Tom Roper's Running Training

Falling at the fifth

My knee was a little troublesome today, but when I came home in the evening, changed into running kit, and readied myself to go out to the Seaford Striders evening run, I found my leg swollen, clearly oedematous. Running didn't seem like a good idea. I wonder when it will?

The fourth day of Juneathon

Has it only been four days? It seems so much longer. Tonight, after the journey home on a number 12 bus.on which I nearly fell asleep, no mean feat, I went out for an early evening run. The first mile or so was hard, though my legs moved a little more fluently than yesterday. Then, once I'd climbed to South Hill Barn, it suddenly came together, and I enjoyed running over Seaford Head and down. When I reached tarmac again, the old lassitude came back. 

It's hardly surprising, after some erratic training, and rather a lot of sherry, that I should be slow. I have faith that Juneathon will make things right. 

The difficult third day of Juneathon

Running with the gait of a duck with a rupture, I managed two miles. My knee didn't like yesterday's eight miler, though not the knee I injured last year in Glasgow, puzzlingly. Maybe I put extra stress on it, trying to protect the other. It was a beautiful evening. A few late strollers enjoyed the passegiata on the seafront. I puffed and moaned my way past them. Who said running should be pain free and pleasant?

Juneathon: second day, or Trinity Sunday

I am very behind in my Bach cantata listening. Here we are at Trinity Sunday, and I'm still listening to the Whitsun ones, including ones for Whit Tuesday, oddly.

Nevertheless, Juneathon proceeds apace, with eight miles here, out to the Cuckmere, the beach spotted with bodies, past the Golden Galleon and along the banks of the river, past herons and cows. This is the reverse of the Seaford half marathon route, which I and other gallants will attempt in a week's time. I made it to the Litlington bridge, then crossed, turned south again and climbed the hill to High and Over, then back through fields of sheep to Seaford, home, a shower and an excellent sailing club lunch.

I should also mention last night's Seaford Striders quiz night, for I believe running club quizzes attract extra Juneathon points. Our team came last, but we did at least know the chemical symbol for tungsten, so all was not lost.

Oh to be in England, now that Juneathon's here

In fact I am in England. Non-runners, or even runners with no interest in Juneathon, will be deserting my blog posts and tweets in droves, as I run every day of the month, and blog about it. Much as I grumble, it comes at precisely the right time. I am in something of a rut, and training has been patchy, if not entirely absent. The regular discipline of running each day, logging it and blogging about it, under the stern though benevolent gaze of Juneathon's tutelary genius, JogBlog, is just what I need.  In the month, I have the following to look forward to:

• the Seaford half marathon on 9 June
• the Heathfield 10k on 23 June
• the Seaford Striders solstice run on 26 June

I would like to cover over 100 miles in the month. For my first effort, I chose a modest three miles, in the late afternoon,  over a very familiar route, to the end of Chyngton Road on tarmac, then up the hill to South Hill Barn, and back over Seaford Head. Though it had felt quite cool in the garden before I set off, once I was running I found it warm if not hot.   

Reconsidering

It seems to be the way. Marathon training starts optimistically and then things go wrong. Having lost a little time with a frozen shoulder, it was hard to get back into the routine of running five times a week and I found myself unusually tired. The week before last I ran once, three miles on my birthday. By the weekend I was in the grip of a cold augmented by spectacular coughing, so there was no Sunday long run. Last week i failed to run or swim at all until Thursday. On that day I decided that I could wait forever, by which time most of my strength would have atrophied, or get out and run or die in the attempt. So in this heroic spirit I set forth, and coughed and spluttered through three miles. I lived, indeed felt a bit better at the end. On Saturday I returned to swimming training and coped with everything Alice could throw at me, even some butterfly drills, and on Sunday I ran six and a bit miles. I am now at the half-way point in a sixteen week training programme. From now on no strong drink will pass my lips.

Nevertheless, I have reorganised things somewhat. I have changed my entry from the Three Forts marathon to the half marathon, and will be training with the shorter distance in mind. I hate to miss a spring marathon, but I think I had no choice. Look at my mileage totals for the first eight weeks:

Week 1: 16.40
Week 2: 17.23
Week 3: 19.53
Week 4: 19.62
Week 5: 13.07
Week 6: 22.36
Week 7: 3.00
Week 8: 9.36

Time spent on one's feet is the sine qua non of marathon training, and though I started well the past two weeks have knocked too much of a hole in the plan to make it possible to run a very hilly marathon in early May. 

Two weeks till the Hastings half marathon
Eight weeks till the Three Forts half marathon

Running with Oblomov

So tired. Is old age catching up with me? A planned twelve mile run on Sunday that in fact ended up as a half-marathon (13.1 miles) left me shattered. This morning I should have been up with the lark and out for a hill repetitions session, which usually I love, but I couldn’t face it. I begin to wonder whether a marathon in May is still a realistic target, and if I should not ask to switch to the half-marathon that runs in parallel with the Three Forts marathon. I shall not make a decision yet; this is the seventh week of sixteen weeks of training, but my mileage is worryingly low.

At the end of next week I will be half way through. I will also be a year older, which may have something to do with this lack of will. This Oblomovism even infects my blogging, which I usually do while sitting down, so that I failed to post about my adventures on the Seven Sisters with the cream of Lewes running society, @Sweder and @RobKRead at the end of the week before last. You can read the former’s colourful account on the Running Commentary site, so I shan’t duplicate effort.

