuries (hence the posh gym), so I was apprehensive about what to expect from the less state-of-the-art facilities provided by a cash-strapped Council.  I've been using the Council gyms for several weeks now, and I needn't have worried.  Here is how it all stacks up:

• If I want state-of-the-art equipment, the Inverness branch of the scheme has just had an extensive upgrade.

• The equipment at the two other branches that I've used is a bit more...well used, shall we say.  A lot of it looks like the equipment that my posh gym got rid of a couple of years ago.  But it all works and does what I need it to do.  

• My only unhappiness is the quality of the videos of outdoor scenes on the cross-training equipment.  At the posh gym, we had videos of trails along beaches, in the mountains, and through the forests in exotic locations.  At the Council gyms, the videos are of paved paths crowded with people who walk into you; paved paths used by dog walkers (at one point, I counted 20 dogs running free - and a couple of dogs having a romantic interlude - and the person doing the filming had to stop several times when passing dogs jumped up on them); and a paved path along side a busy A-road.  Just a bit down market for my tastes.  

• I have had more people say hello to me, strike up a conversation with me, and respond to my own social overtures in the three weeks at the Council gyms than I have in the 10 years that I spent at the posh gym.  It's a much more relaxed setting.

• The changing rooms are all a bit dire and I can't imagine ever using them; in fact, I haven't seen anyone else using them either.  However, there is a positive side to a lonely changing room:  no more being huffed at by ladies-who-lunch because I've taken 'their' locker, and no more ladies-who-lunch walking in on me in my shower cubicle because 'I always use this one' and then waiting outside the cubicle until I finish, even though THE OTHER 9 SHOWERS ARE FREE.  (Yes, that really happened.  And she didn't even apologise.)

So, for a vastly reduced fee, I get access to numerous gyms that are much more convenient to my house; equipment that, while not top of the line, still allows me to do my cross-training with no problems; a friendly and relaxing atmosphere; and no battles over lockers and showers.  I can certainly put up with the uninspiring outdoorsy videos for all of that.  And who knows?  Perhaps navigating those crowds of people and animals will do wonders for my patience. 

Virtually annoyed

Tourist season in the Big City of Inverness is not one of my favourite times.  Not only is traffic a nightmare (it took me 40 minutes to drive across town yesterday, a journey that normally takes 10 minutes), but walking has its own hazards.  I was fully prepared yesterday, after a week of dodging pedestrians on the High Street, to head butt the next person who either 1) came to a dead stop in front of me 2) cut across my path or 3) walked into me.  How difficult is it to LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING???

Today, though, I was able to stay on the much quieter Black Isle and my drive to the small local gym in nearby Fortrose was notable only for a couple of cyclists and an older person on a mobility scooter, all of which were easily overtaken.  I had a 40 minute cross-training session to do - I might not be able to run, but apparently that's not an excuse to do nothing - including 20 minutes at threshold effort, which I did on the elliptical machine.  Rather than watching television on the elliptical's monitor, I prefer to watch one of the Outdoors videos in which you move along forest trails, lakeside paths, and other scenic settings.  Pretending that I am outside helps to distract me from how mind-numbingly boring cross-training can be.

Anyway, today's choice was one that I haven't used before, a video of a paved walkway along San Francisco Bay, leading to the Golden Gate Bridge.  From the start, the person who had been operating the camera had to dodge and weave their way around random walkers, cyclists, and dogs.  I could feel myself getting irritated with all of this and tried to remind myself that it wasn't real.  However, when one of the walkers coming towards the camera JUST KEPT ON COMING, forcing the camera operator to stop and then move around the walker (and which made ME come to a stop as well, like it was really happening), the annoyance that had just been in my head to that point spilled out of my mouth. 'Oh FFS, get out of the way,' I growled, much to the surprise of the older gentleman sweating away on the elliptical beside me.  He finished his workout very shortly after that - I can't say that I blame him.

Cross-training:  the more like real life you can make it, the better.

A shocking time

Seven weeks and two days ago, I took on London2Brighton and managed 56k before I pulled out due to excruciating pain in my right heel.  I knew going into it that my troublesome heel might not last the distance, but I wanted to give it a go and see how far I could get.  Unfortunately, it started to niggle at 10k and was verging on proper pain at 20k, which was hugely disappointing as I had gone further with less  pain during my training runs.  At the 40k check point, it was so sore that I was limping while running and came into the checkpoint fully prepared to stop, but 30 minutes of eating crisps and drinking tea and texting just about everyone that I know for advice helped me to realise that I wanted to try to carry on to the half-way check point at 56k.  Which somehow I did.  I couldn't run because my heel was entirely too sore - it was like having knives stabbing into me with every step - but I did manage to very slowly hobble my way for 16 kilometres.  It took hours and hours and hours but hey, I got a t-shirt and a Half-Way finishers' medal out of it.  Sensibly, I decided not to hobble on for the remaining 44k.

I haven't been able to run since, aside from a disastrous test-jog three weeks ago.  Adam and I had been working on the assumption that I just had a bruised heel but my reaction to the test-jog made him think that something else was going on.  He thought that I needed an x-ray to rule out a heel spur and, since we knew that Lars the Osteopath (who had so successfully treated my hamstring tendinopathy with dry needling a couple of years ago) has an x-ray machine at his practice, I booked myself in.

It turns out that I didn't need an x-ray.  Apparently shrieking and trying to kick Lars in the head when he dug into my heel was diagnostic all by itself.  In addition to the heel spur, he also identified very unhappy plantar fascias from all of my limping.  'We have a great treatment for this,' he said, 'and you should see rapid improvement within three sessions - but it's going to hurt.'  Pfft, I thought, I'm a tough ultra runner.  How bad can it possibly be?  The answer:  pretty fucking bad.

Heel Spur posed by model.

Hello, Shockwave Therapy.  I have never in my entire life felt anything as painful as this.  It's like having a tiny jackhammer pound on the sorest part of your body for what feels like an eternity but in reality is probably no more than 10 minutes.  I've had three treatments so far and the first one was so painful that I didn't even have the breath to swear.  But after the first treatment, I was walking pain free for the first time in months.  After the second treatment, I had several days of feeling like I had a normal foot again.  I had the third treatment yesterday and am enjoying another pain free day today.  We now give things two weeks to settle down and then will review progress, including whether I can start introducing running again.  I'm not necessarily expecting to get the all clear in two weeks, but I am feeling positive that it's all moving in the right direction.

