The last battle

On Saturday, I ran with Christine, along the river towards Ferry Meadows, which was lovely - it was hot, though, we left too late really. In the afternoon I went to the Willow Festival and sunned, as well as buying some sensational clothing at TK Maxx. On Sunday... oh yes, I ran in the evening, I went down along the Parkway and by the river, and passed the remnants of the festival on the Embankment. It was a bit slow and I had a major fail on the way back, where once I had done my 5K I didn't really bother to run the rest of the way. In my defense, however, I wasn't really feeling very right, and had been doing lots of garden fighting. Anyway, I did the distance. That's what counts.

Monday... on Monday, you'd have been proud. I set off, I think it was cooler, it had rained as I arrived home, I believe. I was sure it would set in for the evening, but it didn't, after a roll of thunder, and a heavy shower, it stopped. I set off at a fair crack, but feeling good, not struggling or fighting it. I managed to maintain it all the way round, and ran my fastest time, 29:14. When I got back, I found moustachioed Chris had run in 29:04 and said it felt slow, so I abused him on Facebook. He apologised (bless him) and said something about his legs had just felt heavy. Whatever.

Tuesday, I realised I was stuffed. I had a work meeting in London, and then on to Winchester and Reading for 2 days. There was only one thing for it: I was going to have to go in the morning. I successfully achieved this, and while I didn't get super-speedy for the early start (or anything crazy), I was happy that it was done. I then had a train to catch. Rang the taxi, because I started a bit later than I thought, and had the dodge about whether the taxi would arrive as soon as I called it, or in ten minutes. It came in 10 minutes. I missed the train - and had an advance ticket. I got on the next one. The god of Trains was on my side. The ticket inspector was one of those who race through the carriage and barely pause to see if you lift your head or not. The barrier at Kings Cross let me pass. Woo-hoo!

On Tuesday night I was staying at a colleague's house, and announced my intention to go running in the morning, once again, and they were able to point me in the direction of a good route. It was nice, it was all through green lanes which were tree-lined paths and had an ancient feel to them. I imagined I might have been a goose girl with my flock, driving them along. I got spat out onto a road, which I wasn't expecting, and thought I was lost, but I continued in what I hoped was the right direction, and arrived at the right place eventually. When I got there, it turned out I wasn't lost at all, I just hadn't understood that the last part was on roads.

The next night, I was staying at a hotel on the outskirts of Reading. Once more, I found that the best time to run was going to be in the morning, so I made sure I didn't stay at the bar all night, and in the morning, dragged myself up and put on the only slightly disgusting tracksuit from the previous day. I had looked on google maps for a route, and found one on the roads around where I was staying, with only a faint chance of mishap, as I hoped desperately that a footpath would link up a section which appeared to go through a wood. It did, which was great. The other side was a housing estate with roads made up of bird names, which was rather tragic, when one takes into consideration the adage about Suburbia (where they chop the trees down, and name the roads after them) - especially taking into consideration that I'd seen an area where they were trying to restore Partridge the day before, and we were quite close to some wetlands - when the roads were called Starling Way - leading to Goldcrest Avenue, Chaffinch Avenue, Partridge Way and, last but not least, Bittern Way. Sounds idyllic.

And I had just pegged it down a nice long hill, at a good pace which had taken me into the running for a fast time, when I realised that, owing to having Runkeeper open so I could keep an eye on the map, I'd managed to turn it off (or rather, Pause it) and I hadn't logged my whole distance. I was just shy of three miles anyway, so had to put an extra loop in, and then decided I wanted Runkeeper to say the right distance, so I reran part of the route to put an extra half mile on my distance. You can see this on my map, because I otherwise magically leap the distance.

And that was me, DONE. I finished running 5km every single day in May. I felt quite proud, and definitely that I deserved my breakfast of scrambled eggs on brown toast. So much so that I had a slice of bacon too.

I have to say that I have never washed my kit so much, nor felt it was really so necessary to have three different pairs of tracksuit bottoms and more tops.

And now, onward, with the challenge of how I am going to run 22 miles every week in June. Especially when I'm on holiday for most of the first week... follow this page.

It's a jungle out there

I had a bit of a jungly day today. For a start, I thought I might try getting up before work and getting the run in before the heat started. This, needless to say, didn't happen. The alarm clock went off: I didn't. I did get to work more or less on time; just in time for a killer meeting. It was supposed to be finished by 12:30. It actually finished just before 3. This screwed up my day. I didn't have time to go running, and I didn't have time to go to the bank. This latter was pretty urgent. I also didn't have time to do the several hundred things I was supposed to do, which was slightly annoying - I've got a busy week next week and then I'm ON HOLIDAY! Which means there are some things that need to be done first, excited though I am about this.

But sometimes, there are other things that need to be done. In this case, it was sorting out my bank, which bounced a cheque last week. I had spent 1.5 hours on online banking last night, at the cost of learning my lines, and accomplished nothing. So, i went into the branch feeling somewhat put out. Now, I love my branch. The staff there are always so helpful, I will divulge that, despite it's unpopularity nationally, that the Peterborough branch of RBS are extremely helpful and lovely people. So I was in a quandery, because I didn't want to be unpleasant at them. Sometimes, this works best though: I said as much to the nice young man who was allocated to see me (I've had meetings with him before: he said his wife would like my shoes, so I remember him particularly). I expressed my disgust with online banking, Santander, and various other things that were bothering me, and he absented himself from the room for a few moments. I have reason to believe that I was supposed to ring some cretinous number myself, but by the time he came back, it was all sorted. He won the RBS a stay of execution today.

The whole bank thing took longer than I thought though, and while I'd told the Friday night crew I'd be in the pub after work, by the time I got home and ready to go out, I realised it was going to be after 6 by the time I arrived. I had a plan to take some non-running clothes with me and do my 5k on the way to Charters, but just before I left the house, I texted Ian, and he said he'd be gone by the time I arrived. This made things simpler, as I left the bag of clothes at home. After the beautiful day, it was still hot at 5:30, and I managed to put some music onto my phone, so I set out at a good pace. I ran the route I did on Wednesday, and along the cycle path down to Fengate, I saw a young-ish man ahead of me, in a red sports top. He turned when I came along the route, but as I approached him, he distinctly put his hand down his trousers. I'm not one for staring, so I can't tell you whether he actually exposed himself, and while I was tempted to give him the once over and laugh, or say sarcastically, "that's how it starts you know", I did neither of these things. I increased my speed a bit. Honestly, it's the first time in Peterborough that I've seen what I'd class as a pervert, and he was younger than I'd expected. Apart from the tramp I see from time to time with his trousers half way down his backside. To be honest, he smells so bad, I wouldn't look there either. Ironically, the Magnets were playing "A little bit of something" as I passed him.

Anyway, what with the pervert, and the muzak playing, I kept the (pretty good) pace I'd started out at. I was quite pleased with myself, because I was at DAVE PACE. 9:48. I was so pleased about this, I made a concerted effort to keep it going. There was some difference between Runkeeper and the garmin, and I was suspicious because of the discrepancy the other day. Admittedly, Nic phoned just as I was approaching the pelican crossing and I paused the garmin, but not the runkeeper, so I'm sure that's the explanation.

When I got home, I decided, after a lengthy period of messing about on Facebook, to go and tackle the garden, which is the project for the weekend. It was insane. It wasn't actually waist-high, but it seriously wasn't far off in places. I mowed 1/3 of the grass, and filled the brown bin up. That should give you some idea. I saw my neighbour yesterday morning as I was leaving my house. She actually peered into my house (I'd dashed back in to collect something). She said she missed me, and her mother (who speaks no English whatsoever) also missed me. When I saw the garden tonight, I was seriously surprised that she hadn't reported me as missing, presumed dead, to the police. I posted some pictures on Facebook, and Britta posted a link to "It's a jungle out there".

She wasn't wrong. It certainly is. What with one thing, and another.

Henry V

Anyway, I realise I left you all in suspense. So sorry. You'll recall on Tuesday that Heather unnecessarily taunted me into a challenge about continuing the challenge all the way through June, and I said I'd tell you my decision. This is clearly ridiculous, and as I have been struggling immensely with the May challenge, it would belittle my effort if I suggested to my sponsors thus far that it would be an easy challenge to continue. I not only don't think it would be an easy challenge to continue, I also think it would be bad for me to continue it. I'm not saying anything against Sally for suggesting it... I'm just saying, my calves could do with a break, and I'm a little worried about my knees. Maybe less barefoot running. Well, I don't know. I still kind of like it. Slowly, slowly, I think. Maybe more walking in the barefoot shoes, I think that would be good. Anyway, the point it, what am I going to do about Heather's gauntlet? I always think, if someone drops a gauntlet, pick it up and give it back. No, really. So what I thought I'd do, never one to ignore a challenge, is this: I'll attempt to continue the challenge by agreeing to do 35km a week. That's the same, right, except I can do long runs and short ones, and miss out days here and there. Right?

