Race report: Aviemore Half Marathon

I had hoped to get in some quality runs between the 10k two weeks ago and today's HM but work, weather, and general inertia combined to see me run not one single step in the past week.  If nothing else, at least this helped the 50p-sized blood blister that I picked up during the 10k (I wore the wrong socks; I love my bamboo socks but they do not love me, which I KNOW but the turquoise socks look so nice with my pink shoes and I thought, what harm can it do, it's only 10k...) and my knee to settle down.  So, I rocked up to the start line in fine fettle and really, really looking forward to this last run in my year of Fun Running.

At the start:  a bit blurry, but still beautiful

I was pleasantly surprised to find one of my work friends and her husband in the start line queue.  They're just back from two weeks in Canada so we had lots to chat about as we waited for the race to start and we continued chatting as the queue slowly moved forward towards the start line.  In fact, we were gabbing so much that I forgot to turn on my Garmin and only realised that as I began to run.  Oh FFS.  I toyed with leaving it off completely - for this race, I wanted to focus on the experience rather than obsessing about mile splits - but I can't NOT have data...cue much faffing with the Garmin, stumbling over rocks as I faffed, and being blinded by the unexpected appearance of the sun as I faffed and stumbled.  In other words, my usual graceful race start.  But once the Garmin had found a satellite and was doing its thing, I resolved not to look at it at all and to run my own race in my own way.  And funnily enough, I wasn't even tempted to look until it was all over.

It took  me almost a half-mile to get the Garmin sorted and by that time, I had become mired in the midst of some slower runners who were using the flat, stone-free part of the path, forcing anyone who wanted to overtake them onto the cambered, rocky sides.  Which, to the detriment of my blister, I did.  I don't remember the paths being that rocky the last time that I did this HM, but I really struggled on them today.  It was hard to keep my footing and the glare of the low sun immediately in front of us made it hard to see what was happening on the ground.  I went over on both of my ankles a couple of times, one of which elicited a loud 'Whoa!' from the two people behind me.  Still, it could have been worse.  I saw a woman after the race with bruising and cuts to her face from a fall.  I felt like an idiot, but at least I wasn't injured.

Get. Out. Of. My Way.

While I'm complaining, I also don't remember the previous race being as crowded as it was today.  I seem to recall mainly running on my own a lot of the time, which was fine because some of the paths are so narrow that there's only room for one person.  Huh.  Not this time.  At one point, it felt like the Cairngorms' equivalent of being on the A9:  one slow person in front and a long queue behind them with nowhere to overtake.  Unlike the A9, everyone was being very polite, no one asked the slower person to step aside, and it didn't feel appropriate to do that from the middle of the queue so I relaxed into it and enjoyed the views through the trees of the loch below.

I also enjoyed the downhill bits.  Normally I brake and hold myself back and thud and jar my way to the bottom of a hill.  Today, though, I focused on light, quick steps and on relaxing my ankles and knees.  I tried to keep my hips over my ankles rather than sitting back which meant that it felt like I was leaning down the hill.  Initially scary but then it felt very joyful.  My knee held up just fine, and I overtook lots of folk.  Yay!

And then we were onto the road section.  I like road running and it was nice to be away from the rocks, and it felt like I picked up the pace.  I know that this race is advertised as mostly downhill, but IT ISN'T.  And I am convinced that the first 3 miles on the road consist of a slow, steady incline.  I think that I hated this section last time but today I enjoyed it.  I didn't struggle at all and, despite the blisters (by now, there was one on the other foot as well), steadily overtook people.  UNTIL...

Both lanes of the road are open during the race, and there are traffic cones along the left side to create a safe corridor for runners.  Last time, there was often room for at least two runners which allowed for overtaking.  Today, though, there were a lot of sections where there was only room for one runner and the marshalls were keeping an eagle eye out for people running outwith the cones so again, if you got stuck behind someone going slower than you, you were out of luck.  I did at one point leap from the road to the verge where there was a small path through the grass but this was too uneven for me to run on and, more importantly, that leap tweaked my knee.  Aaarrrggghhh!