Just the facts, please

I was going to write a long whingeing post about my right heel pain but, frankly, I'm tired of hearing myself go on about it.  However, in the interests of keeping track of my injuries and niggles in case they reappear in the future, I will just report the facts:

• I've had a lot of pain in my right heel pad for the last two weeks.  The discomfort is more or less manageable while I'm actually running but afterwards and first thing in the morning, it's very very very painful.

• Adam's best guess is that it's related to all of the not-quite-broken-toe limping that I've been doing while walking and also to probably unconsciously changing my gait while running in an attempt to protect my toe.

• He also assured me that the problem doesn't originate in the plantaris or the plantar fascia, and that it's not a bone spur.  (I had never heard of the latter, but Adam made me promise not to consult Dr Google.  So far, I've resisted the urge.)  He thinks that I've bruised the tissues around my heel bone and just need to give it time to settle.

• So, on Adam's advice and with the support of Ben, I didn't run yesterday.  Amazingly, and due entirely to Adam's efforts on Tuesday, this morning was the first morning since this started that I've been able to put weight on my heel when I've first gotten out of bed.  And while there's still a vague ache, it's nothing like it was.  I even felt like I could try a short run.  I shared that enthusiasm with Adam who responded with 'ABSOLUTELY NOT!' and, because I am a cooperative patient who has learned from past mistakes, I spent the day sitting on the sofa with my only walking being to the kitchen to check out the biscuit supply.  So, no running today either.

• And I'm not running tomorrow because even if my heel feels ready, what with my Saturday and Sunday runs, that would mean that I'd be running three days in a row and even I know that would be a run too far.  Hopefully, these three days of rest will allow me to tackle the weekend's long (but not Big) runs with a happier foot. 

Why long but not Big runs, I hear you ask?  Because after last week's total of 45 miles, I am now officially tapering.  Two weeks and one day to go.

Huh.  Pretty much like training, then.

Reading the signs (incorrectly, as it turns out)

This time in three weeks, I will (hopefully) be more than half-way through the 100k London2Brighton ultra marathon.  If I make it to the start line, it won't be for a lack of trying to sabotage my own efforts.  None of it has been deliberate, but an astute observer of behaviour (e.g. Ben, Adam, Bassman, Cathy, all of my colleagues in Shetland) might suspect that there has been an unconscious process at work that is designed to make me DNS this race.  Here's what has been happening in the past five weeks:

A combination of the Cough from Hell, a too-tight band on my sports bra, and a mobile phone in the wrong pocket of my hydration vest meant that I ended up with bruised ribs following the JMW ultra.  I couldn't take a deep breath without feeling like I was being stabbed so, not surprisingly, running hurt.  A lot.  I still can't lie flat or on my side, but as of last week I am able to breathe normally again whilst upright.  Hurrah!

Eleven days after the JMW Ultra, I whacked my left foot into a heavy plastic boot tray in the flat where I was staying in Shetland.  I had been hitting my foot into it all week and even said to myself at one point, 'You're going to break a toe on that if you're not careful!'  But did I think to move it to where it wasn't in the way?  I did not.  Did I break a toe?  Thankfully not, according to my x-ray, but the pain felt like every other broken toe that I've had and my poor toe was given a diagnosis of 'bruised and traumatised'.  I missed almost two weeks of running, and was convinced that L2B was not going to happen.  Three weeks and a bit on from the injury, it still hurts to walk in my bare feet but as long as I wear shoes with firm soles and keep my toe buddy-strapped to its neighbour, running is possible.  In fact, it hurts less to run than it does to walk and last weekend's 2 hours on Saturday and 3.5 hours on Sunday did it no harm. 

A week and a half after the toe injury, I whacked my traumatised toe into a piece of furniture at our friend Richard's house.  A day or so later, on the same piece of furniture, I did it a second time.  When we got back home, I managed to drop a torch, complete with batteries, onto my poorly toe.  Lots of pain, lots of tears, but my toe seems to have survived.

And just yesterday, I stepped into a patch of nettles with my bare right foot (don't even ask how this came to pass), leaving me with a rash and pain that's still there today, and then dropped my Kindle, pointed edge first, onto the top of the same bare right foot.  The bruise overlaps the nettle rash.  Lovely.  Just lovely.

Coming so close to not being able to start the L2B race made me realise how terrified I am of doing this.  There was a very large part of me that hoped that my rib pain and traumatised toe meant that I would have to pull out, and I was entirely okay with this.  Running (well, running/walking/shuffling/whingeing/crying) 100k seems utterly impossible and I didn't want to even try.  An injury would be the perfect excuse to stay in my comfort zone.

Cue Coach Ben.  After a particularly extensive whinge (me, not him) along the lines of 'I HATE EVERYTHING AND I QUIT,' he provided lots of encouragement but, more importantly, gave me a kick up the backside.  'Stop faffing and stop trying to find excuses.  You ARE going to do this so you need to commit to it and just get on with the running.'  Or something like that.  It was what I needed to hear and it bumped me out of my self-pitying mode.  While I am still terrified and still can't imagine how I will be able to keep going for 100k (and am still dropping things on my feet), I'm back to (kind of) looking forward to it and trying to remember to see it as a grand adventure.

It's been along time since I've done something that really scares me, and one of the reasons that I wanted to run 100k was to step outside of my comfort zone and really challenge myself again.  I just didn't appreciate how very very far outside of my comfort zone this was going to turn out to be!

Reflections on the JMW Ultra

It has taken me almost a week to properly come to terms with my first ultra experience.  For the first couple of days, I felt quite despondent about the whole thing.  It hadn't been fun, there had been parts that I actively despised, and I was back to being one of the slowest runners.  And as for running twice that distance in two months?  Ridiculously out of the question.

However, encouraging (and sensible) words from Bassman, Adam, and various friends and a lengthy post-race discussion with Ben all helped me to put things into perspective and I am feeling more positive now about what I achieved.  I'm very good at identifying what didn't go well, most of which I laid out in the last post, so for a change, here are the good things:

• I didn't cry, even though I wanted to.
• It never crossed my mind to DNF.  Not once.
• I kept moving, even if that pace was just a slow walk. 
• I ran the whole race without my iPod.  If my fingers hadn't been frozen, I might have taken it out of my pocket but as it was, I learned that I can comfortably be in my own head for that length of time.
• Even without the iPod, the time passed really quickly.  I might have been shattered, but I wasn't bored.
• I enjoyed the chats that I had with fellow runners.