OK, so go ahead. Show your support. In the time-honoured fashion. HERE. Heather.

Right, anyway, today. I had to go running in the sun, by myself. Dave had some ridiculous excuse about having done Boxercise the day before, and meetings. It sounded like an excuse to me. As usual, I attempted to go at Dave pace, and ended up at Emma pace. Although interestingly, the Garmin thought I was running 6 minute miles at the start. I can assure you, I wasn't. I'm beginning to think it isn't working terribly well.

And I'll tell you what was weighing on my mind. It's the same thing that you're thinking now. It was about that date. It wasn't that he was unpleasant, he was fine. He was just. Not really what I had in mind. And I haven't told him. And well, no one gets satisfaction out of delivering that blow. Well, no one nice, anyway. I mean, if he was horrible, it might be quite satisfying, but he wasn't horrible, and I am pretty sure he was quite nervous as well... but maybe Jonni was right. When I was telling people at rehearsal how it went, Jonni said, "What WAS that monologue you did at Drama on TAp? I could tell the date wasn't going very well - you were clearly trying to scare him!" OK, I might have gotten a bit shouty.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends.

Oscar Wilde

So, Heather, one of my favourite people,  said to me today, "Are you doing 5K a day or 5000 words a day?" (with her sharp Irish humour flowing through). "Too long" she said. It's what comes of knowing people with journalistic training. She said that the hardest assignment she had to do was to reduce a story to 300 words, but keep all the facts in. Someone quipped (I think it was Colin) that this must be why The Sun is such a good newspaper. She responded that the Sun journalists are some of the most talented, and it is pretty skillful. But back to me (MEEE) - I told her, misquoting Oscar, that I was too tired to write a shorter blog. I think he famously said "Sorry this is such a long letter, I didn't have time to write a shorter one". This is exactly how I feel. Heather will be horrified to hear that I do actually (usually) read the blog through, and often take out (even more) extraneous pieces of information. Although increasingly I'm just looking at readability.

Anyway, where was I, Wednesday. I'll tell you what happened on Wednesday, it was Pilates, which is brilliant, because my legs are so sore, they needed stretching; and also I told Anita that mum said I needed to lose another half stone for my Ariel costume, and Anita said "Where from?"!! Go Anita! This is the right response. I then went to meet Keith, who said mum was probably right. "Can I just remind you that this is my weight you are talking about?" I told him. "Yes, but I haven't seen you in the outfit, and your mum has, and she's usually right" he said coyly. He always agrees with mum.

I did the run after work, and picked a nice route, as I'm a bit bored with running up Newark Avenue, so I ran along the cycle way at the end of Padolme Road East, and through the new housing estate by the parkway, and down onto the river. It was REALLY warm. But I found Nic's ipod, so I had music again, which was nice, and I ran at almost Dave pace (not really) but nearly sub 30 mins. I still haven't beaten that time on my own. It's shocking really, I am never doing any extra distance on my own.

Then I got ready for my internet date. But anyway, short and sweet, that's what H said. I'd hate to disappoint...

Two for the price of one???

What a cracker of a day! What a lovely day to be in the office... but wait... there's lunchtime, there's running. There's Dave. We decided to go up to the Millenium Bridge. It's a longer run, but what a cracker of a day. Dave said, as usual, that he would go at my pace. For some reason, while my average pace along is about 11 min/mile (I'm working on it...), my average pace with Dave appears to be closer to 9:30. If I hadn't already known that I ran the first half of a half marathon at this pace, I'd have stopped already. I told Dave about Sally blushing because of my comment about our last run being fast and strong. Over half way, I was really tired, and Dave softened and let me slow down to 10 min/miles. After a while, I suggested that if he could carry me part of the way, we could go for "Soft, long and very, very strong" on my next facebook update, but he declined. He clearly hadn't gone soft in the head anyway.

I told him about my internet date, and he said in quite a stern voice that I should "be nice". I'm slightly offended by this. As if I wouldn't be! This was one up on my mother though, who told me not to talk too much. A word about familial support: she also told me that I might try losing half a stone before The Tempest. It was after she'd seen me in the silver catsuit, and not a lot of other people have, though, so perhaps I should listen to her. Well, I'm doing my best with the running. Perhaps not so well on the cake-scoffing though.

The millennium Bridge run is about 7.5 miles, ish. My Garmin said 7.7, Dave's Garmin said 7.5 and my Runkeeper (on the phone) said 7.37. This is nuts. For one thing, the Runkeeper usually over-estimates. For another, Dave and I set our Garmins at the same time, and ran the same distance, and they are the same model. I may never know how far it is. I can tell you it was at least 8 though. And by 5 and a half, I really wanted to stop. Dave was unsympathetic. "Your challenge is to not run any slower: you can't get any slower than this and still be running." This is not true. We were going at 10:30 minute/miles at this point, and that is faster than most of my runs.

"The problem with you is, you fuck with my controller" I told him, which is one form of chat-up line I've previously not tried. Sally told me about the controller. Your mind tells you to slow down when you don't need to. Well, specifically, mine does. Dave's apparently tells him to go faster. Anyway, what you need to do is to over-ride the voices in your head. I did this by trying to keep up with Dave. He agreed, and said I fuck with his controller too, so at least it's mutual. I'm glad that at very least our controllers are getting some action. He said I slow him down, which he views as good, because he can't maintain his usual pace over long distances. Everyone's a winner.

When we came back to the office, the worst possible thing happened. Heather completely undid me. She did this, and it might seriously have been a case of Sally actually taking over her body in a weird Sci-fi way, by challenging me to continue doing the 5K every day in May, into June. Seriously. I'd just said that Sal had said I'd miss running in June. Heather seriously said "Why not? You like a challenge. You could carry on." And the worst thing was, it was a total mindfuck. Sorry about the bad language today, but you know, I've started so I'll finish. Or something.

Get sponsoring, people, and I'll tell you what the deal is.

Cold Sunday and Organised Monday.

What Sunday was mainly notable for, was being cold. As luck would have it, our forthcoming production of The Tempest clashes with the week that the Royal Shakespeare Company are judging the Open Stages productions for their Amateur Dramatics jamboree. They said we could send them a DVD of our play, which for some reason we agreed to do. And who wouldn't think that 20 May would be a good time of year to perform outside. We didn't know it was going to be bitterly cold, did we? Before the filming, I went into town to pick up some hair extensions, and the girl in Claire's Accessories asked if I'd had a good day. I said "It's just about to get better. I'm going to put a silver cat suit on and prance around Central Park". She said "Oh, that'll be fun" without batting an eyelid.

The filming took much longer than anyone thought, we got there at 11, and by 3 we had two injured dancers, one of whom had to go to hospital. We didn't finish till half 6. I sort of felt that we ought to wait for everyone to have finished, although apparently no one else did, so it was just me, the remaining actors and the usual suspects among the Mask people who put away the props.

I felt it best to go home and properly warm up before running because surely, starting exercise while cold is stupid (witness 2 injured dancers). And since I skipped lunch (not deliberately) I also thought having a bowl of pasta would be a good idea. I cooked up a yummy pasta sauce, and deliberately waited a while for some digestion to happen. I was wondering about doing another back-to-back run at midnight, but then remembered a rather brilliant and yet unlikely plan I'd hatched for Monday. I said (I don't know why) that I'd get the car back at 8 am. The drop-off place was Shrewsbury Avenue, downtown, which has got to be about 3 miles away. So, how about that I drop off a bag of clothes at the office, drive the car downtown, already in my running things, and run back?

While I was digesting the pasta, I mapped out the route on Runkeeper. It was only just shy, so a quick detour up the embankment should take it up to 5k. And I fancied that this was more what Sal's website advice had been getting at when she said "try doing one run in the morning and the following one in the evening to space them out a bit" (not one at 11:30pm and one at 12am). Then I went for my Sunday run at about 10. The pasta hadn't digested, even though it seemed hours ago. I was running really slowly, and then my route disintegrated. For some reason, although I did the usual local route, it didn't seem to add up to the same distance. I had to add going around the park to it, although I felt like I'd spent enough time in the park already. I wrote on the Runkeeper comment "When will this month be over?" and, as it got posted onto Facebook, Sal replied "Soon - and then you'll miss it".

However, Monday morning, weirdly, seemed to work. I mean, I was late setting off, and didn't set out until about 8:15, but grumpy Alan on the front desk agreed to look after my bags for me, and even smiled and everything. I had a moment where I thought I'd left my phone at home, and realised I couldn't even go back and get it because I'd just left my housekeys in my bag at work. Then I found I'd already put my phone into my jacket pocket. The panic was because I'm logging the runs with Runkeeper on my phone (as well as the Garmin). Incidentally, it was pointed out to me today by Rich, who really needs a nickname as there are a couple of other possible Rich's about, so could be Poetry Rich, that my blog is sadly deficient in maps. So, if you ever need to follow my route, please be aware that I have added a link at the top right corner (right under the link that says SPONSOR ME) where you can find my route maps. From Runkeeper. You can thus also check that I have done a run every day in May.