By mile 8, my knee had developed a spectacular cramp that extended from mid-calf to mid-thigh.  I normally can run through things like this but it started to feel like my knee was going to give way beneath me.  After a a couple of times where it felt like it had started to buckle, I eventually had to stop twice to give it a good stretch.  The cramping carried on until about mile 10, but I womanfully ran through it and then it disappeared as quickly as it started.  Go figure.

The last three miles were great!  I felt strong, my cardio was not a problem, and NOW it was all downhill!  I overtook more people, waved at the marshalls and spectators, sang along to the songs on my iPod, dodged children on their bikes who seemed to view the runners as an obstacle course, resisted the urge to look at my Garmin, and generally felt very happy indeed.  I had a brief moment of thinking that I was going to fall when I ran across the grass to the finishing line because it was quite bumpy, but I managed to finish upright and smiling.

There isn't a visible digital timer for this race - what there is, is a man with a stop watch taking a very loose measure of when people cross the finishing line (gun time), as well as timing chips for a more accurate record.  I checked my Garmin and I crossed the line in 2:08; add in another 5ish for the very beginning of the race, and I expected to come in around 2:13ish.  Not the best time in the world, but okay for me.  However, I felt so despondent when I checked the online results and found myself with a time of 2:16ish.  Grump grump moan moan, completely forget how great I felt for most of this race and focus on numbers numbers numbers.  Such a healthy attitude...but THEN I found out that the online time is most likely the gun time which means that my chip time should be a bit faster...it really shouldn't matter, but it does.

So that's it.  I'm now at home, icing my knee and cursing the blisters, which hurt way more than my knee does, and waiting for the chip times to be posted.  I ran this race the way that I wanted, doing my best to be fully present and noticing and appreciating everything; even though I wish that I had been faster, I like that I ended my year of Fun Running by...having fun!

But now, it's time for a rest!

Race report: River Ness 10k

I know, I know.  Long time, no blog.  I've been coping not too gracefully with a knee thing for the past month and a half - NOT a running injury, I hasten to add, but one that has been exacerbated by my refusal to stop running.  The physio thinks that I have a minor tear of the cartilage of my left knee, caused by crouching down too quickly and deeply; my old and dried out cartilage apparently couldn't cope with the sudden stress of normal movement.  Yay for incipient old age.

Not overreacting at all.

Anyway, by the time of today's River Ness 10k, I had cut out speed work, cut back to running only twice/week (keeping one of those runs as a very slow long run), cut out running down hills, and added biscuits and cupcakes back into my diet as a consolation prize for limping around the house with a knee that refused to bend.  Oh, I was feeling soooo sorry for myself.  I sent a self-pitying email to the very patient and supportive Cathy, bemoaning my physical state and floating the idea that I should just give up on the 10k and the HM.  My running days were over; oh, woe was me.

Oops.  How embarrassing. 

I dragged myself and my cold (yep, more feeling sorry for myself) to the start line this morning and, after queuing up for the obligatory last-minute pee (whose bright idea was it, anyway, to situate the men's communal urinals so that everyone in the queue had a good view of the men using the facilities?  Not a sight that I really want to see again...) and squeezing myself into the 1hr - 1hr 30min section of the waiting runners, prepared myself for a slog of a run.

Except, it wasn't a slog at all.  My knee performed admirably - just a couple of slight twinges on some of the early downhill sections and a slight feeling of stiffness towards the end but, otherwise, my legs felt great.  My cold didn't seem to interfere; I didn't need to stop to sneeze or to blow my nose, although a bit of surreptitious wiping was called for, and I didn't have a coughing fit until after the finish line.  Despite being very aware of how much cardio I've lost in the past month, I really did feel fine for all except the last half-mile, when I knew that I wasn't going to make it in under an hour and had an almighty 'FFS, what's the point of pushing myself then?' reaction.  I had to give myself a stern talking to in order to keep running but at least I didn't do the Walk of Sulkiness like I did in Reykjavik.

I finished in 1:01:25ish (official times are out tomorrow).  I was temporarily gutted at not being under an hour but, upon reflection, I'm satisfied with this.  Especially as, almost 6 hours later, my knee still feels only a bit stiff.

