The next day, it goes without saying really, that my back wasn't really feeling better. If I'm honest, it was feeling worse. But the crevasse didn't open, it was just hot and achy. I didn't bother telling anyone why that might have been, the expression "you've only got yourself to blame" was high up in my relevant catchphrases. I had a meeting in London, and biked to the station for a 7:50 train, only to find that I'd left my bike lock at home. As close followers on Facebook will know, I don't tend to leave a lot of wiggle-room on train journeys, so having spent a whole 5 seconds debating the likelihood of my bike still being there if I left it with no lock, I watched the train pull out, turned around, and went back home to fetch my lock. I thought the cycling might be good for me, so I came back to the station, and caught the next train, and even did a little running to my meeting, which I was now late for. I really noticed the stairs in the underground on the way back that evening.
On Tuesday, I thought, swimming is the answer, and I don't care what the question is... I decided I could damn well get back on this beast, and get that mile in that I'd been going for last Thursday, and because of this, I reckoned to go after work, so that I wasn't pushed for time. I was disgusted to note that, once again, the lane-swimmers were all going painfully slowly. I've noticed that they have a way of leaving once I get in the water though, so I didn't over-think my strategy. Sometimes I count backwards from my target, so as to help me not lose count, but I wasn't sure where the target would be tonight. I had just over an hour, as I got into the pool a little after 6:40, and the session finished at 7:45.
I was interested to notice that the slowest swimmer in our lane was actually walking up and down, which seemed very peculiar. I was trying to figure out whether she thought that anyone else actually believed she was swimming. She was pretty good at getting out of the way, though, I'll give her that. Every time she saw me coming, she simply traversed across, switched direction and carried on. It seemed odd, but she didn't annoy me unduly, and I was content to monitor her progress as I swept passed. I did, however, lose my temper with a girl who initially hung all her weight on the lane divider (which actually just makes me worried that it'll rip out of the wall). I glared at the lifeguard to see if he was going to intervene, but he appeared to be in a coma. I went passed again, and she was still doing it, but now leaning well into our lane. I made sure my crawl legs were extra-splashy. Then she decided to join our lane, swimming. She was wearing a quite lurid purple costume, and seemed to have a lot of angry black curls. She was swimming behind one of the slow blokes, who was artfully dodging me by allowing me to pass him at lane ends, the way civilised people do. She was not civil, or civilised. She overtook him, three times, as I was approaching him, head on to me. I didn't stop. The first two times, I brushed past her. The third time, the lifeguard woke up and kicked her out. I felt like an unstoppable force of nature.
I was going well and seemed to be making good pace, the back wasn't really hurting, and I felt strong. I guess that's when it went wrong really: I thought I could maybe either do two kilometres, 80 lengths, or possibly just keep going till time. I was on about 50 when a woman joined our lane. I'd got the 3 blokes quite well trained at keeping behind me, one guy was about the same speed, I could leave him behind on my front crawl lengths and he'd catch up on my breast stroke lengths. The others were straggling. Then this woman came in, and I swear that in the second I clocked her as I came up for breath on a crawl stroke, I thought "she'd better be fast!" - (like, fast enough to swim in MY lane) some sort of swimming prima donna had overtaken my body! Anyway, as it turned out, she WAS a very strong swimmer, but exceptionally annoying. She kept stopping at the lane end, and then literally starting again as I was a metre away from the end, so she always started right in front of me. It was very peculiar behaviour, and fired up something in me. I was not going to stop. I kept coming, and kept coming, thinking all the while "I'm getting pretty tired now, and my back is hot, again... but I'm not slowing down.". At one point I got such bad cramp in my toe that it curled and I couldn't move it, but I didn't want to lose any distance, so I kept going. Both my calves were shrieking at me, the one part of my body I absolutely couldn't afford to injure. I was at 74 when she stopped at the shallow end and said "Do you want to go ahead of me?" I didn't pause, but I gave her a grin. Mwah ha-ha-hah. Victory was mine. I stopped at 80, and swam over to the steps. For one thing, I deserved them. For another thing, it was the only reliable way of getting out.
The calf muscle thing would probably clear up.
Thursday 24 September 2015
With my eyes closed...
