Part 1: The Malta Half Marathon (or, the Running Gods have the last laugh)

Bassman and I left for Malta on the 20th, with me possessed of optimistic expectations for the race on the 23rd.  My training had gone well, with no injuries, only minor niggles, and a successful 13-mile run only two weeks previously.  Yes, I had come down with a stonking cold the week before we left but hey, that was a taper week anyway so there wasn't anything to be lost by missing out on a few runs.  And although I was still fairly sniffly by the time we left for the airport, it was clear that I was in the last stages of the cold and that it wouldn't be a problem come race day.  All that was left was to relax, enjoy the Maltese sunshine, and have a fun run.

Ah, the best laid plans...

We overnighted at one of the large, anonymous, but relatively comfortable hotels at Gatwick airport and arrived in Malta at noon on the 21st.  After a wild taxi ride to our hotel (the Pebbles Boutique Aparthotel) - everyone drives in their own bubble and acts as though they are the only car on the road but, somehow, it seems to work - we were pleasantly surprised to find that we had been upgraded from the studio flat that I had originally booked to a 2-bedroom, 2-bathroom flat with a balcony that overlooked the harbour.  It was perfect, aside from the raucous laughter and karaoke that pumped out of the restaurant/nightclub on the ground floor until 2am most nights.  But I always travel with my trusty earplugs, so even being above Party Central wasn't enough to daunt my optimism.

Bassman has written about our touristy activities on his blog, so anyone who is interested can read about them there.  Instead, I am going to move on to the night before the race.  WARNING:  If you have an aversion to hearing about bodily functions, you might want to read the next bit with one eye closed.

We had had huge pizzas for dinner (I couldn't finish mine, which should tell you something about how huge it was) and I was feeling uncomfortably full, even a bit unwell, when we went to bed.  I woke up at 2am feeling REALLY unwell - nauseated and stomach and intestinal cramps - and spent the next four hours tossing and turning, but telling myself that this was just a reaction to having eaten too much.  At 5:45am - an hour before the alarm was due to go off - I flung myself from the bed and barely made to the loo in time.  Oh my.  As Bassman so delicately put it in his blog, evacuations from both ends.  Big time.

In between trips to the loo, I carried on with my race preparations just in case this was something that would work itself out of my system in the next hour.  I tried to eat a bit of banana, but that came straight back up.  I tried to drink a bit of water - same reaction.  No way was I going to try the porridge!  Instead, in my (with hindsight) dehydrated, feverish, and ILL state, I decided that I would take four energy gels with me instead of the two that I had planned - because these would of course make up for the complete lack of food in my body - as well as an energy bar and some sport jelly beans.  No, I don't know what I was thinking, either.

At 7:30am, I tried to get out the door but had to detour into the loo at the last minute.  Fortunately, by this point, the diarrhea had pretty much finished (mainly because there wasn't anything left to be gotten rid of) and I decided that I wasn't feeling too bad, so I tucked a 20 Euro note into my SpiBelt just in case I had to get a taxi back to the flat and scuttled off to the bus.  After a twisty, turny, bumpy ride to the start in Mdina, I was feeling well enough to sip and keep down some water.  I tried a nibble of the energy bar but that CLEARLY was not a good idea.  However, although I felt queasy and crampy and light headed, I wasn't in urgent need of the facilities.  Maybe the worst had passed and now, as they say, adrenaline would carry me around the course.


Ah, the best laid plans indeed...

Tired, but not from running

Today I:

• Took my car in for its MOT at 9.30am.
• Was asked if I wanted to have it serviced at the same time, as the next service is due at the end of the month anyway.  Said yes.
• Went for a 7 mile run along the Caledonian Canal while I was waiting for the results.

Caledonian Canal: flat, but windy

• Really enjoyed the run.  One mile each of warm-up and cool-down, with five miles at a 9:45 to 10:00/mile pace in between which, for me, is a Really Good Thing.  Nothing hurt.  And none of the dogs that I passed tried to bite me.
• Took a phone call from the dealership.  Car failed its MOT because it needs a new tyre.  I had feared that it would need four, so this was good news.  What wasn't good news was that the dealership doesn't carry tyres so would have to source one from somewhere else, and the MOT guy could only do the retest at the end of the day.  Was asked to phone them back later in the afternoon to make sure that they could get me another tyre.  Sigh.
• Managed to cope with the poor changing room and shower facilities at the Aquadome with only minimal cursing.  Having to keep pushing the button in the shower to keep the water flowing?  Doable.  Having to keep dodging around the other patrons of the changing room because it is TOO SMALL for more than a few people at a time?  I was gracious.  Having to spend £1 for 3 minutes of hair dryer time because there wasn't an electrical outlet to plug in my own hair dryer, and then to find that the cord for the hair dryer wasn't long enough for me to see myself in the mirror so that I had to dry my hair by feel, and then to find that I only had enough change for one go at the hair dryer so my hair was still wet when I left the building?  FFS.