So, it looks like the Aviemore HM is back on!  I have no idea what time I'll finish in but I WILL finish, and with a smile on my face.  This will be the last race in my Year of Fun Running, and I want to enjoy every minute.

A rambling run

I can only think of three times in my running career that I've run off-road; I like the idea of it, but I've always harboured a fear that my delicate ankles and inflexible calves wouldn't be able to cope with more varied terrain.  However, the past year has been all about breaking through physical and psychological barriers so today, after months and months of promising myself that I would do it, I finally took myself off to do a trail run.

I loaded up the car with my long run equipment (Camelbak, bottle of Lucozade, jelly babies, banana, sunglasses, running hat, phone, iPod, and camera) and drove 45 minutes to the Wellhill car park of Culbin Forest.  It's a place that I know fairly well in a walking sense, including knowing that the trails are more or less flat and well maintained, and it seemed a logical place to test out whether this trail running lark is for me.

It occurred to me, as I drove into the car park, that I had never been there in the summer.  The sheer number of shouting parents, shrieking children, and snarling dogs reminded me of why I had always given it a miss during this time of year.  However, operating on the maxim that the majority of people don't wander far from the car park in any given outdoor situation, I optimistically set off on an eight mile run.  And sure enough, as soon as I turned the first corner, I left everyone behind me and didn't see another soul until I was back in the car park at the end of the run.  Bliss!

I had my route mapped out - it's one that I've walked many times before - and I thought that I knew where all of the turnings were.  I even had a map with me.  But the forest looks different at a running pace and I got a bit disoriented, went straight where I should have turned left, and then had a not unpleasant five miles of wondering where the hell I was.  The wide forestry road that I thought I'd be running on had morphed into a lovely narrow trail, so no complaints there, and I figured that I'd eventually come across a junction that was on my map.  I didn't, not until I surprisingly ended up back at the car park, but it all felt very adventurous in a safe and contained kind of way.

I was a bit disappointed that the beach with views across Findhorn Bay that I had planned the original route to take in wasn't on my alternative route.  In fact, there were no views at all, aside from the trail and trees.  There were, however, lots and lots and lots of flies.  It wasn't too bad while I was running but, when I stopped for a drink or to dither over the map, they pinged off my head and tried to climb behind my sunglasses and a horsefly bit me twice on the arse through my tights and they generally made it so unpleasant that running was a relief. 

Culbin Forest:  trees, trees, and more trees

Findhorn Bay:  what I had hoped to see

So, what's my verdict on trail running?  I didn't enjoy it as much as I thought that I would but that could be because it was so hot (22c) and I am definitely a cool weather runner.  I wish that I had seen the bay and been able to run a bit on the beach.  But then, I liked venturing away from my usual running routes, I liked being out in nature, and I liked not having to dodge 4x4s, boy racers, and tourists driving on the wrong side of the road.

On balance, I think I'll try it again.  But next time, I'm definitely going to the beach!

Running with a half-full glass

It's been three weeks since the Midnight Sun HM, there are three months to go until the Aviemore HM, and I have to confess to feeling a bit baffled as to what I do next.  I am so used to finishing a race and then taking at least the next month off due to either injury, illness (curse you, Malta HM!), or apathy that I don't know how to structure the start of training for Aviemore.

I haven't lost any fitness because I haven't taken any time off so there's no physical  need to cut back to the usual level that I'm at when I start training for a half marathon but, psychologically, it feels wrong (and scary) to run more.  Today, for example, my brain was saying, 'You're tempting fate, you're going to get injured again!' but my body was saying, ' Eight miles?  What's the big deal?'  And it wasn't a big deal.  At all.  I did an easy eight miles out and back along the Cromarty road.  It was very windy, it was very hot, and there were so many cars forcing me off the road that it would have been faster if I had leaped into the firth to swim home - but the running itself was fine.

So, following the advice of Cathy, Paul, and Adam (who are all agreeing with each other, so they must be right), I'll keep my long runs between 8-10 miles for now.  I'm not sure what to do with the rest of the running week but, now that my ankle has mysteriously fixed itself, I have options again. 