And most importantly, I finished with my legs feeling in relatively good shape.  They were stiff and aching immediately afterwards, as one would expect them to be, but within 48 hours all of that had pretty much disappeared.  72 hours post-race, I did a 30-minute recovery run that felt fine.  My post-race massage with Adam was uneventful, with only a slightly tight right calf and lateral hamstring to show for my efforts.  This is a recovery week so the only other run that I have is 60 minutes tomorrow, and I'm certainly feeling ready for it.  Of all of the positives that I could possibly have hoped for from this race, rapidly recovering legs is the best positive of all.

The area where I need to make improvements is hydration and nutrition.  I didn't drink enough and I certainly didn't take on enough calories and, while I did not hit The Wall, this certainly contributed to my lack of energy in the later miles.  Ben thinks that I need to reverse my nutrition strategy and rather than taking gels and quick acting carbs early in the run/race, save them for the later stages when I need to perk up my legs.  Instead, he's recommended eating easily digestible whole foods in the earlier stages when my digestion is still working reasonably efficiently.  He suggested the cookbook Feed Zone Portables, which is recipes for little bites.  I'm willing to give it a go, although I'm more nervous about cooking than I am about running 100k.

Ben said that although London2Brighton will be harder physically, he is confident that it will be much easier mentally because the conditions underfoot and the weather will not be as soul-destroying as those in the JMW.  Maybe, although his track record at predicting good weather is not reassuring ('It's always brilliant weather for the Florence marathon!').  But even if it does turn out to be shit weather, at least I've had a lot of experience at not giving up in the face of it.

I still can't imagine being able to run 2x50k but for at least today, I'm back to being willing to try.

John Muir Way Ultra: Race Report (with swears)

Before I go any further, let me first say:  I am now officially an ultra runner.  I finished the 50k JMW Ultra in a few minutes under the cut-off time of 7 hours and, if just finishing a race of this length counts as a success, then I was indeed successful.  And I have the medal to prove it.  However, it wasn't the race that I wanted to have and, while I am feeling more positive about the experience today, I'm still a bit demoralised and am questioning whether I really have it in me to take on the 100k distance at the end of May.  So, without further delay, let the whingeing commence....

My fears about the weather proved accurate.  According to the Met Office, the wind on the day ranged from 20-24mph, with gusts to 30+mph.  The windchill was -2 to -4.  Fortunately, the predicted snow never happened nor did the torrential rain, but there was enough intermittent rain in the first half in particular to thoroughly soak everyone.  I  judged my choice of running kit appropriately:  full-length windproof tights; technical t-shirt; mid-layer; an additional third layer; lightweight waterproof/windproof jacket; winterweight headband/ear warmer; fleece gloves; buff.  It sounds like a lot of clothes, but I never once felt overheated.

The weather was so foul at the start that we skipped the traditional pre-race photo and just huddled like penguins in a group for warmth while waiting for things to get going.  The first four miles or so mostly ran along very narrow sandy trails above the beach.  I ran in a patient queue, going at the pace of the runner in front, which suited me as it meant that I wasn't tempted to go out too quickly (plus the person in front of me served as a wind break).  I quickly realised that I needed to adapt my run/walk plan as the narrow paths meant that there was no safe way to disengage myself from the running queue, but I was proud of myself for staying calm about needing to wait for my walking opportunities.  I took my first walk break at 40 minutes or so, and then only for a couple of minutes before the wider path returned to a narrow one.  Over the whole 50k, between narrow paths, congestion, and terrain issues, the regular run/walks that I practiced in training never really happened.

Between miles 5 and 10, there were tarmac and roadside footpaths but also some lovely woodland paths to give the legs a break.  So far, so uneventful.  It would have been gorgeous on a nice day but the wind and rain meant that I had my hood up a lot of the time so only really saw what was directly in front of me.  My legs were feeling the effort of running into the wind but I was happy with how I was holding up.  Between miles 10 and 18ish, we ran through fields along what looked like sheep tracks (and where the woman in front of me caught her foot in a tussock and landed in an awkward heap on the ground, breaking her finger in the process), along woodland trails (nice and springy underfoot), through the side streets of North Berwick (amazing houses), and along the beach through huge deep swathes of seaweed to the North Berwick RNLI station, where there was a sheltered aid station.  I stopped briefly for a pee (which I didn't actually need, which made me realise that I probably wasn't drinking enough) and some banana and some of my energy bar but I was so wet and frozen at that point that I had to start running again just to keep myself warm.

We could see this from miles & miles away.

It took me a couple of miles to warm up and to get my legs moving freely again.  Fortunately (or not, depending on your point of view), the next section included some steepish uphill tarmac paths through the woods and I was okay again by the end of the climb.  The route returned briefly to pavement before heading onto a path that skirts around the bottom of North Berwick Law.  The race organisers have been trying to get permission to take the route to the top of the Law but so far have been unsuccessful.  Such a shame.


The route then went through part of Balgone Estate (roughly miles 20-23ish), which apparently is very beautiful on a sunny and dry day.  On a very rainy day, after several previous days of rain, it was a fucking nightmare.  Mud, mud, and more mud.  Ankle deep mud that threatened to suck my shoes from my feet.  Clingy, sticky mud that made my shoes look twice their size and that weighed my legs down.  Mud that clogged up the treads in my shoes so that I had no traction whatsoever.  Mud that was so deep and unpleasant along the path that we had to avoid it by making our way across the muddy hillside, hanging onto branches and bushes in an attempt to keep from sliding down into the morass.  Running felt impossible, and walking was barely manageable.  I hated it.  I hated every single solitary step of it.  I just wanted to cry and, if I had been alone, I would have.  But misery loves company and there were four of us at this point who had been overlapping each other, and we supported each other through the worst of it.  At the end of this stretch, there was another aid station and I stopped for a brief stretch and a drink (I tried Active Root, a ginger-based sports drink, which was really really really nice) while the others carried on.  The volunteers at the station told me that there were a number of runners who had emerged with torn tights and gashes in their legs from falling, so I feel fortunate that I escaped that section with just tired legs.

And bloody hell, were my legs tired.  The slow walking, the effort that it took to unstick my feet from the gloopy mud, and probably the cumulative effect of running into a headwind for the first 15 miles had taken their toll.  Miles 23-26 took in some tarmac (hurrah!), paths through farm fields (hurrah - not muddy, just wet!), and Drylaw Hill (not hurrah; the last thing that my legs wanted was a bloody hill to climb, so I walked.  Very slowly.  It took me 10 minutes, but I got to the top.  Eventually.)  I was alternating short periods of running with short periods of walking.  It wasn't pretty and it wasn't fast, but I didn't stop.  I had forgotten that I had some ShotBloks with caffeine with me - idiot! - so took some in the hope that they would give me enough energy to get the rest of the way.

