Life is like a sewer...

Come on, all you Tom Lehrer fans, finish the quote before I get to the end...

So, today, Dave asked me if I was up for 8 miles. I wasn't sure, because it wasn't on my schedule, and y'know with the injury and everything, I didn't want to push it. Several people heard however, and all of them suggested that I ask Sally. This shows exactly the influence Sally has, because these people largely don't read my blog, they just work with Sally. It seemed like sage advice, even though they were blatantly mocking me. So I did. "Abserfuckin'lootly" was the response I got back. Now, that's the problem, you see, she gets very excited about running. This is why we'll never totally understand one another. Anyway, you'll want to know what today's challenge was. I still do - at least to understand it. "Just conversational pace for 40 mins then for the last ten mins do 4 random efforts of between 60 secs and 3 mins - can be sprint, hills, strong (different to sprint!) with heart rate to be Up to 190 (on the fartleks) 167 otherwise."

My response on my schedule was to ask her whether she was deliberately trying to give me material for the blog, and WTF she meant by "strong". I asked Dave and Chris if they knew what Fartleks were (presumably different from fartlets, little farts?). They both did (if anyone's interested, it means "speed play" in Swedish). Don't ask why they both knew that, it's much less interesting than the definition would lead you to believe and has nothing to do with speed dating. Well, I had a fascinating conversation with Sally on IM which I won't repeat, largely because I accidentally deleted it, but also because she asked me not to. I didn't mean to delete it, I wanted it to blackmail her with later, but unfortunately she is now free to deny it. However, she did check that I now understood what "strong" meant. I hadn't checked my schedule, so she took the trouble to explain again. "It's when you're going at a pace where you can only utter four one-syllable words." There was only one response to that: "You're kidding?" Apparently not, and she claims not to be specifically thinking of things so I have stuff to write about. I asked if they could be the same four letter word, four times, which I will undoubtedly feel like saying, but no. This was going to take some brain-power. No wonder that whole "mens sana in corpore sano" kicks in so well.

Chris, Dave and I set off on this run, which was along the riverside and over the millennium bridge, and back through Stanground. However, we lost Chris quite early because he was being conscientious about his work (uh-huh), and decided to restrict his run to within his lunch hour. So Dave and I trotted on, past the sewers, where Dave made the observation that they smelt bloody awful, and also that you could taste the smell in your mouth. I didn't point out to Dave that I'd be sick if he said anything more about the taste of sewage in your mouth, so I told him the Tom Lehrer story, which is at the beginning of a song entitled "We will all go together when we go", where he describes a pessimistic friend's take on life: "Life is like a sewer, what you get out of it depends on what you put into it".

Just over half way, I pointed out to Dave that I was going to die, and instead of saying "No you're not" like the other five times, he let us slow down. We dropped to 11:40 m/m, which I have to say I found ludicrously slow, but Dave said we'd build up again, gradually. (I think we'd got to about 8:50 before I cracked). I quizzed Dave on race times, because Sal wants me to enter myself in for a 10km race this August (oh, my homework! I forgot. I wonder if she'd believe me if I said the cat ate it? I can't see why not, he tried to eat my dinner earlier). I speculated that 10k races were a bit faster than half-marathons, and Dave said that he'd run one in a ridiculously short time (sorry, for clarity, he didn't say that, he just told me what the time was), although the winner, he says, is  often around 30 minutes. I think he said his time was equivalent to an 8 m/m. This made me sputter (note that I was not doing so before that). He also said that he couldn't sustain that around the half marathon course (I should hope not!), however, so he'd be aiming for something much slower, like a 9 m/m. This made me laugh, not least because I do that pace for interval training and regard it as very, extremely fast, but also because until he'd said that I was wondering about enlisting him as a running partner. Ha ha ha.

Well, we were fast approaching Stanground (we'd speeded up again) and at the mere sight of a hill, my right calve, which had been injured just before starting this blog, went "ping". But not in a bad way. Also, it evened out the pain in my left calf. Anyway, we jogged through it, and got to the bottom of the hill (this hill is the other side of the flyover from where my hill-training is). I had told Dave that this was going to be my first Fartlek, and he had said I was insane to try sprinting up a hill at the end of a run. But this was in the instructions, so I thought it was a good idea. I said "let's give it a go, then", pressed the lap button on the garmin, and hooned it. I have to say, honestly, I had a moment of pure exhilaration: it was like being released, it was setting a caged bird loose and feeling the power of beating wings, it was a catapult shooting out (and before you ladies from the office mention it, no, I couldn't see Dave, he was behind me: and you may regard him as eye-candy, but believe me, when he's run up a muck sweat, it doesn't send shivers up my spine).  It was like a sudden release of power, and it felt great! The first one since starting running. Unfortunately, it lasted approximately 4 seconds (that old chestnut). I was able to carry on the sprint, although Dave had by now overtaken me, making sprinting up a hill look effortless (if slightly sweaty); and now I realised that the top of the hill was still a fair way off. "This hill's too long" I panted out - then ruined it, by delightedly saying "Hey, that's four!". My heart rate got up to about 184, and my breath was all hurty. I slowed just before the top of the hill. I thought that was "strong" enough.

We got over the flyover, and when my heartrate had slowed to 167, I suggested we sprint as far as the Key Theatre. Well, actually, I said the traffic lights, but then curbed my enthusiasm. I just about got to the theatre, and managed to continue jogging up to the lights (without stopping to die - very strong!). I said to Dave that enough was enough and I couldn't do the final sprint. "Yes you can," he said firmly, back on form. He charitably let me start from City Road, instead of part way up St John's Street like normal, though. I thought of four more one syllable words, as he called over his shoulder "Come on, Emma!" - they were "Fuck off, Dave S" but I didn't have the breath to shout or even mutter them. Not strong enough.

(In fairness, what I actually said was fuck you, when I'd recovered my breath, but I altered it here to emphasise more eloquently the sentiment I was trying to express, and more importantly, to avoid everyone laughing at me like normal, when I say something totally innocent, like I'm just trying to get my leg over, which they then deliberately misconstrue).

After the run, I had to go to Tesco and buy a bag of value frozen peas. They were excellent value.