And if the Running Gods are reading this and think that I'm being complacent, let me assure them that I am as neurotic, hypochondriacal, and pessimistic as ever - but I am getting better at running as though I am not!

A run in the (midnight) sun: Part 2

And so we were off!  I had a vague plan for this race.  I really really really wanted to finish as close to 2 hours 10 minutes as possible which meant that I had to run at a more or less 10min/mile pace.  For 13.1 miles.  I hadn't done any speed work in training as running faster than an 11min/mile made my ankle hurt, so my brain was telling me that this was an unrealistic goal and that just to finish without puking in public (yep, I'm still haunted by the Malta HM) would be a success.  But secretly, I kind of thought that I could do it.  Slow and steady, don't get carried away, and relax.  Simple, right?

The first couple of kilometres wound through some of Reykjavik's neighbourhoods and included a bridge across the motorway.  Not hugely inspiring scenery, but it was nice that some of the local residents turned out to cheer us on.  Cathy and I more or less kept pace with each other for a lot of this.  We chatted a bit but otherwise were in our own worlds, me plugged into my iPod with its 170-180bpm songs to keep my cadence up and Cathy plugged into the thoughts inside her own head.  I kept an eye on my Garmin and was pleased that I finished the first mile in 10:06.  I finished the second mile in 9:39 and, even though my ankle had stopped hurting and I was feeling strong, I panicked.  Too fast, too fast!

So, without any evidence that it was necessary, I slowed right down and this, plus walking through the first water stop, meant that I finished the third mile in 10:20.  Because Cathy is physically coordinated enough to be able to carry her water with her (I've tried, but I can't manage to freely move the arm and hand that are holding the water bottle, and then I get annoyed and distracted by the sound and feel of the water sloshing around), she sailed past the water station and then I watched her sail into the distance as I walked and sedately sipped from the paper cup.  That was the last that I saw of her until we met up after the race!

My memories of the race become a bit of a blur after this.  It felt like we were running uphill for most of the first half.  The 'of course it's a flat course!' advice that I had gotten at registration was SO wrong.  I did my best to embrace the hills and to float up them in a Chi Running kind of way and was pleasantly surprised to find that I didn't need to walk.  If I could figure out how to import my Garmin data to this blog, you would see that from about mile 1.5 to mile 7.5, there is a steady and consistent climb upwards.  Just goes to show that one person's flat is someone else's 'Oh FFS, not another hill.'

The first half felt like it was all into the wind as well as being significantly uphill.  I didn't do too badly at keeping a consistent pace, although I can see from my Garmin splits where the wind picked up at mile 5 and I thought about walking.  But I didn't.

After the first water station, I let go of the idea of keeping to a specific pace.  I decided to run at a speed that felt comfortable and that allowed me to take in the views because, by that point, we were running alongside a lovely stream with waterfalls.  I, again vaguely, thought that if I was feeling strong by miles 6 or 7, then I'd pick up the speed.  Or maybe I'd only do that at mile 10 if I had anything left.  Basically, I didn't have a plan.  I just wanted to have a fun run.  And that's what I proceeded to do.

I had a brilliant time.  Aside from the wind, the weather was great.  A bit sunny, a bit cloudy, a bit of misty rain towards the end.  The field was a good size:  small enough that I often could pretend that I was running on my own, but large enough that I could target runners in front of me to give me something to aim for.  The scenery was distracting in a good way - streams, flowers, fields, mountains, a golf course, Icelandic horses having a bit of a prance, and a black bunny. Fab.