The aid station at mile 26.2 was most welcome, and I had some more Active Root drink and chatted with the guy who developed it, who was helping to man the station - turns out that we have a friend in common so we caught up on her exploits and I had a bit of cake before I remembered that I had a race to finish.  I asked how many miles to go, expecting to be told four, because I had been operating on the assumption that 50k=30 miles.  Oh, how wrong I was.  Apparently 50k=31 miles. You'd think that an extra mile would be neither here nor there, but when you've been basing all of your finishing time calculations on 30 miles it feels like the end of the world.  Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.  Off I trotted, with that bloody cake sitting very badly in my tummy.

By this time, I could feel the caffeine from the ShotBloks doing its thing.  Which would have been excellent, except that the mud returned.  Not continuously, but for the next two miles it seemed that every time I started to get a rhythm going, mud appeared.  I did try to run through it but after a couple of times of skidding, doing the splits, and pinwheeling my arms to try to stay upright, I made the decision to walk instead.  It just felt too risky given that I am majorly uncoordinated and unsteady at the best of times.

There was a marshal at the '5k to go' point and I had a brief moment of optimism - it's just a parkrun, I could still feel the caffeine in my system, and my legs felt like they would have been happy to run.  But no.  The last 5k was another nightmare.  Mud, mud, and more mud, this time on a very narrow coastal path that if I had slipped, meant going into the water.  I was past wanting to cry, but I'm afraid that I did shout major swears every single fucking time that I slipped.  I knew that if I wanted to make it across the finish line in under the cut-off, I needed to get my arse in gear and I had Ben in my head saying exactly that whenever I started to walk.  Again, it wasn't pretty and it wasn't fast, but I got there in the end.  The last 200m was across a muddy and waterlogged field (quelle surprise) but I was NOT going to walk this with folks watching.  I might have been the last one across the line, but I was going to do it running!

And so I did.

This has become too long so I'll leave my reflections on what went well (e.g. I didn't cry) and what didn't (e.g. my nutrition) for another day.  On the one hand, I am disappointed that I was so slow.  On the other hand, I did my first ultra in conditions that even the race organisers described as brutal.  So maybe, just maybe, this can be counted as a success after all.

Proof that I did it!

The night before the night before

This time tomorrow, my cough and I will be tucked up in our hotel in Haddington, just a short drive away from the start of the John Muir Way Ultra.  I'm still quite excited about this and aside from worries about my cold, I've stayed fairly positive throughout training.  But now, this close to the start, some anxieties are creeping in.

First, there's the weather.  Depending on whether one looks at BBC Weather or the Met Office, the forecast for Saturday includes 13-17mph wind (with gusts to 25-30mph), 30%-50% chance of rain, and 3-5 degree temps.  With the windchill, that takes it into minus numbers.  Sigh.   Once, just once, I'd like to run a race in reasonable weather.

Second, the adverse weather has thrown up all sorts of issues about what to wear.  My shoe choice has been made (Saucony Excursions) but everything else is up for debate.  Waterproof jacket?  If yes, the winter-weight one or the lighter spring one? Long tights or capris?  If long tights, compression vs windstopper vs the ones that make me look thinner?  Base layer is sorted, but the mid-layer will depend on which jacket I choose and whether I actually think I'll be wearing the jacket or just carrying it in case it rains heavily.  Old hydration vest, with its sticking zips and lack of pockets on the front but very broken in, or new hydration vest with lots of pockets in the front but which I've only worn for two one-hour runs.  And then there's the different versions of  the buff, ear warmer headbands, and gloves....good thing that I'm driving down, as I'm leaning towards emptying my running drawer into the boot and making a final decision on Saturday morning.

And finally, it looks like there may be navigational challenges.  My understanding was that the route stuck to the well-signed John Muir Way, but apparently it deviates in places to avoid town centres and to give more time on the trails.  The route notes are along the lines of 'Turn left at the third toadstool; follow the trail to the secret door in the hidden wall; take the next turning through the graveyard whilst avoiding zombies; and finally turn right before the bridge.  If you cross the bridge, the trolls will get you.'  We've been assured that there will be marshals (with stakes for the vampires, of course) at the more confusing junctions, but I suspect that this whole thing may be more of an adventure than I was expecting.

What a difference a day makes

After yesterday's debacle, I was seriously leaning towards not going for today's 60 minute easy-effort run.  I tried to convince myself that yesterday's performance - or lack thereof - was an indication that I needed more rest but actually, I just was feeling lazy and didn't fancy moving from the sofa.  Because I couldn't think of a good reason to justify taking today off, and because I knew what Ben would say if I tried, I ended up with no choice but to get dressed and get out the door. 

Within five minutes, I was running into a freezing headwind and being pelted with huge heavy raindrops (no idea where they came from; the sun was out when I left the house) and seriously considering taking myself right back home again.  But we ultra runners scoff at bad weather (when we aren't whingeing about it) and besides, I knew that by the time that I got home the sun would be back out so I put my head down and plodded into the storm.

Sure enough, the sun was soon shining again and because I had plotted a route that was not only mostly downhill or flat but also mostly kept the wind at my back, I ended up with a very enjoyable run.  My legs felt back to normal although I suspect that it might have been another story if I had tried to make them run any quicker or if I had been running into the wind for any length of time.  The crushing fatigue that I felt yesterday seemed to have gone, and I only started to cough (but at a much reduced intensity) once I was back home again.  Phew!  It looks like the race might be on after all.

Struck down (sort of) at the final hurdle

I have a cold. 

After months of training - months of SUCCESSFUL training, I might add - and months of doing everything that I possibly can to get myself to the start line in one piece, I have been felled by a bloody cold.  FFS.  I knew from a raging sore throat that it was coming on last week but told myself that if I could just get my last two long runs in, I'd have two weeks in which to recover from any unwellness that was lurking.  And while it's true that there were two weeks, I had forgotten that my colds (and more specifically, the hacking, booming, endless cough that I get with my colds) take forever to resolve. 