The car drop off was a cinch, and as I left I realised that Chris lives near there, and also arrives at work at a similar sort of time to me (late). So I rang her, and she was just leaving her house. She joined my on her bike, and cycled a good part of the way with me, before she professed to being freezing. As I was suffering the reverse (even though I appreciated it was chilly, the run was warming me up nicely) I asked her to take my jacket into work, so that was an added bonus. She told me that she'd met up with Sal at the weekend, who misses us. I miss her too. So does Babs, I can tell.

Finishing the run before work was a novelty! It meant I had the rest of the day free, and got to have lunch with Heather, which was great because I hadn't seen her for so long. And then had a long, relaxing evening stretching to enjoy myself, catch up on some tellie on iplayer, and tidy up a bit. Unfortunately, what actually happened was that I fell asleep on the sofa for two and a half hours. This is what happens when you overdo it.

Home again

I was still busy on Saturday, out with dad to get a new padlock, when i got a text from mum saying she'd lost Frank. "Did he go outside?" I asked when I got back (in a fairly relaxed manner). "No, definitely not!" she told me. "Then you haven't lost him!" I said. She'd last seen him upstairs, so I went and looked in cupboards and under beds. I'd looked under a bed that had some drawers under it, and she assured me she'd checked there, but as I got up, I heard a tinkle of a cat bell. "He's under there" I said. "Frank, do you want to come out?" He emerged from under the bed, kind of saying, "OK, your go now", after a successful game of hide-and-seek.

He was reasonably content in the house and continued to explore other places to hide, which include the cupboard under the window seats, under the chest of drawers in mum and dad's room, and back in the drawer under the bed. However, he also rated "his" place on the sofa, which is where he was when I went for my run in the afternoon.

I did barefoot, and the same route as yesterday. I saw a lady with two kids on bikes going through that massive mud patch. I offered to give her a hand getting them over it, but she said she was trying to convince them of the wisdom of going back. "It gets better round the corner!" I said brightly, until I saw her shake her head, "I mean, not much. Still very muddy..."

I get a bit of a hill on this route. Not like, Hastings hills, but a little rise all the same. I've figured out that perhaps hills don't bother me as much as I thought. I think they are interesting and challenging, diversifying the route, and also are a lot of fun to go down. So it's another reason to be negative about Peterborough (and another reason to go out to Stilton for another run....).

At the top, I turned left, and passed a family out walking. They shouted a warning about it being very wet on the track, which I smiled at, and didn't really respond to; I already knew, because I'd run it yesterday, and it was drier today.

Later on my trip, I had just gone through a massive patch of Molinia grass (purple moor grass) which grows in quite wet areas - this was no exception. It was sinky-wet. Bizarrely, because I wasn't on a main track any more, I passed the same family going the other way (of all the routes they could have picked). "It's really wet back there!" I warned, feeling they deserved some retaliation warning. The ladies were at the back of the party, and one of them said "What interesting shoes!" (because Southerners are always rude in a very polite way). So I paused to tell her about barefoot running and Mexican tribes and lack of support for joints. She seemed most interested. It isn't necessarily what you expect to learn on a Saturday afternoon walk in the Forest.

When I got home, it was time to take Frank back up the road. He submitted to the car quite well, and didn't make a bid for freedom, and by the time we'd got to East Grinstead, which isn't far, he had stopped miaowing, and even voluntarily got into his cat box, which was strapped in to the front passenger seat; this is what I was hoping he'd do. I felt that zipping it up would ensure that he never got into it again; so later on, when he got disconcerted at the Dartford Tunnel, he found a much safer place. He was quite contented there for the rest of the journey. He almost purred.

It took him a few moments to adjust when we got to Peterborough, although he got straight out of the car, I felt he might have had motion-problems, because he looked almost wobbly: but then he saw an open front door that he recognised, and went straight in. It could be a case of absence makes the heart grow fonder, because he's looked quite happy ever since then.

Away from home

I rocked up at 1am to mum and dad's, who live on the edge of Ashdown Forest in Sussex. Right on the edge. They have a track down to the house which sets them well off the road. Now imagine if you are a right little townie, and had never seen proper dark. Frank wouldn't get out of the car. I think he might have been torn between the lesser evil of the car and the sound of nature at night. I carried him in. Dad had waited up for me and was disappointed when I chose tea over whisky, but I did have to get up in the morning. Frank paced around the house miaowing in a concerned way. I went to fetch some more bags and remembered I'd bought a new scratching post, as Frank's is torn to pieces, and I fancied dad would have something to say if Frank started scratching the upholstery. This one, however, required some construction. "What's that?" Dad asked. I told him, and he took it upon himself to construct it. He handed it to me, and said "Will it stop him from miaowing?" I love finding out what is motivating dad.

Anyway, the parents' house is almost entirely open-plan, which was clearly upsetting Frank, but there is an annex room, actually outside the house. I moved me, him, his litter tray, and his food and water into it. It seemed to work OK, he got happily enough onto the bed and settled down, but he didn't like country noises, and spent a lot of the night poking my face to check and see what I thought of it all. The next day, he came outside, he had never heard a dawn chorus like it - I might as well have dropped him in a Peruvian rainforest. He was doing OK, although still miaowing a fair amount, when 5 fallow deer ran through the garden. It was the end of the line. He ran back into the bedroom and hid under the covers for the rest of the day. This was not altogether inconvenient, as I had lots of stuff to do. I checked on him at tea time, and brought him into the house, where he seemed a lot calmer (oxygen deficiency, I'm thinking) and left him on the sofa while I went for my run.

The good thing (well, one of the many good things) about the parents' house is that it is right by Ashdown Forest, so it is ideal for a bit of bare-foot running. Although, you can take "soft underfoot" a bit too far. By the time I went running, there had been a slight rainfall for a couple of hours, and it was extra-soft. It looked like this: 


In truth, though, not for long. Just round the bend, it was much drier; then I had to decide whether Wealden clay was too hard, and find some grass. It was a good run, although I was still taking it reasonably slowly (not just for the mud, which I was taking very slowly indeed), I picked the pace up a little from last time I'd run barefoot, and I think it hurt less.

When I got back, my feet looked like this:

Nice! But they wash off ever so easily. Even the shoes hose down no problem. Dad was psychoanalysing Frank when I got in. He had been amazed at the way Frank responded to me talking to him, and mum told me that she had overheard dad saying "Now, I'm going to sit here, Frankie, is that OK?". She said, apparently it was, because Frank didn't reply. By the time I got home, Dad had pronounced that, Once a victim, always a victim, and furthermore, that he thought Frank had Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.

Frank did a tour of the house with me, in daylight, and I thought his general expression was "Yes, I'll take it. As a second home, of course".

Roadies

Well, today's run was pretty splendid, quite frankly. I use the term "frankly" a lot, as it now bears a double meaning for me. Obviously, it indicates frankness in nature, but has also become a high accolade of indicating Frank-ness in nature, too. It's only appropriate that I over-use it. Anyhow, I agreed with running Dave that we'd go for a lunchtime run today, and we did. Dave said that his legs felt heavy, which I viewed as being a good thing (you can read that any way you choose, although for the record, I only viewed, I didn't also feel), as it must surely slow him down. He said he was going to let me pick the pace. He's said this before, and it never works, we still end up going much faster than I ever run alone. He said he's been running with a brand-new runner who makes me look quite fast, which was flattering in its own way, I guess. We did our usual trip around the rowing lake, which is WAY over 5km, but I'm not allowed credit. Our average was 9:53 min/mile, over 5.47 miles, and at some points we were going faster than that. Also, we had a great old chat, but I view it as being none of your business, so you'll have to imagine it. I think there were some blog-worthy moments in it, but actually, I've forgotten what they were. I can divulge that Dave works WAY too hard, and should really just refuse. I thought he was an upstanding union member, as well. When I got back from the run, I thought I had half an hour until my meeting, but found the person waiting for me, (I still think his meeting must have ended early) so having agreed that Dave could shower first, I had to renege and ask if I could go in before him. He didn't seem to be around when I got back, so I collared someone who sits near him and asked him to tell Dave that the shower was free, forgetting it was Pete, who will seize any opportunity for wind-up. "Oh, don't pretend that you haven't been showering together" he said. "If you don't have any gossip, make it up" I told him, "But go with that one".

When I posted on Facebook that today had been a Dave-run, long and fast, Sally commented "Crumbs, can you rephrase that please"... I've been thinking of how to do so ever since but words fail me... it was a perfect description. I could have said "Speedy and Far", if that would make her blush less?

In the evening, I had (obviously) a full-on, and carefully scheduled evening planned. It went like this: (1) take bus to Shrewsbury Ave, pick up hire car. (2) Drive back via Pets at Home, pick up anything Frank might need (3) Go home, pack, learn lines for tonight (we're "scripts down" now). (4) Go to rehearsal (5) Go home, pick FRANK up, drive to the parents (Sussex).