Friday came with a surprise: I wasn't in nearly as much pain as I supposed. I had taken painkillers before bed on Thursday, but nonetheless expected waking up to bring the same awful certainty that quite possibly paralysis was the next step, unless I watched very very carefully. I had been so certain of this that I'd arranged to work at home, even though that meant tying my computer onto Deadly with a bungee cord (because I couldn't carry it on my back). The sacrifices I'm willing to take.
Still, working at home is always relaxing, and it gave me opportunity to walk around a lot and to undertake pelvic tilts, which were now possible. I decided that swimming had certainly been the cure, because it's the only think I definitely did differently from other times I've had back problems. I decided to go again on Friday, and this time I did 30 reasonably pain free lengths, and I made myself stop for fear of overdoing it, rather than having the stopping forced on me, like Thursday. I felt pretty strong, and took some pain killers to celebrate. I rested over the weekend, although found opportunity to practice the pelvic tilts (which are important). I might have even got my spine up to a bridge at one point. I did some mental calculations though and realised that doing a long run, foolish as it sounds, was going to be psychologically important now. I tried to figure out where "stupid" lay in the calculation of how long this long run should be. I'd done two 4.5 mile runs. I thought 12 might be workable.
I set off on the route up the river that finished my calves off last time, because I'd been so excited by it, and wanted to see a bit further. That time would have been 12 miles, if I had been able to finish it all without walking the last 4 miles. I was pretty late starting tonight, but for some reason I decided it wouldn't matter because the route home would be lit up. Frankly, I don't know where I get these ideas from. Anyway, the plan was to park at the Boat House, and run up the river, past Ferry Meadows, and up the Nene River path. It's really nice, and it was also a cracking good evening. I saw this little guy who coolly stayed where he was, unlike most of my feathered models.
There's a nice little bridge across the river which is steep enough that they put slats on to stop you slipping backwards, and an old mill building. A little beyond that, where there's a bit of road, and then back onto the fields, are some rather gorgeous horses in a field who seem to be curious about the passers by, and then a style, where I took opportunity for refreshment, as the height enabled me to reach the perfect blackberries at the top of the hedge. Ashley posted a comment from "Oh the Places you'll Go", another favourite Dr Seuss story, "You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes, you can steer yourself any direction you choose", which made me grin again, it was so appropriate! Thank you Ashley. This was followed up by a pithy "Go Go Power Rangers" from Emma P, in response to cycling-Chris' earlier "Go Go Goldberg" comment.
I dropped down to the river again, and wondered how wet this stretch gets in a month or two's time - often the river overtops its banks (as doubtless you'll recall from older posts - it certainly doesn't break the banks, anyway) and one year the Hereward Relay race was cancelled because half the course was closer to swimming. Who doesn't like a bit of wading in November, anyway? However, today all was calm, and the evening was beautiful. Although coming on rather fast. I checked my time. It was 7:40pm, and I'd run close to 7 miles. I reasoned again at this point that I'd take a faster route back, through Ferry Meadows park, which surely had those lit-up cats-eyes in the pathways, didn't it? I'd be fine. I just really wanted to know what happened next on this path. I got as far as this weir, which happened at 7 miles, and decided it was time to go back. It was already gloomy (although the photo was pointing west, so it seems bright enough).
I turned back, and took a straighter path, avoiding the meanders of the river, past some cows which I didn't see on the way, and the horses, back past the road with the apple trees, and the old mill. It was getting quite dark when Anthony called me to check I was home, because it was, after all, dark now. I promised him that I was half a mile away from the lit up area, and then I'd be fine. "You are OK, though, Em?" "Yes, I could do this route with my eyes closed" I told him. I came off the phone, and realised that the brightly lit screen had buggered my night vision. Let's see about that then, I thought. I now couldn't tell what the vegetation was at the sides of the path, and got nettled a few times. I could see undulations, but not really what was underfoot. I could see the river, and the trees overhead, but the pathway was closing over in gloom. I thought about Suzanne Vega's Night Vision song, when the darkness takes you with her hand across your face - don't give in too easily, find the things she's erased. I was almost at the bridge where the railtrack crosses, and the pathway was lighter, but quite steep and stony, and as I got to the top of it, I lost my footing and fell. "Yes I'm fine" I thought, rubbing my smarting knee "because that's exactly what I needed". I basically didn't have time to be injured, just as I didn't have time to have a sore back. Yes, it was hurting a bit, now you come to mention it, after 10 miles. Probably under normal circs I would have slowed down. Not tonight.