• Phoned the dealership but no one knew what was going on because the service department were all at lunch.  Agreed that I would collect the car tomorrow rather than live in hope that I would be able to collect it by the end of the day.

• Had to shlep my heavy gym bag and even heavier Fossil bag 1.5 miles from the Aquadome to the High Street.  (I hadn't factored needing to shlep into my packing calculations.  I assumed that I would have had my car by this point.)  My right shoulder seized up but my legs enjoyed the walk.

Stylish, but deadly

• Had a lovely lunch of pasta salad with sundried tomatoes, courgettes, and feta cheese.  And churros with dark chocolate dipping sauce.  And a huge cappuccino.  Was tempted to have a nap at the table after that.
• Made my way to the bus depot so that I could get home.  Listened to an underdressed young woman have a very loud conversation via her mobile about how LIKE, UTTERLY OFFENDED, LIKE REALLY UPSET, YOU KNOW? she was at having been accused of flirting with someone else's boyfriend.  LIKE, WE'RE JUST FRIENDS, RIGHT?  AND I WAS, LIKE, HIS FRIEND BEFORE HE STARTED WITH HER, RIGHT?  IT, LIKE, DIDN'T MEAN ANYTHING, YOU KNOW?  I WAS, LIKE, JUST BEING FRIENDLY, RIGHT?
• Listened to more SHOUTING one-sided conversations from her on the way back home - because of course she sat in the seat behind me on the bus - because three different people phoned her to update her with what The Girlfriend had been saying about her behaviour. BUT I'M, LIKE, INNOCENT, RIGHT?  IT DIDN'T, LIKE, MEAN ANYTHING, RIGHT?  Sheesh. 
• Was very very glad to get home.  Many thanks to Bassman for collecting me at the bus stop so that I didn't have to drag my bags home on foot, and for making me a medicinal Blackwood's Superior Strength Gin & Tonic.

Many good things come from Shetland.

And now?  My legs feel surprisingly relaxed, but I am finding it increasingly difficult to move my shoulder and neck.  A handbag-induced injury?  Oh, the shame.

Almost there...

I kind of lost interest in blogging over the last month because I was dealing with a litany of 'ooh, I'm injured,' 'phew, no, I'm not injured,' 'ooh, I'm afraid that I might be developing an injury,' and so on.  It's irritating enough to have to live through it and probably even more irritating to read about it.  However, now that there's a bit less than three weeks to go until the Malta Half Marathon, it's time for a recap (complete, of course, with some whingeing; otherwise, how could you ever be sure that it was me writing this?). 

Last week's runs, including one of 6 miles (with 4 miles of intervals) and an 11 mile long run, went well.   This triggered a 'phew, I'm not injured' reaction because the week before that - which was a reduced mileage week and therefore meant to be EASY and RELAXING - was SO HARD and made my legs feel SO HORRIBLE that I was convinced that I would never make it to the Malta start line.  My left leg hurt and ached from the hip flexor ('oh no, it's my marathon injury returned to haunt me!') to the ankle.  My calf cramped up so tight on one of the easy runs that I had visions of it tearing again.  Both ankles ached as though they had been sprained.  The only thing that felt good was my plantar fascia.

I'm still not sure what that week was all about, unless it was my legs really really wanting a week off and me not listening.

Regardless of what the issue was, I seem to be fine now.  Last week's runs felt good with only very minor and very fleeting niggles.  I had my pre-race massage and MOT with Adam this afternoon (brought forward by me after panicking about my calf) and was a bit embarrassed as he couldn't find anything wrong with my legs at all.  There was some residual tightness in my hamstrings and calves, but that was a reflection of usage, not injury.  The conclusion?  A clean bill of running health.

I'm feeling so superstitious about getting to the start line injury-free that I'm not allowing myself to feel excited about it in case I draw the attention of the Running Gods.  And yet, when I see pictures like this...

Sliema, the city where we are staying & where the race ends

Or this...

Valletta, across the water from where we are staying

Or this...

Mdina, where the Half Marathon starts

what can I say except, 'Yes, I am mega-thrilled!'