So, I couldn't see any minor flaw in that. I mean, Frank has been moaning at me for years now for going away, and never loses an opportunity to climb into my bags if he sees me packing. Just because he's never been in a car before, or in fact, ever been away from the house before, I couldn't see any problems in my plan whatsoever. I even bought him a cat basket on wheels, because I thought it might be easier. He could have liked it. If he'd thought it was my bag.

Anyway, it went surprisingly well. I mean, 4/5 isn't bad, is it? Actually, the drive was OK. Frank lay on the back against the rear windscreen howling, looking out behind as if to say "Let me STAY", and also every time other cars were nearby, "HELP", but that only lasted 40 minutes. I was just picking up signs for Stansted when it abated. He repositioned by putting his head forward between the front seats for a while, but he couldn't get onto the front passenger seat because someone had left a cat basket there (belted in), so he just lay on the handbrake. Then, realising the error of his ways, he lay on the back seat, and I threw his blanket onto it, which he seemed to appreciate. I spent a long time worrying that when I got to the Dartford Crossing, he'd leap out of the window at the toll, but when I got there, found out it is free after 10pm, which was fortuitous.

The purpose of the Thursday-night journey was to arrive in time to deal with some contractors who were arriving on Friday morning, and because they'd said 9am, and I wasn't sure at the time that the parents were going to be around to ferry me from the station, (and I had to be at rehearsal on Thursday night), I decided to drive. They later told me they wouldn't arrive till 11, which was irritating, as I certainly could have got there by train for that time, but it did allow me to hatch the plan to see how Frank dealt with travelling. Dad is always asking me to stay longer, and I'm always reluctant to push the good nature of my friend Maggie too far in the cat-sitting element, so I usually have to hurry back. If I could bring him down occasionally, it would be a possibility, but only if it didn't stress him out unduly. So, this was a first time experiment. But as we arrived just before 1am, how he got on in a new house is another story.

Double Bill

On Tuesday, I had a meeting in London during the day, so I wasn't able to get the running in then. Although I was back at about 5:30 and therefore, theoretically had plenty of time between then and 7:30 to go running, I was just kindof a bit knackered and in need of a sitdown. I was aware as I did this that it was a poor idea, because while being a bit knackered at 5:30 is not uncommon, I've never felt less knackered after a rehearsal, and thought, I know, I'm all widey-wakey now, I'll enjoy this run (although I have done the running nonetheless). But, it's not like I'm master of my own body or anything. Oh wait.

So, I thought, at very least, I can get myself ready for rehearsal, and ready for tomorrow. I scanned my lines, decided they'd pass, and then thought I'd better look out that ticket. See, a while back, I was at the Cambridge Theatre Festival, and met one of the actresses afterwards in the pub, and after a chat, established that she had two tickets for Henry V that she couldn't otherwise use. So I offered to buy them off her. I put the tickets out on offer, and accepted Tom's offer to take up a ticket, and take me in his car. The trusting lady had posted me the tickets, and I (eventually) posted her a cheque. The tickets weren't on the table where they should have been. I recalled that during the laryngitis incident, there had been a late night (and possibly somewhat drunken) game of Absolute Balderdash at my house, and we'd cleared the table, so I checked the piles of deposited papers, but to no avail. I had to leave around that juncture, not feeling very prepared, for rehearsal.

I learned while I was there that while Prospero claims the most lines in the play, this is seconded by Ariel, so it is not without some cause that I complain about the number of lines I have to learn, even though it pales into insignificance next to Peter's voluminous texts. He said with some asperity that it irritates him when people say "It's alright for you, you can learn lines easily", when actually, while he CAN learn lines, this is still not without a lot of hard work... I was pleased to hear that he had learned about the relative numbers of lines from some Wikipedia page, not from actually counting them.

While I was at rehearsal, I told Tom that I may have lost the tickets. He laughed as if to say "Oh Emma, you're such a wag" rather than "You stupid idiot, how could you be so careless", which I felt would be a fairer reaction. It wasn't until almost the end of the evening, while telling Peter that I couldn't go to the pub because I still had 5k to run, that I realised that there was no way I was going to be able to run the following day. I'd just arranged with Tom that in the unlikely event that I found the tickets, we'd leave at 5:30, so the obvious recourse would be to run during lunchtime, but rather cataclysmic-ally, Sally, as in Sal, AKA Miss P, is leaving work, for ever, well, our work, she is taking on Fit Naturally full time. And the long and the short of it is, it's her leaving do. While it would be most fitting for me to go running in honour of her leaving do, I sort of thought that I'd like to be there.

I started to panic. I couldn't really  afford the time to skip out for a leaving lunch and a run during work (I know I did last Wednesday, but in fairness, I was so upset that really, work owed me pilates and a run, and they wouldn't have gotten anything out of me that afternoon without it, so it was fair dos). The only way I could really do it, actually get the run in tomorrow, was by going in the morning. Then I had an idea. An awful idea. I had a wonderful, awful idea (to quote, or misquote, The Grinch). If I were to delay going for my run tonight, until half 11, I could run 10K, instead of 5. I'd get 5K in before midnight, and 5 in after midnight, i.e., tomorrow. Yes, I could do a morning run. Just not by getting up for it.

I resolved to find the tickets, and then go for the run. Did I do a full safety check? Well, yes. I thought about it. And my thinking was thus: 11:30 isn't that different from 10-10:30, and I often go out around then. I've never felt threatened or endangered. Most serious attacks, like, rapes, happen by someone you know, and I don't know anyone who hangs around late at night. I fail to see why they should happen at that time over any other time (especially in Peterborough). I like the roads at that time of night, I like the aloneness, darkness, it's fun, and makes me think of Guys and Dolls, which is sadly lacking from my music, although I doubt it really has the beat to make a running song. ("My time of day is the dark-time, a couple of hours before dawn/ when the street belongs to the cop, and the janitor with the mop, and the grocery clerks are all gone.... with the smell of the rain-washed pavement / comes a clean and fresh and cold / and the street-lamp lights fill the gutters with gold... that's my time of day" etc). Although I have to say, in Peterborough the street mainly belongs to the drunks staggering home, but they are usually pretty friendly.

I failed to find the tickets and also, while trying to delete a tune that has been irking me for some time from my phone, I inadvertently deleted the whole track of music from my computer. I thought I'd be able to re-sync it with my phone, but all I succeeded in doing was deleting it off there too. This was irritating, especially coupled with the failure of the theatre tickets, I was now going to have to deal with the night in silence. See if I still found it unscary. (Perhaps if I sang the Guys and Dolls track myself... or maybe that would be scary for anyone else out at that time).

I set off, slightly late at about 11:26, without having any clear idea of where I was running to. I eventually decided I didn't want to run "the loop" twice (although it might have been fun to test the relative distances recorded for both runs that way). I veered off to do a loop around Fengate and Padholme Road East. What? It was fine. I never saw a soul (reminding me of this line in a favourite story, where the retort was "they don't have any souls" - Cue for Treason). I was happily pottering up some road which was no longer Padholme, but vaguely nearby, when I glanced at the time. It was ten to twelve, and I'd only just cleared two miles. I had to get 1.13 miles into under ten minutes! I didn't think I could run that fast for that long, but I was going to have to die trying. I started running faster, keeping a balance between what was possible and what I (thought I) could maintain for a mile. I veered faster and slower as these conflicting aims crashed into each other. I tried to figure out what would happen if I only ran 4.8 km. I realised that no one would care, and most people wouldn't even know, but one person would. Me. I wanted to run 5k every day in May. Not 4.8 one day, because I was a bit disorganised. This thought was really all that kept me going. I made sure I slightly over-ran 5km, as I've noticed a discrepancy in what runkeeper says on the screen as you finish, and what it ultimately records, which I have to say, upsets me. I submitted, and restarted runkeeper, safe in the knowledge that my 16th May run was logged. This meant I could slow down terrifically, which I did. I didn't care how slowly I did this one, the main thing was that it got done. I saw some people loading a transit, and vaguely, once again, wondered if I were witness to a houseclear. I suspected the girl was doing it while her erstwhile boyfriend was on nightshift, for some reason. I get these thoughts, and like to follow through the story in my mind.

I also decided that while I was clear headed, as one is during a run, I should empty my mind of all other things, and find the theatre ticket. While it certainly should have been in the pile of stuff, I'd been through it twice, and I was pretty sure it wasn't there. I'd cursorily checked the rest of the house, and, as I have often thought while searching for things that don't want to be found, it isn't a big house. I put my mind to it, and decided that there were two possibilities: I had put it in my handbag (checked) but taken it out at work - that's where I was when I paid the cheque. It could be in the office. Failing this, and using the Holmsian theory that "when you have exhausted all other possibilities, the last one, however improbable, must be correct", I reasoned that the only other place it could be was in the recycling bin. I resolved to collapse into bed on arriving at home, but get up with enough time to rifle the bins, and then go to the office and check there.