One week has passed, in which Ben suggested that I not run until today, and I'm still a coughing machine.  I've coughed so much that I lost my voice for two days and then gave myself a migraine.  I have not, though, cracked a rib like I did several years ago during another violent coughing episode. #gratefulforsmallfavours

As horrible as my cough is, it is not in my chest so I did do today's run, which was meant to be 6x5 minutes with alternating sets of threshold and 10k pace, but I felt for most of it like I just wanted to lie down on the soft grassy verge in the sun and have a nap.  A combination of wind, post-cold lethargy, and sluggish legs from not having run for five days meant that threshold and 10k paces just were not happening, and even a fast jogging pace was a bit of a fantasy.  I was left feeling that if the ultra had been today, I'd have been a DNF.  I've felt so optimistic about this race and today was the first time that I've thought, I'm not going to be able to do it.  And frustratingly, not because of poor training or injury, but a bloody cold.

I'll try to stay focused and try to stay positive - there's still a week to go and surely I'll be a bit perkier by then.  If not....well, let's hope that it's a lovely day for a long walk!

Going strong

I have reached a lot of running milestones during my time being coached by Ben and each one has felt at the time like the Best Thing Ever.  Well, this week surpasses all of the other milestones for sheer unbelievability and wonderfulness.  Wait for it...

I ran 42.09 miles this week.  Me.  The one who could never manage more than 15 miles/week without something popping, snapping, or seizing.  Fuck me.  I have no idea whose legs these are, but I'm not giving them back.

Today's 18 miles (25 minutes running/5 minutes walking) on a hilly off-road route was great.  Even after yesterday's 12 miles, my legs felt fine.  Well, they felt fine up until two hours, when I stopped to have a chat with the owners of two lovely Alsatians.  Unfortunately, my legs interpreted the stop as them being finished and no longer needed, and they were most unhappy at being pressed back into service (especially since there was another hill looming).  It took most of the next hour to convince them to perk up and, while this wasn't exactly comfortable running, I knew that it was just tired legs and that I'd get through it.  And sure enough, after an hour's slogging and trying not to focus on how absolutely bloody tired my glutes, calves, and feet were, it was like a switch was flipped and I suddenly had functioning legs again.  Weird. The last half-hour was back to feeling comfortable, and I even had enough energy to pick up the pace for the last mile. I finished the run feeling strong and capable and positive, and confident that I could have continued on.

So that's it.  My last long runs before the ultra on 31 March.  I'm tempted to spend the next two weeks doing absolutely no running at all - there's no point in risking attracting the attention of the Running Gods at this late stage - but I suspect that Ben would not be supportive of that (although I haven't asked, so who knows?).  However, to show how determined I am to do all that I can to get to the start line in one piece, I will not be wearing heels to my Girls' Night Out in Glasgow tomorrow. 

We ultra runners know the meaning of sacrifice.

Note to self:  Putting a swoosh on them does NOT make them running shoes.

Get out of my way!

My long runs today and tomorrow (2 hours and 3.5 hours, respectively) are the last long runs as I approach the ultra at the end of the month, and I had grand plans of exploring some new routes to celebrate this.  But real life in the form of 20+mph wind and what feels like the start of a cold (why, oh why, oh why do my clients NOT STAY AT HOME when they are unwell????) meant that I sat on the sofa for far too long this morning feeling sorry for myself (cough cough, sniffle sniffle) whilst also perusing multiple weather charts, trying to find somewhere to run that wouldn't result in me being blown off my feet.

I eventually decided that such a place didn't exist in this country and proceeded to 1) moan to Bassman about hating running and saying that I think that it's really quite a ridiculous and pointless thing to do (which made him look askance at me and say that he couldn't believe that it had taken me this long to figure that out); 2) grumbled about how unfair it was that Coach Ben is in the Algarve at the Full Potential warm weather training camp and I have to YET AGAIN go out for a run wearing three layers, gloves, and my ear warmer headband; and 3) huffed my way out the door to do one of my usual road routes, fully intending to hate this run and everything that it stood for. 


Because I expected to just shuffle my way around the route and to walk when I got too irritated by the wind, I made the decision to not look at my pace at all.  No point in demoralising myself even further.  Once I let go of the idea that this was going to be a fun run where I achieved something, I surprised myself by starting to enjoy it.  The wind mostly came at me from the side, aside from between 70-90 minutes when I was running directly into it and 90-120 minutes when I had it at my back, and it felt manageable.  My calf behaved itself.  My breathing was nice and easy.  The sun came out and there were lovely views of the snow-covered hills across the water.  There were some snow flurries.  My legs felt springy and happy.  And I overlapped with Bassman, who was just doing the last section of his own run, for about five minutes half-way through which was a nice surprise.

Bassman asked what pace I was doing and I had no idea, but I glanced at my watch and told him that I had just about completed six miles.  We carried on chatting and running, when it suddenly hit me that six miles in an hour meant....10min/mile pace.  Surely not....I didn't look at my Garmin again until I was almost home, and got the biggest shock when I saw that I was going to be at almost 12 miles at 120 minutes.  I carried on for an extra four minutes just to make the round number, and finished feeling like I could have merrily carried on. 

Just goes to prove - surprise surprise - that what holds me back the most is....well, me.  Sigh.  We'll see if I can manage to get out of my own way again tomorrow.

I can't hear you!

I was absolutely positive that Ben told me that last week was going to be an easy week.  Turns out that, once again, I only heard what I wanted to hear.  It wasn't the most difficult week of running in the history of the world (nope, that honour is going to belong to this week) but it was harder than I expected an easy week to be and I made sure that everyone knew about it.  Knowing that it wasn't intended to be easy, however, makes me feel more kindly towards legs that behaved like uncooperative planks of wood.

I escaped last week with just tired legs and a overly tight left calf (again).  I've had so many injuries over the years that I don't even have to resort to Dr Google anymore to diagnose myself.  I was convinced for a short time that this was the start of Compartment Syndrome but it's more likely that it was related to running parts of my threshold intervals up a hill (it was Shetland; it's unavoidable), wearing heels to work, sitting like a pretzel on the plane, and unconsciously trying to find an excuse not to do the ultra at the end of the month (self-sabotage is alive and well). 

So on Sunday, when I finally had a good look at this week's running schedule, today's threshold intervals of 6-8-10-8-6 minutes separated by three minutes of jogging resulted in my first thought being 'my calf is going to blow up if I do that.'  My second thought was 'that's the hardest threshold session I'll ever have done.'  And, of course, my third thought was 'it's too hard, I don't want to do it.'  Ben said that missing out a run to give my calf more of a rest wouldn't be a bad thing given that training has been going so well, and I immediately assumed that he meant that I didn't  have to do The Hardest Threshold Run Ever. 