A focus on form

I've been consulting Dr Google and Nurse YouTube about my not-quite-plantar-fasciitis, looking for different stretches and strengthening exercises to do (as well as looking for - and finding - people who say, 'Of course you can run through it!').  During my searches, I came across a different application of KT tape for arch support, a video by a foot doctor which demonstrated the massage techniques that Adam used on me last week, and advice from Danny Dreyer, Mr Chi Running himself, to walk barefoot on gravel for 5 to 10 minutes.  (This apparently acts as a mini-massage to break up any adhesions in the plantar fascia.  Really.)  I also kept reading about the importance about decreasing both distance and speed while you are healing.  Bummer.

Poppity poppity pop

Still, I am nothing if not sensible.  I have been doing my stretches religiously but last night I also used the cross-friction massage technique; I used it in a much more gentle and tentative way than Adam did but damned if I too didn't feel the bubbles along the plantar tendon that he had quite merrily popped.  So I popped them too.  It didn't exactly hurt but it did make me shiver.  Not quite as much as the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard might do, but it was close.  However, whether it's coincidence or not, my arch didn't wake me up in the middle of the night with major aching and cramping.

Today, then, was my long run.  I used the new taping configuration and found it much more comfortable than the previous one, which was so irritating that I stopped in the middle of my 5 mile run on Friday to rip it from my foot.  I'm not enthusiastic about decreasing my long-run distance - I have a half-marathon to train for after all - but I did stick at the 8 miles that I've done for the last two long runs and did drop my pace by 60sec/mile.  It felt like a really, really slow jog but rather than grumble about this to myself for 8 miles, I used the time to focus on my form.

Chi running is big on body sensing, which involves doing a series of scans for any areas of tension or stress in your body and then relaxing them.  Body sensing also helps you to keep track of what your posture is doing and of where your feet are landing.  What I discovered was that, as long as I kept my strides short and my turnover high (as a good Chi runner is meant to do), there was no tension in my ankles and feet at all.  The first sign of a heel strike made my arch tighten; reverting to midfoot striking made it relax.  I also carry a huge amount of tension in my shoulders and neck, and relaxing them also meant that my lower body relaxed too.

So I finished the run - on a beautiful cold, crisp, windless day - with feet that felt relaxed and that certainly weren't hurting.  Even now, almost five hours later, my arch feels okay.  I'm aware of it being a bit stiff but that's about it.  The big test is how it feels in the next 48 hours, but I am cautiously optimistic that I've now turned the corner.

Just to be sure, though, I'll be out walking barefoot along my neighbour's gravel driveway tomorrow.

Return of The Bumblebees

The ache in my left medial arch has been a fairly constant niggle since my last post.  It doesn't bother me at all when I'm running - and I even completed a quick(ish) and strong 8 miles before Christmas - but it had begun to ache so much at night that it was keeping me awake.  I decided to take some days off running, but this didn't help and the ache kept getting worse.  Finally, on 30 December, I broke down and texted Adam.

When I saw him a couple of weeks ago, he couldn't really find anything wrong aside from some plantar fascia tightness and was confident that things should resolve themselves fairly quickly; in fact, he was so confident about this that we arranged our next appointment for well into January.  Fortunately, he had a cancellation the afternoon of the 30th and I went along with some trepidation, fearful that he would diagnose plantar fasciitis and tell me to stop running.

Thirty minutes of towel-bitingly painful massage later, I got the good news.  While there is 'plantar fascia involvement,' this has not YET developed into the dreaded PF.  Adam found some scar tissue this time (Adam:  'It feels just like the bubbles in bubble wrap; time to pop the bubbles!'  Me:  'Aaarrrggghhh!') and the usual tightness, but nothing that unduly concerned him and nothing that made him think that I needed to stop running.  There are, however, some adjustments to be made.

I need to diligently use my therapeutic rolling pin to roll out the plantar fascias on both feet on a regular basis.  I need to stretch my calf, achilles, and plantar fascia several times a day.  I need to keep my long runs to single digits for the next couple of weeks.  And I need to break out The Bumblebees, with their 12mm heel-toe drop and better support, at least for the next week or so, to give my foot a bit of a rest.

It's all eminently sensible and I'm happy to comply.  I've been rolling and stretching away the last couple of days, and dug The Bumblebees out from under the stairs for today's 3 mile easy run.  (I was taken aback all over again by how yellow they are but, hey, this is a medical emergency; fashion gives way in the face of not-quite-plantar-fasciitis.)  Everything felt fine, and my legs felt fresh after their 5-day holiday from running. 