I carried this plan out, and am relieved but also ashamed to report that the theatre tickets (all £30 of them) were in my recycling bin. By a stroke of luck, I hadn't put the bin out the previous Wednesday, judging it less than 1/3 full and therefore not worth it. We had a lovely send-off for Sally, where we heard some funny stories about her (especially her first interview with the organisation, with a genuine naivety that was purely charming, where she described how she'd shown up, as a proper Essex girl, in white stiletos and a short purple dress, i.e. totally inappropriate to "us lot", and seriously said "I can't think how I got the job" - with everyone else thinking "hmm, I can hypothesise on that one..." (she's so lovely). We then went to the Tap, where I introduced everyone to Jonni, and Sal tried to give him one of her FitNaturally business cards, which he refused because they were too stiff to use as a roach. I suggested to Sal that she might like to branch into DetoxNaturally, because Jonny wasn't going to be signing up for any exercise.

I managed to leave work ontime to get home for 5:30, and Tom and I sailed off to Cambridge, where we heartily enjoyed our show, although the seats were in the front row of the circle, they were very cramped for the knees. Tom is really quite tall, and my knees were suffering, so, having usurped the better seat (because of being short) I used the opportunity to talent-spot a couple of empty seats in the stalls. We made a switcheroo in the interval, where I got Tom to admit that he wouldn't have dreamt of upgrading his seats in such a fashion. The St Crispin's day speech was very well done, and actually, the whole play was brilliantly staged. We enjoyed the after-show talk with the cast, and wended our merry way home afterwards. I was relieved, although also somewhat exhausted, with my clever ruse for getting the run out of the way, because we didn't get home until after midnight. SUCCESS!

Steampunk and handbags

So Monday morning. I was off to work, and took my running things to go out at lunchtime, although not before I'd been online and noticed that Moustachioed Chris went running at 5:50... what a nutter! I managed to get through to lunchtime, but then of course the phone started ringing; and I didn't get off it until 1:20. So I thought instead of going running, I'd nip into Tesco to stock up on biscuits in advance of the Mask Committee meeting which was at my house this evening. I delivered them home, and found rather excitingly that my new wooden iPhone case had arrived. I have been accused of "Steampunk" which can best be described by this photo:

Anyway, here is my beautiful phone:

As "steam technology" as you can get in a Victorian rebellion sort of way for an iPhone. My friend Michael said he couldn't think of a genre that better described me, or words to that effect, so I guess I've been a steampunk for years without even knowing. Which is probably the best sort of Steampunk you can be.

Well, I went back into work, and finished at 6, but didn't have time to go running between then and Summer coming over before the committee meeting, because the house was a tip, and I had to get it looking passable before having a troop of actors in. We'd just settled down with biscuits, when Jan said there was a police car outside. "That's not noteworthy on our street" I told her. "Yes, but he's coming up your path" she told me. "They must be leafleting". For some reason, because everytime someone had knocked on the door, people had shouted "It's open", everyone decided to shout that to the policeman, so he walked in. "I'm looking for a Ms Emma Goldberg" he said. I decided it couldn't be too serious, or he wouldn't be talking in front of all these people, so I admitted it. "I believe you were burgled, was it, three years ago? And a handbag was stolen? We believe we've recovered the handbag." Peterborough's finest, eh? He got a round of applause and looked mighty pleased with himself. He told me it had actually been shoved in a hedge just up the street, which had recently been trimmed. I'm not sure why he looked so happy to have restored my property to me, it really smelled mouldy, and was hardly serviceable. It appears to have had the handle gnawed right off, with mouthfuls taken out here and there. The contents weren't much better, although quite a funny selection of things, I considered tipping out my current handbag just to compare the contents. Fewer worms, I think. I told Neville that 3G card would show up.

 

I initially thought it was clever of the police to track me down, till I realised my library card was still in my wallet. Detective work at its finest. Actually, the library card was one of the best things in there. The other good thing was my keys. Not in themselves - I changed all the locks; but I was given a keyring of Sidney by a friend when I was in Australia, which was on the keys, and so was a heart shaped keyring given to me on New Year's Eve in Half Moon Bay, California, which was a memento for me. It was an odd feeling, having it back, and yet so useless. My passport wasn't in it any more. 

I had trouble focusing for the rest of the meeting, and when the meeting was over, I set out on the run, deciding first to find my cycle gloves. When I came out, the bully cat was emerging from my garden. Frank had just been looking freaked-out, so I took the opportunity to chase it up the street. Then I started out on my run, and realised that one of my gloves was missing. I had to go back for it, retrieved it, and saw the Interloper Cat again, so I chased it some more. I got into the swing of the run, and had just noticed that one of my laces was undone, when I tripped. I'm not sure if it was on the lace, or on the curb edge, but I was really pleased for those gloves, especially that I'd gone to fetch the dropped one. Also that I was wearing my softer trousers, because I got my left knee as well. Nothing seemed incapable of movement though, so I got myself together and kept going, deciding maybe to be more careful in the night of where my feet were going.

It didn't look too bad, just a graze; but maybe I should stick to daytime runs...

Superwoman

 

Yep, I think that just about personifies me. Well anyway. Early start this morning, rehanging a door with my dad at 8, and at breakfast, mum suggested cooking the chickpeas - fab idea! So, back in the Borough, I was invited to a Spanish-themed birthday party at half three, so I was planning on bringing a chickpea and chorizo stew. Fantastically, mum actually had some chorizos as well as some chickpeas, shaving off 40 minutes, and saving me lugging my bags across to Waitrose on my way home. I soaked the chickpeas overnight, and mum cooked them this morning, while I was helping dad. Mum took me to the station at 9, and I'd just got on the train when Maggie texted. She was clearly worried about having asked me to do cooking when I was preoccupied and travelling and stuff. "I've got 3 tins of chickpeas if that helps at all" it read."Chickpeas cooked. Chorizos acquired" I replied. "Sorry. You are superwoman, I should have realised you'd have it under control" she texted. 

Yes I am. I managed to get a train that for some reason, the rail companies never advertise as possible. You can get to Haywards Heath by getting a train to Kings Cross, crossing via the London Underground to Victoria, and taking the Brighton train from there. However, you can also take the train from St Pancras International, which runs from Brighton to Bedford. It takes slightly longer than the train from Victoria, but you don't have to be in the underground at all. To me, that's faster, and much nicer. I have no idea why it never comes up as an option. When I used to do it, it always rejected my ticket in the machine, so I have developed the habit of just showing it to the people, without even bothering with the machine. I did that today, so I can't say whether it would have mounted an objection or not. I arrived in time for an earlier train, and with enough excess time to buy a falafel wrap at the marvellous Yalla Yalla (Beirut Streetfood) in Kings Cross. Oh, and pick up a bit of extra Chorizo at St Pancras station, cos they have posh shops over there.

I arrived home at midday, prepared my chickpea thing (largely invented - it was tasty!), and downloaded a monologue - because at 1:30 I was due at Peterborough Community Radio to help Tom in a radio show, where we were going to tell everyone about Drama on Tap, which is next on Wednesday 23 May, 8:30, Brewery Tap. Peter and I did a bit of monologue each, and had a banter with Tom and James, it was great fun. I was mainly doing that because Summer is on holiday **miss Summer** and so I said I'd help get the promotion out there for her. I forgot to Facebook that I was doing it though. BAD ME. But great fun, nonetheless.

So then, I got back home by about 2, and that was the interlude - between 2 and 3:30 - when I was scheduling the run. Because even Superwoman has to plan her day out, you know: these crimes won't prioritise themselves. I sat on the sofa to check out something on iPlayer, and woke up at 3. That wasn't supposed to happen! I dragged on the running things, and pegged it. I managed the first mile, and felt in good fettle, happily doing 9:13 minute miles, which was brilliant. If I could keep this up, I could easily beat 30 minutes, which would be top! Just past the second mile, about 2.4, I was slowing slightly, slipping along Newark Avenue (I blame Suzanne Vega) ever so gradually, 9:19, and then 9:27. Right at the end of Newark Avenue, a fire truck deliberately waited till it was right behind me, and started its siren. I'm not kidding, my heart almost stopped. I did stop. Sorry, and all. I mean, I didn't just stop, I still had to get home, but I walked for a minute. Fortunately, Eye of the Tiger came on, and it felt wrong to be walking, so it rescued me at a critical point, but, I've said it before, and I know it's true - it's really hard starting again. I'd lost my mojo, and knew I wasn't going to get that speed back up. The garmin slipped back to 12 minute miles (that as the average lap time), but slowly crept back to about 11:30. I did get my speed back, ish, and I did the 5km in 31 minutes (so THINK how fast I'll be able to do it next time). And it was a lovely day. And I had a great contribution for the party.