Looking back to Reykjavik from the top of the Elliðaárdalur valley

Waterfalls in the Elliðaárdalur valley

Icelandic horses having a bite to eat

Watching the runners go by

Did anything go wrong?  Need you ask?  I wouldn't be me if something didn't go wrong.  Miles 7, 8, and 9 nipped along at a pace that felt easy but that was faster by almost more than a minute and a half than anything that I had done in training.  I was thrilled!  And then, at the start of mile 10, my iPod started to skip.  And then it started to freeze.  And then it froze completely.  With only three miles to go, and with my most inspirational songs still to come (deliberately organised to perk up tired legs), the bloody thing stopped working.  And this completely threw me.  I spent most of mile 10 fighting with it trying to get it to work.  I spent mile 11 fighting with thoughts of 'I need the songs, I can't run without them, I'm so tired, I just want to walk,' and I gave in and walked up a hill during the first part of mile 12.  The whole thing was purely psychological and, once I realised that (hey, it only took me 2.5 miles to figure it out), I forced myself to start running again.

Cheers, Tom!

I sang 'Runnin' Down a Dream' out loud to get my cadence and my mood back up.  I ignored my tired legs.  I ignored my blisters.  I told myself that this was a race, not a long run, and it was supposed to be hard at this point.  I told myself that I would be really hacked off with myself if I missed out on a 2:10 finish because I was having a strop over my iPod.  I focused on the woman in the pink top who had been overlapping with me since the first water station and who was now far ahead of me, and tried to catch her up.  The last 1.5 miles were good.  I was tired, I hurt, I was breathing hard but for the first time in a half marathon, I crossed the finish line feeling like I had actually run a race rather than just trying to get to the end without injuring or embarrassing myself.

I finished in 2:10:50 and with a huge smile on my face.  A 5 minute PB and only two seconds behind the woman in the pink top.  Yay for me!

Cathy finished in 2:06:18.  She and I were more or less in the middle of the pack, which is lots better than the joint last that we thought we'd manage.  Paul finished in 1:32:01 and was third in his age group. Yay for us!

I think that I'm safe in saying that we enjoyed the course, hills and all, and majorly loved Iceland.  I hear that Paul is thinking about going back at some point for an Icelandic trail race.  While that is not necessarily for me (although I'd be up for one of the multi-day walking treks through the interior), Bassman and I would be more than happy to show up to cheer him across the finish line.  Iceland...one visit is not going to be enough.

Laugavegur Ultra Marathon:  Go, Paul, Go!

A run in the (midnight) sun: Part 1

The Reykjavik Midnight Sun Half Marathon has been and gone but here, only delayed by a couple of weeks, is my report of the race (or what my middle-aged lady brain can remember of it, anyway).  If you're looking for a travelogue of our Icelandic adventure, have a look at Bassman's blog as what follows is going to focus on what's most important - the running.

Killer spices.

My training in the couple of months before the HM went well, not that you would know that from this blog.  (I wasn't going to do anything to attract the attention of the Running Gods, and that included writing about how well things were going.)  My ankle continued to twinge for the first 20 minutes of every run but remained discomfort rather than pain and I was SO HOPEFUL that I was going to FINALLY get to the start line of a half marathon without carrying any injuries or illnesses.  Imagine my distress when, the night before we flew to Iceland, I dropped a full glass bottle of dried sage onto the top of my foot whilst engaging in a last minute panicky clean of the kitchen.  I calmly remarked to myself that that was going to bruise and that I had better be careful.  And then I dropped a second full bottle -this time of cinnamon - on the exact same spot.  Oh FFS.

In all of the excitement of getting to Reykjavik, I didn't pay any attention to my foot until we were safely tucked up in our Reykjavik 101 (that's the central area of the city) flat late Friday night.  'Bloody hell,' I said to Bassman, 'my foot is really throbbing.'  I took off my sock and was horrified to see an emerging deep purple bruise across the (now swollen) bit where my toes joined the rest of my foot.  Arrrggghhh!  A broken toe!  What if I had a broken toe?!  Another race where I was going to be injured!!!  Arrrggghhh!

Fortunately, our well stocked flat had ice cubes in the freezer so I put on my compression socks, elevated my foot, and iced it for the rest of the night.  By morning, the swelling and most of the pain were gone, but the bruise was an impressive combination of purple and green and yellow.  Phew.  Panic (and another over-reaction from me) averted.