Yet again, I only heard what I wanted to hear.  What Ben MEANT was IF my calf is tight and bad and I NEED some rest (as opposed to just fancying a rest), then either drop or cut short one of this weekend's long runs.  NO EXCUSES for not doing the threshold run.  In fact, he suggested that I approach this run with a spirit of excitement  and curiosity about how my body might react.  Huh.  I'd have been more spirited if my legs hadn't felt like I had concrete blocks tied to them.  But never mind.  I'm a wannabe ultra runner and I can toughly whinge my way through just about anything.

So I taped up my calf and shuffled out the door.  There was some intermittent tightness in the first couple of miles but nothing major and as my legs warmed up, my calf completely settled down.  I felt like I was running sooooo slowly but a later perusal of my Garmin stats showed threshold paces not that far off what I was managing during marathon training.  It was hard, but I did it.  And almost seven hours post-run, the calf is still pretty much okay. 

It looks like this ultra actually might happen.

Never in a million bazillion years...

would I have thought that I could do what I did last weekend.  My running schedule called for two hours on Saturday, followed by three hours on Sunday (and this after running on Tuesday and Wednesday as well).  I felt incredibly nervous but, as Ben says, I can complain about it but I still have to do it.  So I did it.

I ran the two hours on Saturday on the road just for something different.  This was the longest run yet in my Saucony Rides and they felt great - no blisters, cushy, and my calves really seem to like being back in a slightly lower heel-toe drop shoe - and I am hopeful that I have found my new marathon distance road shoes.  I did a big loop from the house that took in views across the Cromarty Firth to the snow-covered hills beyond, and then ran out-and-back along the Cromarty Road itself with more views of water and hills.  My legs felt strong and I had to remind myself to keep it at an easy pace because I HAD THREE MORE HOURS TO DO ON SUNDAY.

I was out the door at 7.30am on Sunday because I needed to fit this run in before flying to Shetland later that afternoon.  I wasn't sure what to expect from my legs, and I was pleased that they felt okay...well, they did until I actually started to run.  And then I got a huge 'WTF?' message from them.  Already tired legs + a steady incline for the first two miles + enough snow to cover the stones (making me mince my way along the path) = cursing, whingeing, sniveling, and threatening myself with turning around and going home.  Fortunately, I am getting much better at ignoring my inner toddler (although I still didn't see how I was going to drag such uncooperative legs around a three-hour route) and just carried on.

I was utterly surprised when, after the first walking break at 25 minutes, everything kind of clicked into place.  My mood lifted, my legs relaxed, and the rest of the run was most enjoyable.  My task had been to use a 25 minute run/5 minute walk strategy and I mostly stuck to that aside from when I briefly and briskly walked up parts of some of the steeper hills.  (According to Ben, this is 'working with the terrain,' which sounds much nicer than 'too lazy to push myself.')  My legs went through the occasional tired patch but nothing too horrible and, at the end of the three hours, I could have happily carried on. Within a couple of hours, the worst of the post-run aching had disappeared and by the next day, all that was left was some residual tightness in my calves.

I am feeling a sense of bemusement as I write this.  This is not something that I ever expected to be able to do and it still doesn't feel quite real, but I'm trying to enjoy every step.  Even the ones that hurt.

Moving right along...

It appears that my foot injury is over before it even started.  My visit to Adam, coupled with not running until yesterday, seems to have been all that was needed to let things settle.  The lump is still there and it still hurts if I press on it ('then stop pressing on it!' I hear you say), but it doesn't hurt when I run and that is all that matters.  I'll keep an eye (a finger?) on it just in case it morphs into something massive but otherwise, I will erase all thoughts of it from my mind.

The extra rest did my legs some (brief) good.  I felt light and springy for the first half of Saturday's threshold session (2x8 minutes Kenyan Hills - which requires running up a hill for 60 seconds at threshold pace and then back down the hill at threshold pace, and repeating for 8 minutes - with another 8 minute threshold run along the flat added on after each Kenyan Hill set); by the second half, though, I was back to my more familiar 'argh, I'm going to die!' mode.  Fortunately, I'm a lot better now at realising that these thoughts are just in my head and have nothing to do with what's happening with my legs, so I just carried on.

Today's run was 150 hilly off-road minutes where it was just about time on feet.  I started off with 25 minutes running/5 minutes walking and repeated this three times, then got annoyed because all of my walk breaks were coinciding with the downhill sections - what's the point in having walk breaks if you can't walk up the bloody hills?  I therefore switched to 9 minutes running/1 minute walking to maximise the possibility that at least some of the walk breaks would coincide with at least some of the uphills.  This had the desired effect and, all things considered, it ended up being a very enjoyable run on a crisp, clear, sunny winter's day.

It's nice to be back on my feet.

Today's run, brought to you by the lovely & comfortable Brooks Cascadia 12.

Nowhere to hide

There comes a time in every runner’s relationship with her support team when it becomes clear that they know her so well that they can predict what she is going to do before she does it.  For example, that’s why Adam knows to precisely define what ‘taking it easy’ means when he is giving instructions for looking after niggles and injuries.  He knows that I have my own definition of that and I need to be explicitly told what to do.  Merely telling me to be SENSIBLE doesn’t work, but it took him ages to figure that out.

Ben’s understanding of me has now officially reached the mind-reading stage.  I had let him know that Adam wanted me to ‘take it easy’ on Tuesday and Wednesday (apparently that did not include doing the scheduled threshold session even at a slightly slower pace, or even doing the 40-minute easy-effort run; what Adam actually had in mind was me doing those sessions at the gym on the bike or the cross-trainer), and I duly reported to Ben after Tuesday’s gym session that I had done it but hated it.  Mainly because I had forgotten my earphones and so had to listen to the gym’s choice of techno music for an hour.

Wednesday morning rolled around and I had convinced myself to give the 40-minute easy-effort session a miss because, really, what possible difference would that make in the scheme of things?  I was in the process of coming up with a plausible excuse to give to Ben when what should ping into my inbox but an email from him.  ‘What are you doing?  Get out there and do that session.  I don’t care how miserable you think it will be, go and do it and then complain to me later.’  Bloody hell, how did he know???  It kind of freaked me out but it did make me put on my running kit and get out the door.

The gym was fine, mainly because I remembered my headphones.  And I didn’t even complain to Ben afterwards because where’s the fun in complaining if you’ve been given permission to do so?

Sigh.  I am now officially an Open Book.

If the stone hurts...