I bombed across the railway, and now the path was clearly visible because nothing else was, and it was tarmac. The trees were still overshadowing my route. Not long till I got to Ferry Meadows. I reached my usual route, which I was pretty sure I could do with my eyes shut, and just as well, because whatever part of my mind had installed the blue lights along the pathway, it certainly wasn't the Council. It remained black. I ran a bit faster. I got to the new boathouse on the lake, and it was lit up like a beacon, throwing light over the road and carpark. I made a mental note of the new cycle hire place. Again, running past lights meant running out into the black. I saw some people walking with torch light and decided to not feel intimidated. Is there anything more terrifying than seeing a runner in pitch black, going at full pelt with no light at all because she's so hard? I don't think so. Pah. The evening light started doing weird things at this point, including getting lighter. However, I am attributing this to the additional light being thrown upwards from the lakes I was passing. It's the only thing that made sense. I was concerned about the final strip of pathway between the lake and the edge of the rail line, which cuts along the river edge again briefly. I knew there weren't any lights on this bit because it's a stoned track, not tarmac - and I was back among the trees. But it's a wide, sandy path, and was easily visible. People probably make too much fuss about darkness, I thought. It's quite easy to see really. After I crossed the rail line, and was along the tarmac path, which I was SURE had cats eyes - it was really quite dark. This was in fact a point that I had previously practiced running with my eyes closed while holding Summer, and it was quite scary- I kept veering away from her and she had to call me back. I definitely couldn't run this with my eyes closed. The last vestiges of light were making it possible to see where I was, and I kept picking my feet up so I didn't trip on rucks in the tarmac where roots had pushed it up. Finally I got to the weir at Orton Mere. HERE were the blue cats eyes. I crossed back over the railway line, and followed bright blue cats eyes all the way back to the car, the final stretch looking just like a run way. Not that I was in any danger of take-off.
My runmeter recorded 13.85 miles. It seemed like a reasonable stab at a long run.
Over half way.
Still, working at home is always relaxing, and it gave me opportunity to walk around a lot and to undertake pelvic tilts, which were now possible. I decided that swimming had certainly been the cure, because it's the only think I definitely did differently from other times I've had back problems. I decided to go again on Friday, and this time I did 30 reasonably pain free lengths, and I made myself stop for fear of overdoing it, rather than having the stopping forced on me, like Thursday. I felt pretty strong, and took some pain killers to celebrate. I rested over the weekend, although found opportunity to practice the pelvic tilts (which are important). I might have even got my spine up to a bridge at one point. I did some mental calculations though and realised that doing a long run, foolish as it sounds, was going to be psychologically important now. I tried to figure out where "stupid" lay in the calculation of how long this long run should be. I'd done two 4.5 mile runs. I thought 12 might be workable.
I set off on the route up the river that finished my calves off last time, because I'd been so excited by it, and wanted to see a bit further. That time would have been 12 miles, if I had been able to finish it all without walking the last 4 miles. I was pretty late starting tonight, but for some reason I decided it wouldn't matter because the route home would be lit up. Frankly, I don't know where I get these ideas from. Anyway, the plan was to park at the Boat House, and run up the river, past Ferry Meadows, and up the Nene River path. It's really nice, and it was also a cracking good evening. I saw this little guy who coolly stayed where he was, unlike most of my feathered models.There's a nice little bridge across the river which is steep enough that they put slats on to stop you slipping backwards, and an old mill building. A little beyond that, where there's a bit of road, and then back onto the fields, are some rather gorgeous horses in a field who seem to be curious about the passers by, and then a style, where I took opportunity for refreshment, as the height enabled me to reach the perfect blackberries at the top of the hedge. Ashley posted a comment from "Oh the Places you'll Go", another favourite Dr Seuss story, "You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes, you can steer yourself any direction you choose", which made me grin again, it was so appropriate! Thank you Ashley. This was followed up by a pithy "Go Go Power Rangers" from Emma P, in response to cycling-Chris' earlier "Go Go Goldberg" comment.