I slipped my pretty tshirt dress on after a lightning shower, and pegged off up the road. Just in time for a glass of Cava. Wait, I didn't get any sponsorship at the party. FAIL.

Gardening

I shan't bore you with the details of why I had to do this, but I spent today tidying up a sadly neglected garden in Sussex. I was very cross with how neglected it was, so really, I spent a lot of time being cross. I painted the main garden gate and the side gate, and started on the biggest job, which was tackling an overgrown beech hedge. It was probably 2.5 metres high, maybe three where the tall bits were. I had a hedge trimmer, so that was OK, apart from it didn't go through the thickest bits, and even with the hedge trimmer, I was holding it above my head in a way that I happen to know is strictly forbidden when using chain saws. I mean, it's hardly a chain saw, although let me tell you, it goes through flex cable so you wouldn't even notice. Apart from the minor issue of finding it difficult to start the thing again afterwards. So anyway, after I'd rewired my dad's extension lead, which is now a foot shorter (he'll never know) I gave up on the hedge trimming for a bit, and focused on the to-big-for-the-hedge-trimmer bits, which I was using a pair of parrot-bills, as my grandad called them (long handled pruners). Mum's got a right fancy pair (oo-er) which are power-gear anvil pruners, and have a mechanism that seems to work very niftily, although was tricky in the hedge because it involves opening the handles very far, which was difficult at times. Nonetheless, this necessitated having my arms above my head for a lot, and it was really quite knackering. I also mowed a lot of not-often cut grass, and several massive ants nests. I made a humungous difference to the garden, although there is still a lot of work to be done on it. I started work at 9, and finished at 7, so it was an even longer day than I usually spend in the office, although I did have a long tea break at 3 when my parents returned from some jaunt they'd been on. It was at this point that I noticed my back was kind of sore, as i was wearing a lovely halterneck tshirt in the lovely sunshine. It was a shame really, because I had thought at about 9:30 that I had some suncream, but I hadn't been bothered to go back and fetch it. I put my shirt on, "after the horse had bolted" as it were.

I also put a rusty nail through my finger. I realise that the problem with being the daughter of a doctor and a psychiatrist is that I immediately ran through associated diseases (tetanus), tried to remember when my last jab was (over 10 years ago), and, then diagnosed myself as a hypochondriac. I tried to figure out if tetanus is treatable if you don't have the jab and decided from James Herriot stories that it was, I think it was the thing he had to treat cows for it sometimes, he called lockjaw. Although mum later told me you get it classically from contact with horse manure, so maybe I was thinking of something else with the cows. Anyway, after I decided that no one else would even know that rusty nails were associated with tetanus, I gave up thinking about it and got on with working.  I managed to get a fair few other scatches, stings and the like during the day. When mum said dinner was ready, I ached all over.

I sat down and said, "you do realise I've got to run 5k now, don't you?". Dad, who has a very similar view to running as I have historically had (I wonder how I might have developed it?) said without a moment's hesitation, "I'm willing to swear I saw you do it". Mum tried to rationalise, and suggested I'd done more than equivalent amount of work. "I'm allowed to walk instead of run. I'm not allowed to calculate all other 'equivalent' activities," I told her. I suggested she might like to come with me. We are right on the edge of Ashdown Forest, it was a lovely evening, and she is supposed to be doing some walking. She agreed, although set out ahead of me, as I hadn't got my barefeet on as yet.

I set out, overtook the matriarch, and ploughed off up the hill. It's not a massive rise, although according to runkeeper, I climbed 203 feet, which wouldn't happen in Peterborough. There's a long straight track at the top (allegedly it used to be used for landing planes during the second world war), and I ran to the end and back while mother made her way up. When I was on my way back, she started jogging, which was a shame, because I had just decided when I caught up with her, I'd better go back to the end again, to make up my distance, and it took me ages to catch up with her. Bless her, she waited for me again, and then I hared down past her (maxing the downhill) and had almost reached home when I felt uncharitable, so instead of finishing at home, I turned around and sprinted back to her, and then we walked back together.

I tried a gentle soak in the tub, but I cannot tell you how much I ache. And I don't think the barefoot shoes had anything to do with it! Although, note-worthily, I ran faster in them than ever before. I am kind of regretting that walk yesterday, it really throws my graph out! Anyway, you can tell the three other times I ran barefooted, on the 1st, 5th and 7th, because I was over 40 mins for each of them, whereas today I was in at 34, was about average for my currently slightly slow pace! One of these days, running Dave and I are going to overlap in the office again, and my time will suddenly be sub 30 minutes!

Uplifting

So today was SOMETHING DIFFERENT. Well, it is to your life. It is reasonably commonplace in mine. Imagine your job, whatever you do. You probably have to go to a place of work at a set sort of time, regularly. Me too. Usually. But, because I'm a specialist in woodland ecology, and my area of expertise covers England, now and again, I get called on for advice. And that's what happened today. So today saw me get up at 6 am (although not for a run) and pack, because I didn't really finish last night, feed the cat, and remember that I'd forgotten to arrange cover for my not being there, over-feed the cat, and have a panic about the batteries in the cat-flap, and change them, and then walk to the station, making a mental note to text Maggie when it was a reasonable time. The train, which left at precisely 7 am, had me on it, and was heading south, indirectly to Southampton. This involved, because it was a booked rail ticket, an unmerited 45 minute wait in Waterloo station, where I enjoyed second breakfast, and a fascinating insight into what commuters wear on their feet to work. In all honesty, I tried to get a picture of some lurid green heels, but the lighting was wrong, and they wouldn't come out.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, the site manager of one of our National Nature Reserves asked me if I'd take a look at this wood, and we'd set this as the date. Actually, I think it's been in the diary a long time before the "Every Day in May" has. I didn't know how big the wood was, before I went down, because it is part of a site that is much larger than just woodland, being part of an estuary. But I thought there'd be a fair amount of walking involved, surely? I was picked up from Brockenhurst, and we went to the office first (TEA... ) and then to the wood, after I'd had a rummage in the site files, and resisted sending Keith about 35 texts.

As soon as we arrived on site, I set runkeeper, being careful to select the correct activity (I hope Fiona appreciates) as "walk" and slipped it in my pocket. It wasn't that I thought we'd actually gone very far, but I checked it a couple of times during the day, and was reasonably shocked at what a short distance we'd covered. I now knew the woodland was 55 ha, which I thought was respectably large, but half way through the visit, we'd covered a paltry 1.9km.

The woodland was beautiful, in a way that you can only appreciate if you love ancient woodlands especially when it is springtime and everything is poking through the ground as fast as it can, and furthermore, somehow, against all odds, it being quite late in the season and everything, you managed to pick pretty much the first day for weeks where it was actually sunny and a bit warm (even though that should be a given for this time of May).

It was also desperately confusing: not only were the arrangements with the owner very complicated, but the main interest was butterflies, not woodland ecology, and there was a lot of stuff not going on that could have been - but more importantly, my survey hat hadn't really warmed up yet. Lots of questions burned through me, the main one being "why don't I own a wood like this?", and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to sort it out. I text Keith 6 times on the way home, which I thought was quite modest. I wished I'd had Ian's Keith mask in the woods, that would have sorted this wood out in a trice.

When we arrived back at the car, I was at 4.8km, which was absurd, and while my colleagues were chatting, I did a quick sortie around a glade, and made the distance up to 5km. I uploaded it, and before I'd got delivered back to the railway station, H had posted "does walking count". I retorted that it does if Sally says it does... fortunately she concurred, because by the time I next logged in, it was half ten at my parents's house, and there isn't too much street lighting for night-time sorties. Also, I only have my bare-foot shoes, and I wasn't sure I wanted to take them out at night. I had a nightmare trying to get from Southampton to the folks' house... it started with a signal failure at Southampton, that delayed my departure by 18 minutes; and then some various other failures, that prevented it arriving at Three Bridges until it was 25 minutes late; the train I should have picked up there, however, was also late, and the next one cancelled altogether, but there seemed to be an alternative. The whole time I was trying to figure out my options, my phone was on *low battery*, leaving me fearing I would leave mum high and dry waiting for me, but it seemed to last for enough.

I'm not making excuses, really, if I'd needed to, I could have done the running, but it seemed to me that the rules said I could walk it if I wanted. But where would I find the time to do that on a daily basis? And this was one walk that I knew I would really enjoy! And also, that after i had gotten home (especially if I'd had to get back to Peterborough - fortunately not) I'd have already done more than a 12 hour day (in fact, I had by the time I got to the parents'), and I didn't think it was that called-for to run at that point. So all in all, I was pleased to have spent an uplifting day that also accomplished my 5k.

Just hope Frank forgives me...