It was bitterly cold on Sunday. I set off to do twelve miles. Looking at past runs, it seemed as if a journey taking in Bishopstone, Norton, Firle Bostal, Firle Beacon itself, Bo Peep and back to Seaford would accomplish the task. I set off along the sea-front, into the wind. Yet when I turned through 90 degrees to go inland, I was still running into the wind. I went through Bishopstone, where the snowdrops that usually cheer up a run at this time of year were closed and subdued. At the Norton waterworks the road turns into track and then path.

I flogged myself up the hill towards Firle Bostal. At a farm a fierce small dog guarded a gate and snarled his hatred at me. His mistress came out of the house. ‘It’s your hat,’ she explained. I was damned if I was going to take my hat off, no matter how ridiculous, or provocative to small dogs it might be. I had half a mind to answer her in my best Yorkshire, ‘Nay, lass, tha dussn’t think I’m daft enough to go on t’Beacon bar t’at?’ Perhaps wisely I kept that to myself.

On the tops of the downs, in spite of a base layer, a long sleeved t-shirt and a running jacket, I froze. Here the wind blew from the side. I saw few of the ramblers who usually infest this place. The Exmoor ponies stood stoically in a line in the lee of Firle Beacon. It was clear that I was going to overfulfill my quota; my Garmin was showing 7.5 miles at this point, and I was a mile away from Bo Peep, and I knew that from Bo Peep it’s about 4.5 miles to home. At least the last stretch was achieved with the wind at my back. I stumbled down the road to my house, arriving home 2:39:50 after leaving.

Miles last week: 22.36 (and the week before: 13.07)
Four weeks till the Hastings half marathon
Ten weeks till the Three Forts marathon

Ten cold, muddy miles

It's the end of the fourth week, therefore the first quarter, of marathon training. After a good start to the week, I felt a little peculiar on Thursday and missed a four miler; furthermore, on Saturday, which should have been a swimming training day, I woke with excruciating pain in my left shoulder. It responded over the day to light movement and ibuprofen, to the extent that I tackled a ten mile run today.

Conditions were poor, wet, windy and cold, and I went on a tour of the outskirts of Seaford, out to High and Over, up to Fiveways, a little further towards Bo Peep, and back to the seafront. By about three miles in my feet were so wet that it was futile to carry on trying to evade mud and puddles.

Miles this week: 19.62
Seven weeks till the Hastings half marathon
Thirteen weeks till the Three Forts marathon

 

Chichester 10k: giving my Bottom nightly

The first race of 2013, and the first of the twenty that comprise the Sussex Grand Prix, is the Chichester Priory 10k. I had never run it before and, as it is my intention to enter such races this year, and as my marathon training programme called for a 10k round about this time of year, I entered without hesitation, although it is a 100 mile round trip.

It is a very popular race, and the start in a car park by the Festival Theatre was thronged with runners and spectators. It is also uncompromisingly fast, to the extent that the officials stand down after an hour and a quarter. Fortunately I am not that slow yet. 

I joined a decent number of Striders, and assembled in my proper place, by the young man holding the 50-minutes-and-more placard. Then we were led forward to the start in the often-flooded College Lane. I observed that many of my fellow runners had chosen fluorescent outfits; for myself, I hoped to finish before dusk. 

As we shuffled forward, we came upon the starting mat, and off we went, up College Lane and through the grounds of Graylingwell, one of the massive mental hospitals that every city once had on its outskirts, then past the outskirts of Chichester and out into the country. As ever, I was going too fast in these early stages. Then we went out into the country around Goodwood, and turning west to head towards Lavant. A welcome cup of water was proffered at the half-way point, but it was here that the realisation that I'd failed to manage pace dawned. Other runners began to overtake me in embarrassing numbers. Then we were into Lavant, a pretty village, and turned south to go back to Chichester. Here traffic became a problem, exacerbated by some of my fellow headphone-wearing runners, whose lack of awareness of their surroundings became highly dangerous. I'm not doctrinaire about people who listen to music when they run; I'd rather hear the sounds of nature myself, but if you'd rather block out reality with the sound of Taiwanese acid-jazz or serialist string-quartets, be my guest. However, in this case I do wonder if race organisers shouldn't ban them; then again, who would they enforce it? I shall simply observe that you don't see Haile Gebrsellasie breaking world records with tunes stuck in his ears.

The final section was made a little more difficult by the decision of the powers that be to dig up the road in honour of the race. We were directed onto a footpath, but it must have slowed the leading runners considerably. Then we turned by the Festival Theatre, and I barely had time to remember my acting career, giving my Bottom nightly in a Midsummer's Night's Dream, before I was running towards the finish.

My chip time was 57:32. I know I can run faster; maybe after the marathon….

Miles this week: 19:53

Seven weeks till the Hastings half marathon

Thirteen weeks till the Three Forts marathon

The end

I finished Janathon with three miles. It brings me to a total of 81 miles of running in the month. I was delighted to see abradypus and iliketocount crash through the 200 mile barrier, and  am still awestruck by silvermetalfox's achievement of 502 miles in the month.

We've had all sorts of weather, warm, cold, wet, snowy, windy and, this being Seaford, even more windy. Do I regret doing it? Of course not.. I almost look forward to Juneathon, for it's a day shorter than the winter activity. Mrs R has spoken of her relief that it is over, though I'm not sure she realises that it will be replaced by a step-up in marathon training. 

I am sorry not to be able to join the post-Janathon drinks and meal in London on Saturday, and meet once more the doyenne of Janathon, JogBlog. Instead, I offer three cheers to her, and all Janathoners everywhere. Hip! Ray! Hip! Ray! Hip! Ray!