I dropped down to the river again, and wondered how wet this stretch gets in a month or two's time - often the river overtops its banks (as doubtless you'll recall from older posts - it certainly doesn't break the banks, anyway) and one year the Hereward Relay race was cancelled because half the course was closer to swimming. Who doesn't like a bit of wading in November, anyway? However, today all was calm, and the evening was beautiful. Although coming on rather fast. I checked my time. It was 7:40pm, and I'd run close to 7 miles. I reasoned again at this point that I'd take a faster route back, through Ferry Meadows park, which surely had those lit-up cats-eyes in the pathways, didn't it? I'd be fine. I just really wanted to know what happened next on this path. I got as far as this weir, which happened at 7 miles, and decided it was time to go back. It was already gloomy (although the photo was pointing west, so it seems bright enough).I turned back, and took a straighter path, avoiding the meanders of the river, past some cows which I didn't see on the way, and the horses, back past the road with the apple trees, and the old mill. It was getting quite dark when Anthony called me to check I was home, because it was, after all, dark now. I promised him that I was half a mile away from the lit up area, and then I'd be fine. "You are OK, though, Em?" "Yes, I could do this route with my eyes closed" I told him. I came off the phone, and realised that the brightly lit screen had buggered my night vision. Let's see about that then, I thought. I now couldn't tell what the vegetation was at the sides of the path, and got nettled a few times. I could see undulations, but not really what was underfoot. I could see the river, and the trees overhead, but the pathway was closing over in gloom. I thought about Suzanne Vega's Night Vision song, when the darkness takes you with her hand across your face - don't give in too easily, find the things she's erased. I was almost at the bridge where the railtrack crosses, and the pathway was lighter, but quite steep and stony, and as I got to the top of it, I lost my footing and fell. "Yes I'm fine" I thought, rubbing my smarting knee "because that's exactly what I needed". I basically didn't have time to be injured, just as I didn't have time to have a sore back. Yes, it was hurting a bit, now you come to mention it, after 10 miles. Probably under normal circs I would have slowed down. Not tonight.
I bombed across the railway, and now the path was clearly visible because nothing else was, and it was tarmac. The trees were still overshadowing my route. Not long till I got to Ferry Meadows. I reached my usual route, which I was pretty sure I could do with my eyes shut, and just as well, because whatever part of my mind had installed the blue lights along the pathway, it certainly wasn't the Council. It remained black. I ran a bit faster. I got to the new boathouse on the lake, and it was lit up like a beacon, throwing light over the road and carpark. I made a mental note of the new cycle hire place. Again, running past lights meant running out into the black. I saw some people walking with torch light and decided to not feel intimidated. Is there anything more terrifying than seeing a runner in pitch black, going at full pelt with no light at all because she's so hard? I don't think so. Pah. The evening light started doing weird things at this point, including getting lighter. However, I am attributing this to the additional light being thrown upwards from the lakes I was passing. It's the only thing that made sense. I was concerned about the final strip of pathway between the lake and the edge of the rail line, which cuts along the river edge again briefly. I knew there weren't any lights on this bit because it's a stoned track, not tarmac - and I was back among the trees. But it's a wide, sandy path, and was easily visible. People probably make too much fuss about darkness, I thought. It's quite easy to see really. After I crossed the rail line, and was along the tarmac path, which I was SURE had cats eyes - it was really quite dark. This was in fact a point that I had previously practiced running with my eyes closed while holding Summer, and it was quite scary- I kept veering away from her and she had to call me back. I definitely couldn't run this with my eyes closed. The last vestiges of light were making it possible to see where I was, and I kept picking my feet up so I didn't trip on rucks in the tarmac where roots had pushed it up. Finally I got to the weir at Orton Mere. HERE were the blue cats eyes. I crossed back over the railway line, and followed bright blue cats eyes all the way back to the car, the final stretch looking just like a run way. Not that I was in any danger of take-off.
My runmeter recorded 13.85 miles. It seemed like a reasonable stab at a long run.Over half way.
Tuesday 22 September 2015
When life gives you lemons...