Because we arrived on Friday and the race wasn't until Monday, we had lots of time to sightsee.  And eat.  I kind of forgot about the race as we explored the city and its restaurants and bakeries.  Especially the bakeries.  I'm not sure that what I was doing was carb loading so much as it was pastry, cake, and biscuit loading.  Cathy and Paul arrived on Sunday - they were doing the HM as well - and we met up for lunch and a pre-race sharing of anxiety.  No cakes, but that's because Cathy and I were full from the huge bucket of polenta fries, Bassman was full from a massive bowl of meatballs, and Paul was full from the burger that was as big as his head.  I tried to make time to rest in the afternoon each day, usually accompanied by a biscuit or two and a cup of tea, and by the time that Monday rolled around I felt ready to take my newly expanded muffin top for a run.

Registration was on Monday afternoon so I took the bus to Laugardalsholl (or, the sports hall) in Laugardalur (or, the swimming pool/park complex where the race started and ended).  It was all very organised and the registration queue moved quickly, leaving me plenty of time to shop and to ask one of the support staff about the course. 'Flat?  Of course it's flat.  There's just a small downhill and then an uphill in one of the valleys and then that's it.'  Ha.  If the Running Gods weren't going to get me with injury, they were going to have a go with misinformation...I met up with Cathy and Paul at registration, passed on the course (mis)information, and we shared a taxi back to our respective flats where we all tried on various running gear combinations (separately, I hasten to add, not together) before sharing a taxi, with Bassman, back to the start.

Laugardalur.  The sports hall is the white building in the centre.

My t-shirt purchase.  (Body not blogger's own.)

I had been obsessively watching the online weather the previous couple of days, tracking the rain as it moved in and out of Reykjavik.  The forecast for race evening was for rain and 18-20mph wind.  Sigh.  Just like running in the Highlands. Driving up to the sports hall, we saw a large cardboard sign fly past us through the air; hmmm, very windy indeed.  Still, at least it was sunny.  Sunny.  At 9pm.  Fabulous!

So, we did our stretches and had our photos taken by Bassman and went to the loo and did some more stretches and tried to go to the loo again but the queue was too long and the race was just about to start...so we lined up, Paul at the front with the Super Whizzy Runners and me and Cathy towards the back of the pack (but, being brave and optimistic, NOT at the very end).  A bit of a countdown, and our bruised feet and dodgy ankles (me), dodgy hamstrings (Cathy), and Super Whizzy Runner niggles (Paul) were off.

Tune in tomorrow for 13.1 miles of fun!

The price of safety

Followers of Bassman's blog will know that he recently bought a fab new motorbike helmet, and at a reasonable price too. The stylish black & white floral design makes my old boring blue helmet look even more dowdy than it already does (and it's well over 6 years old so, for safety reasons, it needs to be replaced anyway), so I decided to upgrade too.  Unfortunately, the smallest sized helmets in the shop on the day that Bassman bought his were all too big for me, so the shop ordered in a couple of extra-smalls in my preferred patterns and today I went to try them on.  Yay!

My preferred option.  Bassman has this in black & white.

Or rather, not so yay.  Because it turns out that I have a teeny tiny head.  In fact, my head is so teeny tiny that it's almost child-sized. Extra-small is too big.  Even extra-extra-smalls (which the lovely and patient biker woman managed to find under a huge stack of boxes) move around more than they should.  I was miffed and she was perplexed.  The Chief Assessor of Motorcyclists for Scotland, who had dropped into the shop for a cup of tea and a chat, was amused.  FFS.  So, here are their suggestions for what to do next:

1)  I could try a large child's helmet, which is a bit smaller than an XXS.  Woo hoo!  I could have something like this:

2)  I could wear a balaclava under the XXS to fill in the extra space. 

No.  Just...no.  Not even the lion.

3)  I could accept that the brands that the shop carries don't suit my pinhead and try the other bike shop in Inverness to see if another brand fits any better.  On the surface, this sounds reasonable but this shop only stocks the more expensive brands.  Shock horror.  How will I ever cope?  Actually, I should have known: when there is an expensive option and a less expensive option, circumstances will conspire to force me to choose the expensive option.  It's a curse, but I've learned to live with it.

Or at least make my head a normal size.