Don't call me "baby"

Today, you will be pleased to hear, was a LOT better than yesterday. For one thing, I literally saved two woods, which is always a worthwhile feeling. For another, I basically wasn't miserable for half the day, which I also view as a massive bonus. Unfortunately, on my way in, I found out I'd forgotten my trainers, which scuppered my lunchtime run plan. I figured that if I worked right through lunch, I could leave early, so I sorted that out, accidentally gaining some lunch at 3pm, when I remembered why lunch is good (I was hungry). Lovely Trudie gave me the other half of her carton of Tomato and mascarpone soup, it was right yummy! That tided me over, anyway.

I got a text mid-afternoon from Peter, asking if I wanted to meet up before rehearsal (he suggested dinner at the Brewery Tap) to talk about something that Tom wants us to do for radio Peterborough on Sunday. Oooh. Will I get a run in before that? Hmmm, I could meet him at 6:30... if I left at 5, I'd have time for a run and a shower... Yes, why not do a little more, I'm not busy enough. Great.

Woodlands saved, I printed off the papers I need for my trip tomorrow, and sodded off.

I didn't actually leave till 5:25, so I realised it was going to be a quick shower when I did get back. I ran around the house (first) trying to find my things, grabbed a running top and tracky bottoms, garmin, headphones, iphone, shoes, and headed straight out, remembering to reset my runkeeper from cycle back to running, which I noticed while logging my run yesterday. I thought on the way round that it wouldn't make too much difference because people would be able to tell from my speed that it was hardly cycling...

The running top I picked has a back pocket, which my tracksuit bottoms don't have, so I had to shove my phone in it, but in order to stop it bouncing, I then tuck in. However, for some reason, the front of the top persisted in riding up, even though the back was held down. I gave up tugging it in the end, and first noticed a difference as I got to the end of the road, as a driver braked and I heard something being yelled out of the window. Didn't pay too much mind. It had happened twice more by the time I reached the Golden Cod, and again around the corner. Blow Me! Was my instant reaction; well, delayed reaction. I've never pulled in a nightclub, and all it actually takes is a centimetre of midriff. Why didn't anyone tell me? Maybe it's a Peterborough thing... I should perhaps go clubbing in my running stuff. At about that time the "Don't call me Baby" song came on; it's a shit song, but I've always liked the sentiment, which I thought was vaguely apposite given the leers I was getting.

Anyway, I tried to keep my time under 10 minute miles, partly in order to finish the run in good time, but failed: it ended up being 10:19 average. I did my sprint finish, and checked my garmin for time, and I'd made quite good time, but suddenly noticed that I'd only done 3.07 miles... I pulled my phone out, and it thought I had done 5.11 km, and given that I had less than 15 minutes to shower and meet Peter, I thought I'd go with Runkeeper distance today...

Ironically when I came home from rehearsal, I found a message from lovely Fiona on Facebook, saying would I mind changing Runkeeper back to running, because she thought that either I was cycling very slowly indeed, or I was cheating at the task. (It's not a bad idea, but if I had to cycle that slowly, it would be quite an effort, and not really achieve my main objective of saving time). Anyway, ironically I'd switched it to Mountain Biking instead of running (and earned myself a new recognition from the Runkeeper team...)

However, and this is the way with Social Networking... another friend, Aidan, who generously sponsored me (you should, too) pointed out that I can in fact edit my mode of transport "after the event" so I have changed them all to running. Apart from the flooded ones, I changed them to swimming....




PS, I just checked, and you can actually record swimming. Although not with your iphone, I suspect. Not for very long, anyway.

Running in Anger

For a brief moment this morning, when the alarm went at 8 am, I thought, if I get up now and do my running, it'll be OK. It's the only time I have.

Then I went back to sleep, woke up late again, and the cat bit my foot. I'm just saying, it's one way of getting out of bed on the wrong side. Thing was, today was one of my ludicrously busy days. I had pilates at lunch time, and a theatre workshop from 7:30. And I kind of agreed to meet Keith between work and the workshop. So I was gearing up for a night-time run, and in addition to that, while the cat was attacking my toes, the weather forecaster was announcing that the day was going to get progressively wetter. Plus, I was so tired on waking, I seriously doubted whether I was going to able to run late in the day. I never for a moment contemplated lying about it, but for the first time, I did start to wonder seriously if I was going to be able to do it. I contemplated going for the run before pilates. It would make my lunch break considerably longer than an hour, but I already have the flexi this week, and by Friday, when I have to travel to Southampton, I'll have even more.

But I just had one of those mornings when the phone was red-hot. Sometimes it doesn't ring for days on end, and other times, it doesn't stop. Just when I was thinking of making a break for it, the phone rang. I don't like to speak ill of people who aren't dead (yet) so I'll leave it that the person I spoke to upset me so much that as I put the phone in its cradle, I uttered a profanity, but I was so upset, I did it quite quietly because I didn't want to draw attention to my being upset. It didn't appease my upset-ness, so I tried the time-honoured tradition of retreating to the ladies. That also didn't work (actually it never does), so I had to go to Tesco and buy a bar of Green & Black's almond milk chocolate (and a sandwich for later). EVEN THAT didn't cheer me up. I now had a difficult choice. As I left the building, I had an urge to run. I've never really felt like that before, I know I've had sparkles where I might have enjoyed fleeting moments of running. This was more like a primeval need. Not to run away, although it might have been partly that. Just to run, as hard as I could. Possibly the part of my brain that despised the fact that I didn't want to come back stopped me. Because there was pilates, and that always calms and cheers me up.

I figured I'd probably cheer up quite soon, because I love pilates, and also, I psychologically tend to leave work issues outside. Work didn't want to be left outside. I had arrived late (on account of the chocolate) but this isn't noteworthy for pilates (largely because my phone appears to be programmed to mainly ring on Wednesdays at 12:25) so no one commented and I was relieved to be at the back of the class. But I couldn't calm down. I had snot up my nose and tears streamed down my face. I couldn't really figure it out, because it hadn't been that unpleasant a conversation. Yes, it's an intractable problem that I've been grappling with for months (if not longer), and yes, the person I spoke to may have used an unnecessary tone of voice, but it's only work, and it was only words. And I'd DONE the storming out of the building bit already. Surely it was time to calm down?

There's three reasons to be upset: (1) someone has cast aspersions on my professional ability (2) I've got PMT or (3) I'm just about to get really ill. This is true. When I was a teenager, this happened time without number. Someone would say something trifflingly unimportant, which would upset me, but rather than letting it pass, I would become inconsolable, overcome with tears; within hours, I'd be in bed with tonsillitis. Now, as luck would have it, I had my tonsils out when I was 18, and haven't had it since then, but the illness thing could still stand. It was worth bearing in mind, if only because it might make me feel better. It didn't. The only thing that briefly abated my flow was when Anita gave us a challenging exercise, and I took the hardest level, every time. And can I just say, my back is really sore now.

Every time I thought it might be passing, I'd suddenly get a fear that someone in the class was going to say "Emma's very quiet today" (because in truth, it's the only session I've ever attended where I haven't spoken). I knew Anita wouldn't, because she could see me, and I knew she'd clocked that I was upset. And the thought of explaining my tears would start them off again. Stupid, but there it is. Well, no one did notice, but I had decided that if pilates couldn't stop me crying, I might as well go home, because I wasn't going to get anything done.

I got through the class without being rumbled, but wasn't able to get my mat put away without notice. Moustachioed Chris noticed, but didn't make a big fuss, he just asked if I was OK, quite quietly. Occasionally, people sense that you're in safe hands, and don't overdo it, and that happened today. Another colleague, Sue, came over, and she was able to help quite a bit with my intractable problem, also closely identifying with my "overworked" feel. Then Chris said, "Come on, come for a walk, you need some fresh air". I told him that I'd considered going for a run before pilates. "Let me see if I've got my stuff, I'll come with you," he volunteered immediately. I asked him if he'd already done his 5k today, suspecting that he was willing to go twice, but he said "Actually, no, I haven't. I was going to do it tonight" - which made me feel a bit better. He found out that he didn't have a t-shirt, but bizarrely I had a spare one, which wasn't fitted, although (ick - sorry Chris) was worn. Literally - I was wearing it. (The other one, which was tight-fitting, was also worn, having been left in my bag from running yesterday, so even if he had fitted it, it would have been worse than my pilates t shirt, because that, at least, is somewhat less physical than running). It may have not been what we'd have chosen, but needs must when the Devil drives. Anyway, I thought Chris looked very fetching in my t shirt, it cheered me up almost immediately.

We did the Fengate run, which is just over 2.5 miles, so we added a short tail on by doing a stretch further along the river (towards the sewage) and doubling back. We didn't actually do angry running - perhaps I'd taken the edge off by doing angry pilates; or perhaps it's what would have happened if Chris hadn't come with me. It's quite possible that if Chris hadn't come with me, I'd have kept right on going and done the millennium bridge run, which is 8 miles. Instead, we almost immediately fell into an easy rythm, with some easy banter, which cleared everything out of my head right away. It's not to say that there wasn't banter in pilates - there was, but I couldn't engage in it, my thoughts were too in the way. But now I could, and it was perfect. Then Chris suddenly said "This is the first 5k of the month I've done with a friend!" - and I realised that was the same for me too! It was very good to have someone to run with again. (Although it almost set me off again).