So, having made a flying re-start into my desperately late and hugely condensed marathon training programme, I planned to do some swimming which I thought would be a good strengthy thing that I'm also good at and enjoy. Another 64 lengths (which is a mile) should kick-start this training. I took my swimming stuff into work on Deadly, as per (I can't recall if I've introduced Deadly - she's my bicycle. Deadly Peddly, or just Deadly for short, named by my Australian colleague, Big Jim).
I sat around (as you do in an office) for half the morning, and then, needing to check something, I got up. It was a mistake. It's one I usually make first thing in the morning, where getting out of bed has seemed overly-risky ever since I was hospitalised for it; I hadn't seen the risk in simply getting out of my chair. I knew straight away something was wrong with my spine, but pushed it away. I went to the filing cabinet, and almost couldn't pull a lever-arch file (I know - NO ONE has them any more!) off the shelf without yelping. I pulled it off anyway, because I was in denial, but my eyes were almost watering. I hobbled back to my desk. I decided that the obvious thing to do was some roll-downs to see how much pain I was in. I got about half way down, and realised I was quite comfortable there. Also, that I couldn't get back up. I clearly needed to lie on the floor and do pelvic tilts. I somehow got down onto the floor, an unusually difficult maneuver, but was more or less unable to do pelvic tilts when I arrived there. Several colleagues stopped to ask if I was OK. I realised the futility of it, and got back up and wedged myself into my chair. It was Thursday, which meant that I had so far achieved 9 miles of running and a bad back, and had 2 weeks and 3 days to go.
I took a deep breath. What needed to happen was for me not to have a bad back. I didn't even bother with NHS direct. My parents have had bad backs for my whole entire life, and I've had a couple of problems over the years myself. I knew the exercises, and I knew how long they take to get better. About 3 weeks. The last time it happened to me, I'd bent sideways to reach under my bicycled in order to carry it down a flight of stairs, when I realised I couldn't stand up again. This was the same. I knew, with unflinching certainty (flinching was out of the question), that although I was not in crippling pain, I could be, at any moment, if I did the wrong thing. It was like tightrope-walking above a crevasse of pure pain.
I did what I believe is the obvious thing: I went swimming. Swimming is well-known for being brilliant at backs. Only, I couldn't really walk, so I cycled there. Look, it was fine, it just made me cry when I went over bumps, but otherwise it was absolutely fine. I somehow managed to get clothes off and costume on, can't really remember that bit. I was mentally scaling down how many fewer than 64 lengths I would do. I started to swim, and people did their customary "getting out of the way of the swimmer with goggles on" because I look terrifyingly fast, only this time, I really wasn't. I had to swim in the unlaned area, because of some forthcoming lessons which hadn't started yet but may imminently do so (I hate that. I know it's not just about me, and clearing everyone out would take ages, but I hate seeing empty lanes that I could get a few laps in while they were - anyway, never mind). They had bizarrely laned off a single lane on the other side of the pool, which was marked as "private", but frankly, I had other things to think about, like not drowning, to worry about this.
Front crawl hurt a bit, and breast stroke hurt if I wasn't thinking about it. I found I needed to stop frequently and curve my back forward because it was getting quite a bit of head-lifting backwards. I enjoyed the back crawl on the first length I did, but then not so much. I alternated everything, even tried side stroke (both sides). I managed to knock out 20 lengths before I decided that I'd had enough. I couldn't afford to make it worse, after all. I felt I was pushing unknown cures to the limits, out of pure desperation. I ignored the "private lane" because I needed the steps to get out, and no one shouted at me.
In the dressing room, I was aware of 3 or 4 ladies having a good chat, and as part of it was about depression, I almost chipped in with information about a play that I thought they might like, but I didn't. They got ready at pretty much the same speed as I did (and I should have twigged that that meant it was rather slow), and as I was spinning my costume, two were brushing their hair in the area. I noticed that one was holding the arm of another, but again, didn't really catch on to what sort of carer she was.