Post-run, my arch still feels okay which is a good sign.  Fingers crossed that whatever Adam did has put me on the road to recovery...Here's to staying below the Running Gods' radar in 2014!

Tempting fate

Since August, I've been running without a training plan.  No speed work, no hills, no specific mileage that I need to do each week, and no focusing on my Garmin.  Just running for the joy of running (with a few 10k races thrown in for fun).  My legs were happy with this approach and let me know this by staying injury- and niggle-free, as well as by being a bit more nippy than they've been in the recent past.  I was feeling optimistic about my running future.

And then I registered for the Malta Half Marathon.  And booked non-refundable plane tickets.  And booked accommodation.  And started to follow a training plan.  Yep, nothing like sending up a gigantic flare to the Running Gods inviting them to take their best shot.

In the last week, I have 1) tweaked my right ankle during a 7-mile run in high winds (I went over on it when blown off-balance by a particularly vicious gust.  Why was I running in such horrible winds?  Because I'M IN TRAINING, DAMMIT.)  and 2) tweaked my left medial arch - no idea how this happened, but it was a constant low level ache for days and days.  I'm walking a fine line between ignoring my fear that this could be the start of plantar fasciitis and making sure that I don't turn something low level into yet another race-stopping injury.  Oh, and 3).  The winter gales have arrived so EVERY SINGLE RUN now counts as resistance training.

Sheesh.  Who would have thought that booking one small race would have such an impact on my feet as well as on national weather systems?

In the interests of balanced reporting, I should say that I successfully completed a 4 mile run on Friday and a 7 mile run today with no pain or achiness whilst running and only a bit of medial arch grumbling afterwards.  Still, to be on the safe side, I'll take more care than usual in the weeks to come.

Just in case the Running Gods are paying attention.

You learn something new every day

One long run to go, and I'll be at the end of my first week of training for the Malta HM.  So far, so running-in-the-winter-in-the-Highlands.  One 3-mile run that started mild and dry and ended up with torrential rain and a freezing wind.  Several unplanned rest days due to gales, gales, and  more gales.  Today's 4-mile run with snow all around and a temperature of -1 (which meant that I got to wear my lovely pink Gore winter jacket) but with a blue sky and no wind...roll on Sunday's 7 miler!

My legs feel fine.  However, because they feel so fine, I've become less fanatical about doing a cool-down walk at the end of each run and have noticed that my hip flexor has started to tighten up again.  This could be because of the diminishing cool-down or it could be because it's so cold outside but, regardless, I resolved to go back to a 15-20 minute walk after running as this really seemed to help during my recovery from injury phase.

Today gave me a chance to test this out in a totally unplanned way.  I was doing an out-and-back for the last mile, part of which passes a cottage where some very large, growling, barking Hounds from Hell live.  They've chased me before but I haven't seen them in ages and had begun to hope that they had moved on.  No such luck.  As I passed their house on the way out, they came thundering to the far end of the garden to have a go at me.  There is a fence there so they couldn't get onto the road but, on the way back, they can get out of the garden via the drive to the house.  So, what to do...

Rather than deal with the dogs, I chose to run up the long hill to Balblair and then make my way home from the main road.  A bit longer but it would give me the chance for a proper walking cool-down and would allow me to avoid confronting my dog phobia.  Result!

Now, I've NEVER run up this hill - down it, yes, lots of times.  But up???  My head has always said TOO STEEP, YOU CAN'T DO IT.  But I'll do just about anything to avoid dogs and I only had 0.5 miles left to go at this point anyway.  How hard could it be?  The answer:  erm, not that hard at all.  Major anti-climax.  It wasn't as steep as I had expected and I would have been quite happy to continue on if I had had additional miles to do. 

John and Paul (if not George and Ringo) have advised me to learn to embrace hills, which I have scoffed at with all of my smug laziness.  But on this run, on this hill, on this particular day, albeit with the Dogs of War nipping at my heels, I kind of understood what they've been talking about.

Santa Run report:  Lizzie and I successfully completed the Inverness Santa Run on 1 December!  Although we wore our Santa suits with pride (and with numerous safety pins holding up our Santa-sized trousers), we didn't wear our Santa beards as beards.  Too claustrophobic (hey, Claus-trophobic!  Get it???) and just a step too far in the unattractiveness direction.  We opted instead to wear them around our necks so that it looked like our Santas had some very nice chest hair action going on.  In our part of the field, everyone was chatting, laughing, and generally seeming very relaxed.  However, photos of the front of the field showed some very competitive Santas who were taking it very seriously indeed...Next year, Lizzie, that'll be us!

We're in there somewhere!