Smugness

Well, I have to admit, I'm feeling pretty smug about the race! Woo-hoo! And all my running-comrades are being so supportive! It's like... it's like... a community of weirdos, or something! How could I possibly not like doing this? Nigel asked me if I was sure I still didn't like running, and I made an admission: I liked running in other places than Peterborough, because the past few times I've been visiting places, and have had to get on and do my jog, I've seen different bits than I would have done if I hadn't been doing the running, and that makes it a little bit special for me. Nigel's response was "I'm going to read the first three words again and again!" Ha! Boy's got a great career waiting for him in journalism! (Take the quote out of context...!). Dave (that's Running Dave, of course) was excited about my time. And Sal? Sal said it was a brilliant result, and now she is optimistic about my time for the Great Eastern! She thinks I can do it in less than 2 hours 15 minutes.

This leads me onto another thought. How about anyone who wants to wagering with me over the time? I just thought it might be fun. Rules could be that you name a time and pay me (well, OK then, my charity. Sheesh, some people.) extra money if I beat it? OR, if that doesn't appeal, we could run a sweepstake on any numbers between say, 1h55 and 2h25, and whoever gets the number I come in on pays £20 extra? I think this sounds like fun. If I beat 1h55, I'll pay in myself.  Wow, I'm getting cocky now.

Right, so on Saturday, after my victory (I feel like I defeated an army already) you will be entertained to learn that I came home, devoured three crumpets and a massive bowl of soup, and fell asleep on the sofa. It will surprise nobody that I was joined by Frank, who purred contentedly the whole time. I went to bed early, slept some more, and did very little on Sunday, although I was conscious for at least some of it. Recovery was a breeze. You just have to listen to your body. I had a brief period of terror, because I foolishly agreed with Sal a month or two ago that I'd run the Grunty Fen marathon (you remember, the one where they give you beer on the route?). Well, that's next Sunday. Not only is it the day after Pete and Jenny's wedding (great move, Goldberg), it is also, like, 7.1 miles more than I ran on Saturday. This is ridiculous. I've only got a week, and the most I've run in ages is, in fact, 6 miles. Good news, Sal says I don't have to run it at race pace. I still don't know what she means by this.

Oh, and I'm in BIG trouble about eating muesli (granola) for breakfast. WRONG WRONG WRONG. Fortunately, I'm not really in trouble, Sal is blaming herself because she never told me what to eat for breakfast on race day. (When a scary person is cross with themselves, what happens when they look in the mirror? Just a side thought). Unfortunately, she has told me now. Porridge (ack ack). Also, she has told me about the carb-loading. She's also told me why the pasta and plain tomato sauce has to be so plain. Onions are bad for you. No, not really. The thing is, you want to have as little fibre as possible so as not to cause "gastric distress". Hmmm. She has also very detailed instructions about vanilla ice-cream with strong coffee poured over it for desert, the night before a race. I'm not sure how THAT is going to help me sleep! This is very odd. I shall demand an explanation. Fortunately, as I'll be at a wedding reception, I probably won't have a problem staying awake. Just as well, I don't drink coffee. Much.

I managed to get Nigel in trouble today. Which was a shame, because he only came over to glorify in my race time, and I was engaged in trying to find out how many water stations there are on the Grunty Fen track. He told me how to find out (he's a good egg) and I mentioned it was because Sal had given me instructions on taking gel sacs with me, but advised that I needed to take them with water, and if there weren't sufficient water stations, I should get a different sort. She wanted me to take 8, and says I should take them every 20 minutes. Nigel said "8? Remind her it's a half marathon! That seems like a lot to me!" Now, really, he should probably have known better. I emailed her, and her response was swift. It went like this "Tell Nigel to butt out of it! You need one every twenty mins and even if you took 2hrs that'd be 5 gels. Always overpack. Who's the trainer here :D MEN!" Can I just say, I'm not going to run it in 2 hours.

I did have a thought about the Grunty Fen, though. I was telling RSBP Dave about the beer when it occurred to me. Running Dave and Nigel are both convinced that drinking beer is a bad thing, but I'm thinking, after you've drunken a few beers, you quite often get home without even knowing it. Also, you often hurt yourself, but don't feel any pain. It strikes me that drinking beer could be the solution here. I could get round the entire course without even realising! Sounds good to me. Nigel still reckons it's a cruel joke. He said all the marshals laughed at him when he took a beer by accident. And as it is fizzy, it is also quite hard to drink. He actually tells me he ended up throwing it away. He threw beer away? Very odd.

Anyway, amid fear about more than doubling my distance in a week, I got a schedule off Sal, and it goes: Monday, 8 miles jogging, Tuesday 10 minute warm up then 3 miles sprint. (She didn't say a sprint, she said a 9 m/m, but I still think of that as a sprint. Running Dave thinks it is a nice slow pace). Wednesday, rest, or as I say, "pilates". Thursday 4 miles steady, with a heart rate of 167, which means about 10:30 m/m. Then rest Friday and Saturday. I was still concerned about the lack of distance, but she said I don't have time to build it up any more, and this will be OK. She just wants me to do the race on Sunday at a slow plod.

Anyways, Summer, who did say she'd run the race with me, said she needed some motivation, so I suggested to her that she can join my sponsorship page, and come running with me, although she is afraid of slowing me down. Weirdly, she set out to do a 6 mile run at the same time as me, but slightly slower, on Saturday, and said she felt quite sick at the end. I invited her to join me on my 8 mile run on Monday, and she agreed! This was very exciting. Not least because it meant I could run up to Millennium Bridge and back round through Stanground as I'd have some company. She also brought a colleague of hers, Tony, who does triathlons, and when Summer filled Tony in about my hard task-master, he said, "Hang on, I think I know her. It's not Sally is it?" That's not true. I told Tony that Sal does triathlons, and he asked her name, and said she is in his club. However, he did admit that she's scary. So that's independent verification. Personally I think it is the hiding in cupboards that does it. (Don't ask. Best not?).

Well, we did a moderately slow pace (for your road-runner here), between 11 and 12:30 m/m, although we did speed up to about 10:30 from time to time. I'll tell you what as quite interesting, though. It not only felt slow to me, my heart rate stayed at 140-150 throughout, and I felt like I could have kept it up pretty easily for another few miles! So. That gave me a lot of confidence. Then Summer gave me some very bad news right before the end of the run, so I told her we were having a sprint finish. This is another first for me: I've never run to get rid of anger (well, pissed-off-ness, but I can't think of a word for that). I can report that (a) it doesn't really work and (b) I bloody started the sprint too soon again. Summer's fault. Bloody woman. Summer will be entertained to learn that cocky, speedy runner here has had aching thighs all evening. Probably too much sprinting. Still, despite her deliberately trying to tease me, it was fun running with a girl, we had a right good catch-up. I think Tony realised that we had to go at that pace so we could keep chatting throughout.

My favourite bit of the run was on the towpath, where we were overtaken by another bloke, and I swear, as he ran past Tony, he exchanged a glance, and gave him a thumbs up - my reading of the exchange, was "Well done mate, looking after the birds. Someone's got to do it. You'll get your speed another day". Although I suppose, it could have been "Two women? Lucky Bastard!"