I came down the stairs and found that I needed to take opportunity to sit down in order to text Peter who I was meeting up with, because texting from my bicycle was going to be less possible than usual. As I did so, I realised that the 4 ladies were now approaching for their after-swim coffee, and the nature of their disability became apparent. "There's a sign right in front of you, just step to your left. That's it". They were blind. They were three smiling, up-beat ladies with a seeing-eyed friend or carer, who had gone swimming. I grinned at the carer, who smiled back as she got drinks in for the girls, and they happily chatted away. I suddenly felt a bit stupid, feeling so sorry for myself over a bit of back ache. Look what these ladies were getting around! They reminded me of a germinating plan in the back of my mind. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought, and pulled my chair forward.
"Excuse me, ladies, I wonder if I might ask you something," I said. They smiled, curious, interested, a little bit knowingly. Maybe they thought I was going to ask them how blind people swim. I wished I'd watched. "I'm a runner," I said, "and I was thinking of running a half marathon blindfolded." Whatever they thought I was going to say, it wasn't that. They were still interested. "Are you mad?" one of them said, joking. "Funny you should say that", I told her "I get that alot". I explained that I'd been interested in raising money for a blind charity, and I wondered what they thought. I told them I'd be running with a guide, that you get a rope and hold it, and that i wondered especially from the carer, if it was difficult to give the right information. They were very interested, and gave me the names of two charities, and also the name of someone who could perhaps let me walk with a guide-dog while blindfolded, to see what it was like. They asked me for my name, so they could listen out for it. I explained that it was still conceptual, so it was likely to be next year's Peterborough Great Eastern Run that I attempted it. They seemed to like the idea though, and that was my main concern.
I know that when you're gloomy or worried about something, it doesn't necessarily help to see someone who's in a worse position than you (although I've long suspected that this must be the appeal of soap-operas), but somehow, seeing a group of people dealing with adversity in such a very positive manner was especially uplifting. I hobbled out and got back on my bicycle.
Anything's possible.
I sat around (as you do in an office) for half the morning, and then, needing to check something, I got up. It was a mistake. It's one I usually make first thing in the morning, where getting out of bed has seemed overly-risky ever since I was hospitalised for it; I hadn't seen the risk in simply getting out of my chair. I knew straight away something was wrong with my spine, but pushed it away. I went to the filing cabinet, and almost couldn't pull a lever-arch file (I know - NO ONE has them any more!) off the shelf without yelping. I pulled it off anyway, because I was in denial, but my eyes were almost watering. I hobbled back to my desk. I decided that the obvious thing to do was some roll-downs to see how much pain I was in. I got about half way down, and realised I was quite comfortable there. Also, that I couldn't get back up. I clearly needed to lie on the floor and do pelvic tilts. I somehow got down onto the floor, an unusually difficult maneuver, but was more or less unable to do pelvic tilts when I arrived there. Several colleagues stopped to ask if I was OK. I realised the futility of it, and got back up and wedged myself into my chair. It was Thursday, which meant that I had so far achieved 9 miles of running and a bad back, and had 2 weeks and 3 days to go.
I took a deep breath. What needed to happen was for me not to have a bad back. I didn't even bother with NHS direct. My parents have had bad backs for my whole entire life, and I've had a couple of problems over the years myself. I knew the exercises, and I knew how long they take to get better. About 3 weeks. The last time it happened to me, I'd bent sideways to reach under my bicycled in order to carry it down a flight of stairs, when I realised I couldn't stand up again. This was the same. I knew, with unflinching certainty (flinching was out of the question), that although I was not in crippling pain, I could be, at any moment, if I did the wrong thing. It was like tightrope-walking above a crevasse of pure pain.
I did what I believe is the obvious thing: I went swimming. Swimming is well-known for being brilliant at backs. Only, I couldn't really walk, so I cycled there. Look, it was fine, it just made me cry when I went over bumps, but otherwise it was absolutely fine. I somehow managed to get clothes off and costume on, can't really remember that bit. I was mentally scaling down how many fewer than 64 lengths I would do. I started to swim, and people did their customary "getting out of the way of the swimmer with goggles on" because I look terrifyingly fast, only this time, I really wasn't. I had to swim in the unlaned area, because of some forthcoming lessons which hadn't started yet but may imminently do so (I hate that. I know it's not just about me, and clearing everyone out would take ages, but I hate seeing empty lanes that I could get a few laps in while they were - anyway, never mind). They had bizarrely laned off a single lane on the other side of the pool, which was marked as "private", but frankly, I had other things to think about, like not drowning, to worry about this.