Oh, and can I just say, the river was much lower today, but that flooded pathway bit was still flooded. I told Chris that I wasn't willing to go through it as my trainers would take days to dry out, and he said "Oh, it's OK, we can just go up through the car park and down the other side". I felt really rather special for not figuring that out myself the other day...

Every time I've got to the end of a run by myself, I do my sprint finish by visualising running Dave or moustachioed Chris. It used to be just Dave who spurred me on, until I mentioned once to Chris that he should embrace this role, and I have to confess, he put more into it than Dave, who says "Come on then", and leads by example. So I often think of this with a grim smile as I finish. It appears that Chris had not forgotten this role either. He checked I was still up for a sprint finish, and true-to-form he started straight away "Come on, Come on, use those arms, faster, you can do better than that, Come on - surely you can beat me, you've got longer legs, use them, come on... [and then] That's it, nearly there, just a bit further, come on... You're slowing down... Speed up, that's it!"

I'd like to say that this put me right, and I just got on with work - and that's almost what happened. I did get some actual work done, and I don't believe that this would have happened without my 5k today. But the bonus was, this meant I could go ahead and get on with my evening, safe in the knowledge that I'd banked that run already. The glass of wine I had with Keith was a life saver, purely medicinal. And by the time I'd finished the workshop, I was ready to drop. So not having a run to do was extra good.

Scientists.

I did a lunchtime run today, 5km in 32 minutes (actually it was 31 minutes and 58 seconds). And WHO'S TO SAY if it was my fastest run yet because I'm being very sensible, and slowly warming up, or if it's because I'm all better from the nasty virus, or if maybe, it's because I was in bed (with lights out and everything) by 11pm last night, AND I went at lunchtime and not at the end of the day (when I was, co-incidentally, knackered). I don't know, I don't have a control me to run several versions of the test. I can't be a scientist, I can just speculate...

I went out, and it was sunny, although not warm, and realised that in my trainers, I didn't want to wade through water. I asked people who live that way, but they'd been avoiding the river because of the burst banks (I mean, overtopping). Anyway, one of them suggested I give the north bank of the river a go, so I did, I headed out towards the rowing lake from work. As I crossed the lights at the Lido, I saw George, who often seems to head out for a stroll. He mentioned that the floods had gone right down, which was music to my ears. Actually, it was the only music I had, because I forgot to take my earphones to work today. But that's OK. A bit closer to nature. And my thoughts (which is alarming).

The garmin initially thought I was going at 8:30 minute miles. I don't know where it gets these notions from. I mean, OK, I do set out fast and slow down, but not that fast. Ever. It quickly readjusted, and I kept it at 9:30 for some time, but it crept up to above 10 minute miles by the time I was a mile and half in. Which was a shame, I thought to myself, admiring the sticky mud that hadn't quite dried off the path along the now mainly dry footpath. Because I'd like to make today a faster run, get my speed back up. I tried to consciously not let it slack, but it was quite hard. It was easier to admire the foliage on the white poplar, and the blossom on some of the trees, and the people sitting on the park bench... no, don't slow down... Are we nearly there yet?

I was mile-watching the garmin at the same time as trying to divide 3.13 by 2, because I had no intention of running the whole distance around the rowing lake today. I was going to come right back when I'd got half way. And obviously I hadn't changed the units on the Garmin, primarily because I have no idea how to work it, and actually, often struggle to make it start recording. Actually, I had the phone going as well as the garmin, because I havent figured out how to upload the Garmin data onto the interweb yet, so I'm using Runkeeper as well. Anyway, it turned out to be simpler just to get my phone out of my pocket to figure out when I'd gone 2.5 miles. There was an anxious moment when I thought I'd have to go down the hill, and then turn and go back up it (UP HILL). For people who don't live in Peterborough... I mean, when I say hill, it's maybe more.. of an incline. Oh, never mind.

Anyway, by a feat of brilliance, 2.5km was exactly shy of the gentle incline, and I was spared deciding whether or not to run fast down it to make up the time coming back. There were a couple of other undulations on the way back, though, and I did pelt down as much as possible, and noticed it was taking masses off my average speed, so resolved to do it as much as possible. Coupled with the sprint finish, I had my average speed down to 9:40 by the end. Which was good, except I had to overshoot the office, because I hadn't quite made 5km. Julian (Pilates Julian) was somewhat perplexed on his return from town, I think he thought I had decided to sprint up to see him, which would be unusual behaviour, even for me.

Talking about spurious blog-mentions that are clearly intended just to get my readership boosted, I also saw Stewart in the office, who had already heard that he was in my blog, and had located the article. He appeared somewhat taken aback that I had described him as usually mild-mannered. I forgot to explain the literary reference here. That being to the highbrow cartoon strip Calvin and Hobbes, where Calvin describes himself as Mild-Mannered Calvin in contrast to his alter-ego, Stupendous Man. I wonder if Stewart has an alter-ego? I expect he does. Now I know he has a fiery, burst river-bank side to him.

I've got it, I know why I was faster today. It'll be the bare-foot training that's done it. Go ahead, prove it wasn't... And now, I'm late for bed.

It's all about shoes.

Well, notwithstanding the pain yesterday, I really wanted to give the barefoot shoes another go. They feel like they are doing something, even though I'm running slower. So I came up with a plan, which was this: in search of some better grass (no, not that sort: you can't improve on the Granville Street odour) I planned to cycle to the rowing lake, with the barefoot shoes, and run around it. If, as seemed probable, my calf muscles hurt during the run, I would walk instead. That seemed fair. Also, I've heard it said that walking in bare foot shoes is also very good for your muscle development. Shame they look so odd (as if I'd care).

Anyway, this seemed to work pretty well. I set off, and as before, found that the flat, well-cared-for grass was easy underfoot. The odd pile of debris clearly from the rowing lake overtopping its banks seemed to be soft, and mainly comprised of the wood chip they recently piled around some newly planted willows on the other side. It was pretty slippy, and I hoped desperately that the slips were occuring because of actual mud, and not (as I suspect more likely) from piles of bird crap. I think there is a technical term there. Talking of which, the birds from along the Nene were identified by Nic as Wheatears, and there seemed to be general agreement on that from other birding colleagues. Plus, RSPB Dave was kind enough to qualify the "white rump" comment by letting me know that this is, in fact, the meaning of the name "wheatear". This seemed so improbable that I had to google it immediately, and it turns out he is correct. Although, in all honesty, answering "What does Wheatear mean?" with "1. small songbird of northern America and Eurasia having a distinctive white rump" suggests that it isn't actually its etymology that is being defined, but what the bird is.

It turns out that the rowing lake is just over 1km long, so I initially planned on running around it three times. However, at the end of the first length, it wasn't so much the specific muscle in my left calf that was hurting, so much as all the muscles in both calves. I thought maybe I should consider the walking option. As I rounded the top of the lake, however, I ran into slower terrain. The grass here was much longer, and disguised the water nicely. I hadn't really realised how wet it was before both trouser legs were drenched. At which point, I gave up caring about wet legs, which seemed the best approach, and thought about returning to the path, but immediately realised this in itself was a pointless strategy, as the path itself was not only flooded, but also being used as a duck pond (see right - yes, that's the actual path).

It seemed a marvelous opportunity to recover the aching calves. Cooling, too, I dare say. I walked through the flood (I know this looks like an action shot, but it is a "walking action" rather than a "running action") and thought about how immensely fun it would be if I was 5. Actually, I wasn't too miserable about it, because, as I suspect you know by the fact that I chose to run beside water for the second time in two days, a lot of me is actually 5. I would say, most of me, apart from the grey hairs, which are about 493, and this averages out at 38. I guess about half of the south side of the rowing lake was either very soggy indeed or actively under water, and what wasn't, I jogged in a very cursory manner. I decided, as I began my next "lap" that it would perhaps be more judicious to just stick along the north side. And, although I'd figured on going round three times, which would have been just over 6km, I actually decided to do a little loop up to the weir and back again at the top end of the lake, to make up my 2 laps to 5km, deciding to be as kind as possible to my calf muscles.

And all in all, I didn't do that badly. I ran it in 43 minutes total, which was two minutes faster than on Saturday and only 1 minute slower than the first time I ran, when I definitely didn't pause or walk quite so often. Being two minutes faster than Saturday's run isn't really a great comparison, though, because I ran 6km on Saturday, something that the Run Log doesn't take into account. Statistics. Oh, I remembered to charge up, and wear the garmin... so I can confirm that I did run 5km exactly... and that Runkeeper thinks it was 5.1 km, so only 100m out. In fairness, it was about 40m out, but I stopped the Garmin first, and then couldn't get my phone out of my back pocket.

I can hardly wait to see how my calf muscles are tomorrow...