I thought that I had escaped Saturday's 4-hour run unscathed and, in most ways, I did.  Immediately after the run, my legs felt stiff and achey but that was to be expected, and within 24 hours they felt fine again.  What I didn't expect to find, however, as I prepared for bed on Saturday night, was a bruised and swollen section across the middle of the sole of my right foot.  It didn't hurt during the run, it didn't hurt during the rest of the evening, but it was very tender when I put some recovery arnica cream on my feet before bed.  Weird.  And it was still there Sunday morning, along with a couple of little bumpy nodule-type things that hurt when I pressed them.  So I iced and arnica-ed and compression socked myself for the rest of the day to no avail.  It still felt like I had a huge bruise across the bottom of my foot and all that I could think was that this had been caused by running across numerous sections of sharp stones, which I felt even through the sturdy soles of my trail shoes.

On Saturday afternoon, I had magnanimously given up today's appointment with Adam so that Bassman could be seen instead (having sustained his first running-related injury a few days previously).  On Sunday afternoon, I clawed back part of that appointment for my own use.  Nothing like the fear of plantar fasciitis to squash my altruistic tendencies. 

Adam was his usual sympathetic and supportive self, although I could tell that an eye-roll when I mentioned PF wasn't far off.  He had a feel of my foot and yes, it hurt.  IT HURT A LOT, especially when he pressed on the spot where the nodule-type thing is.  He thought that there was a bit of swelling but that the main source of pain was the nodule-type thing, which he thought felt like a cyst.  And then, in between him doing his job of causing me so much pain that I didn't even have enough breath to curse, we tried to puzzle out what else this could be besides a cyst.

Bastard stones.

Adam thought that my hypothesis of sharp-stone-induced-bruising was a possibility.  Funny, though, how pain clears your brain.  After a particularly excruciating manipulation, I had an epiphany:  I suddenly remembered that for at least the last 3 miles of the run, I had a couple of small but painful stones rattling around in my shoe and that they kept getting stuck under my arch until I managed to dislodge them permanently down towards my toes.  Adam just looked at me as I disclosed this and I said it before he could:  I'm such an idiot.

So, yes, my nodule-type thing could well be a cyst or even Plantar Fibromatosis.  But it's far more likely at this point that it is bruising and trauma caused by 1) running across sharp rocks without due care and attention and 2) being too lazy to stop and de-stone my shoe.  Sigh.  I've now learned why the ultra rule of 'Take care of the little things before they become big things' is a rule.  I won't make that mistake again.

I am trying not to be the Other People.

It’s a whole new world

One of the benefits of having a running coach is not having to think about what I’m doing or even why I’m doing it.  Gone are the days of obsessing for hours/days/weeks over which training programme has the best chance of getting me to the start line uninjured.  Now I have Coach Ben, who sends me two weeks of training every two weeks and who is available by phone, email, and text to answer any questions, discuss strategy, and basically calm me down when I panic that I’m injured (‘It’s just your body getting used to the new training volume’) or that I can’t do whatever run he has set me (‘It’s supposed to be tough, now get out there and do it!’).  I focus on one run at a time and don’t really pay attention to how it all fits together or to my progress.  That’s Ben’s job, and I trust him.

Because I just get on with it and don’t look at the big picture lest I freak myself out, I’ve pretty much felt over the past 6 weeks like I’m doing marathon training which is fine because that is familiar to me.  I’m vaguely aware that I’m now running 4 days/week and that a lot of my runs are now on consecutive days and that the volume has been creeping up, but I don’t think about it a lot.  A run is just a run.

Today, though, I couldn’t ignore any longer that I am doing Ultra Training.  Yesterday, I ran for an hour.  Today, I ran for four hours.  When I saw this in my training schedule, I sent Ben an ‘OMG, I can’t do that, it’s too hard, you’re trying to kill me’ text.  He replied that he had expected that reaction from me (yep, my first reaction is always an overreaction) and that it didn’t matter how much I whinged, I still had to do it.  He did reassure me that the four hour run was just about time on feet and that I was expected to do a run-walk and that if I managed 13 miles, that would be fine.  13 miles???  I could walk that in four hours...

We negotiated a run-walk strategy for the first three hours, and he left it up to me what I did with the fourth hour.  I could even walk the whole hour if I wanted to.  And so I set out with absolutely no idea what to expect.  I was supposed to run sloooow, and if I had gone any slower I’d have been walking.  I did 15 miles in the first three hours and my legs were feeling fine, if a bit tired, but then I had a panic that possibly doing 20 miles in total would be Entirely Too Much so increased my walking breaks and finished up with 18.75 miles.  And this after doing 6 miles yesterday.

I’m in completely new territory with this.  I’m taking a bit of time to feel pleased that I ran for 4 hours and that my legs are already starting to recover, and I’m taking some time to acknowledge how far I’ve come from the days when 3 days/week and never more than 15 miles/ week were all that my legs could manage.  But tomorrow I’ll be back to head in the sand and one run at a time, with no acknowledgement that I’m actually running towards an ultra at the end of March.

Complete and utter denial works well for me.

There's always a bright side

Yesterday's threshold run fell into the 'just get out there and get it done' category.  There had been snow on and off all day and the wind had been gusting to 50mph but by 5pm, the skies had cleared and the wind had dropped to 20mph.  Just in time to squeeze in my run.

So I bundled up in my winter jacket, windproof tights (I had forgotten that I had these - what a joy they have been to wear!), gloves, buff to keep my neck warm, and headband to keep my ears warm and set out for a 10 minute warm-up, 4x8 minutes at threshold effort, and a 10 minute cool-down.  I tried to find a route that minimised the impact of the wind but I'm in Shetland this week, which means that no matter what direction you face, you're facing into the wind.  Oh well.  Mental toughness, right?

And I was tough - I kept my effort at threshold level into the wind, up the inclines, and even when I had to dodge pedestrians who got blown into my path - but then, two minutes into the last interval, it started to hail.  Fortunately this didn't last long; unfortunately, the hail changed to sleet, which changed to snow, which changed back to sleet again.  In case you were wondering, 20mph wind and sleet are not a good combination.  It felt like the skin was being flayed from my face.  I had to stop (pausing my Garmin, of course) to transform my buff into a balaclava in an attempt to protect my face from the elements.  And then I had to stop again 30 seconds after that because I couldn't see where I was going due to white-out conditions.  Once I could see enough to stay on the path, I finished the interval as quickly as I could without sliding off the path into the loch.  Phew.  Only a 10 minute cool-down run back to the house was left.  It sleeted the whole way.