Front crawl hurt a bit, and breast stroke hurt if I wasn't thinking about it. I found I needed to stop frequently and curve my back forward because it was getting quite a bit of head-lifting backwards. I enjoyed the back crawl on the first length I did, but then not so much. I alternated everything, even tried side stroke (both sides). I managed to knock out 20 lengths before I decided that I'd had enough. I couldn't afford to make it worse, after all. I felt I was pushing unknown cures to the limits, out of pure desperation. I ignored the "private lane" because I needed the steps to get out, and no one shouted at me.
In the dressing room, I was aware of 3 or 4 ladies having a good chat, and as part of it was about depression, I almost chipped in with information about a play that I thought they might like, but I didn't. They got ready at pretty much the same speed as I did (and I should have twigged that that meant it was rather slow), and as I was spinning my costume, two were brushing their hair in the area. I noticed that one was holding the arm of another, but again, didn't really catch on to what sort of carer she was.
I came down the stairs and found that I needed to take opportunity to sit down in order to text Peter who I was meeting up with, because texting from my bicycle was going to be less possible than usual. As I did so, I realised that the 4 ladies were now approaching for their after-swim coffee, and the nature of their disability became apparent. "There's a sign right in front of you, just step to your left. That's it". They were blind. They were three smiling, up-beat ladies with a seeing-eyed friend or carer, who had gone swimming. I grinned at the carer, who smiled back as she got drinks in for the girls, and they happily chatted away. I suddenly felt a bit stupid, feeling so sorry for myself over a bit of back ache. Look what these ladies were getting around! They reminded me of a germinating plan in the back of my mind. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought, and pulled my chair forward.
"Excuse me, ladies, I wonder if I might ask you something," I said. They smiled, curious, interested, a little bit knowingly. Maybe they thought I was going to ask them how blind people swim. I wished I'd watched. "I'm a runner," I said, "and I was thinking of running a half marathon blindfolded." Whatever they thought I was going to say, it wasn't that. They were still interested. "Are you mad?" one of them said, joking. "Funny you should say that", I told her "I get that alot". I explained that I'd been interested in raising money for a blind charity, and I wondered what they thought. I told them I'd be running with a guide, that you get a rope and hold it, and that i wondered especially from the carer, if it was difficult to give the right information. They were very interested, and gave me the names of two charities, and also the name of someone who could perhaps let me walk with a guide-dog while blindfolded, to see what it was like. They asked me for my name, so they could listen out for it. I explained that it was still conceptual, so it was likely to be next year's Peterborough Great Eastern Run that I attempted it. They seemed to like the idea though, and that was my main concern.
I know that when you're gloomy or worried about something, it doesn't necessarily help to see someone who's in a worse position than you (although I've long suspected that this must be the appeal of soap-operas), but somehow, seeing a group of people dealing with adversity in such a very positive manner was especially uplifting. I hobbled out and got back on my bicycle.
Anything's possible.
Hearts
So after the massage, I gave it a couple of days, it seemed sensible, but I did a lovely walk at the weekend. It was mainly lovely because of the person I was with, which is another story, and actually wasn't overly strenuous. I did manage to do quite a few calf-lifts which were incidental to my recovery plan, but I'm sure they helped. I decided it was time to embrace the training plan the following week. I realised that it was going to have to be 4-5 times a week, taking cautious recovery days. I ran 4.5 miles on Monday night, and the new app, Runmeter, decided to work, and has deigned to read out comments now, which was lots of fun, and really helps motivate you. Especially when your friends have conversations with each other. Stella wrote "watch out for tornadoes", which I only learned later there was one going on 10 miles north of me. Michael said "The gentle caress" [which made me nervous], but it continued "of autumn makes running golden". I didn't go terribly fast, but it wasn't about speed, I was really happy to be running again, and that was all that mattered. It was Ian who suggested that it would have been possible to make a heart on my route.