I was very thankful to step through my front door, but then I caught sight of myself in the hall mirror.  My hair was iced over and had frozen to my head but more alarming was my fringe, which had frozen at a right angle to my head and looked like a windsock.  Oh, the horror.

Still, it could have been worse.  I could have had to do this run on the treadmill. 

Trial and error (and more error)

One of the many Rules of Running is 'Do not wear anything in a race that you haven't first tried in training.'  My last couple of runs have flagged up just why this is important.

They're in here somewhere...

Sunday's 120-minute off-road run saw me pair my Brooks Glycerines with Feetures socks.  I always wear my Balega socks with the Glycerines and the Feetures with my Sauconys - I have no idea why, it's just become a habit - but it was the Feetures that I grabbed from the running sock drawer first (yes, I have an entire drawer just for running socks) and I couldn't be bothered to rummage around for the Balegas because I was already setting off later than I had planned....and they're just socks, right?  How much of a problem could they cause? 
 
A fair bit, as it turned out.  Within 30 seconds of starting to run, the right sock disappeared into my shoe and rucked up under my foot.  Sigh.  I stopped to sort it out, thinking that I just needed to pull it up a bit higher but again within 30 seconds of running, it snuck back under my foot again.  Sigh and several swears.  I wasn't about to spend another half-hour going back home to get more functional socks and I wasn't about to spend a two hour run fighting with my right foot.  So I did what any impatient person would do and removed the sock and ran with one socked and one sockless foot.  I had feared developing blisters on the naked foot but it was in better shape at the end of the run than the other foot.  I'm not sure what this means for my Sock Future (do I dare to go bare?) but I do know that I'm glad to have found out now - and not at the start line of an ultra - that Feetures and Glycerines do not get along.

And then there was today's 60-minute threshold run (for those who find it interesting, it was a 10 minute warm-up, threshold intervals of 10, 8, 6, 4, and 2 minutes with 2 minutes recovery between intervals, and a 10 minute cool-down).  I had to start in the dark so wore my head torch for the first time in a couple of years.  'This will be good practice,' I thought, given that I'll be running/walking/shuffling/crawling during the night for at least the last couple of hours of London2Brighton.  I also thought that I'd experiment with wearing my compression calf sleeves to 1) keep my calves warm in the fierce wind and 2) give some extra support to my grumbling left calf.  I've only ever worn these for recovery post-run but lots of runners think that they really help during the actual running as well.  I'll take any help out there that might keep my weary legs ticking over, so practicing with calf sleeves in training can only be a Good Thing.

Argh!  Get these off me NOW!

Except that it wasn't.  I HATED the feel of them.  I kept interpreting the tight (supportive) sensation of the sleeves as being a tight (injury) sensation.  And even once I got my head around that, I HATED how hot they made my legs feel.  OMG, I just wanted to stop and rip them off but to do so would have meant taking off my tights first and, by then, it was getting light and I didn't think that the passing rush hour traffic would appreciate being flashed.  I toughed it out but I will NEVER wear them for running again.  EVER.  My calves will just have to cope on their own. 


And how did the head torch work out?  Well, it was comfortable and, with three brightness settings, very adaptable to changing light conditions.  I noticed that it had a fourth setting - a series of flashing lights which I thought would be good for increasing how noticeable I was.  I used that for a mile or so before I realised that the pattern of lights was actually the SOS signal.  Sigh.  No wonder some of the oncoming cars were slowing down to have a look.  Just as well I figured that out now and not in the  middle of the night near Brighton after the rescue services showed up.

Running.  There's always something new to learn.

It's (still) all about the shoes

Triumph 9s.  So lovely.  So missed.

My recollection of this blog's previous life is that I spent a lot of time obsessing about shoes, running and otherwise.  So it won't be a surprise to anyone that today's topic is, of course, shoes.  Running shoes, to be specific.

Glycerine 13.  Pretty.

I still mourn the disappearance of the Saucony Triumph 9s, as none of the Triumph's other incarnations have suited me.  I've literally rubbed along with the Saucony Rides (blisters and bruised toenails from a too-narrow and too-shallow toe box) for the sake of their 8mm heel-toe drop, but eventually I was A Very Brave Runner and tried the Brooks Glycerine 13s.  The toe box was still a bit too narrow to comfortably run more than 8-10 miles and the drop was 10mm, but at least my toenails stayed attached.  However, when it came time to start training for the Florence marathon, I knew that I had to find shoes that allowed my poor feet to stay blister free. 

Ghost 10s.  As comfy as they are beautiful.

Hello, Brooks Ghost 10s!  Their 12mm drop makes my calves ache, but the toe box is nice and wide and there were no peeps from my (thankfully ex)blisters throughout training or, indeed, during the race.  A trade-off that was well worth making.

But now, my Glycerine 13s - my short and middle distance shoes - are at the end of their useful life.  I have a new pair of Ghost 10s waiting in the wings for my long road runs but they are too soft for comfortable trail running (I can feel every stone through the soles and, indeed, ended up with bruised feet following the Aviemore HM last year) and, because both of my pending ultras have trail components, Coach Ben has instructed me to do all of my long runs on trails.  So what is A Very Brave Runner to do but rock up to the local Run4It and spend 1.5 hours trying on pretty much every road and trail shoe in the shop? 

Ride 10.  Purple.

Leaving the lovely and very patient salesperson in a state of exhaustion amidst a pile of empty boxes and scattered shoes, I eventually decided on the newest model of the Saucony Rides.  My previous issues with the toe box seem to have been addressed and they do remain a 8mm drop shoe, which seems to suit my calves better than a 12mm drop.  At the very least, they should be good for all but the LONG runs.

That still left me with finding a trail shoe.  The lovely and very patient salesperson girded his loins and brought out yet more offerings.  The only trail shoe that had more than a 4mm drop was Salomon but they were so tight and uncomfortable that it wasn't even worth trying them out on the treadmill.  It took my calves months and months and months to adapt to an 8mm drop when I got my first pair of Triumph 9s, and I am extremely doubtful as to whether I'll ever be able to adapt to 4mm in time for the first ultra at the end of March...but being Very Brave, I'll give it a go.

Peregrine 7.  Also purple.

Welcome, then, Saucony Peregrine 7s!  They were in the sale AND they are purple AND they were very comfy during the treadmill test.  What's not to love?  I will, of course, need to be sensible about transitioning to them and I have arranged a phone call with Coach Ben next week to get his guidance about this, but perhaps it's time to allow my fear of Different Shoes to go the way of my fear of Running Too Much.

I'm not the runner that I used to be.