On Tuesday, I had a work trip to Kent which I had to overnight, and I considered taking a run that afternoon, but technically, although the meeting finished early, I was really still at work, so I had to get the laptop out and sit in a hotel room for 2 hours of sunshine. I got a reasonably early night, and I intended to get up in the morning and explore the environs of Ashford (I'd located a river and what looked like a path on google earth) but six am revealed it was actually quite dark (owing to my usual waking habits, I had no idea about this) and I realised that trying to find a pathway in an unknown area in the dark wasn't going to be a brilliant move. By 6:30 I'd talked myself out of the idea - the rain combined with my love of the snooze button put me off entirely.
It kept up the rain in a consistent, British way, all day, something I could easily observe from the eerie of the 8th floor of our Ashford office. Happily the rail station is next door, so I didn't get wet as I made my way home. I did, however, have the chance to devise a new law, which I don't think I've even shared with Facebook yet, as I usually do when my Dictatorial brain devises something which I think would be good primarily for me, but also for humanity (such as shooting people who get onto trains with a cold). This law, perhaps, will meet with more understanding: it will be the law, henceforth or whenever my reign commences, that cars and motor vehicles in general, shall stop for pedestrians while it is raining. Whenever they should need to cross a road, in the rain, vehicles will give way. The reason is pretty obvious: they're in a nice warm car, and we're getting wet. The very LEAST they can do is bloody well let us across the road. I think this is a brilliant law, and should be passed immediately, even before I take over power.
I realised when I got home that if I didn't get right out there immediately, in the rain, I would talk myself out of it again - and I had training to go. "If it ain't raining, it ain't training" I thought grimly to myself (although I have many times been struck by the incorrect nature of that saying during dry weather), and geared up to get out there, including remembering a plastic bag for the phone. Despite my recent law, it appeared that not everyone had caught up, because I had to stop twice to prevent a car from running me down [sigh]. Again, my noble facebook friends stepped into the breach, in my somewhat damp hour of need, and kept me entertained with comments such as "Are you mad? It's logging your exercise as swimming" and "no need to shower after this run", and Ian, who I had primed that I was going to alter my route accordingly, filled all spare time with "Left a bit. Left a bit more" (as I was running anti-clockwise). I wondered if my other friends would get the heart, and wanted Ian to write "Can you tell what it is yet?" although obviously we can't quote poor old Rolf any more, not unless I was making a much ruder shape, I suppose. Then Ashley said "Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better, it's not". I still haven't checked with him whether he had got it, but it made me smile a lot because I thought he had. Anyway, I got very wet, and I drew a heart. Because in weather like that, you've got to really love running.
On Tuesday, I had a work trip to Kent which I had to overnight, and I considered taking a run that afternoon, but technically, although the meeting finished early, I was really still at work, so I had to get the laptop out and sit in a hotel room for 2 hours of sunshine. I got a reasonably early night, and I intended to get up in the morning and explore the environs of Ashford (I'd located a river and what looked like a path on google earth) but six am revealed it was actually quite dark (owing to my usual waking habits, I had no idea about this) and I realised that trying to find a pathway in an unknown area in the dark wasn't going to be a brilliant move. By 6:30 I'd talked myself out of the idea - the rain combined with my love of the snooze button put me off entirely.
It kept up the rain in a consistent, British way, all day, something I could easily observe from the eerie of the 8th floor of our Ashford office. Happily the rail station is next door, so I didn't get wet as I made my way home. I did, however, have the chance to devise a new law, which I don't think I've even shared with Facebook yet, as I usually do when my Dictatorial brain devises something which I think would be good primarily for me, but also for humanity (such as shooting people who get onto trains with a cold). This law, perhaps, will meet with more understanding: it will be the law, henceforth or whenever my reign commences, that cars and motor vehicles in general, shall stop for pedestrians while it is raining. Whenever they should need to cross a road, in the rain, vehicles will give way. The reason is pretty obvious: they're in a nice warm car, and we're getting wet. The very LEAST they can do is bloody well let us across the road. I think this is a brilliant law, and should be passed immediately, even before I take over power.
I realised when I got home that if I didn't get right out there immediately, in the rain, I would talk myself out of it again - and I had training to go. "If it ain't raining, it ain't training" I thought grimly to myself (although I have many times been struck by the incorrect nature of that saying during dry weather), and geared up to get out there, including remembering a plastic bag for the phone. Despite my recent law, it appeared that not everyone had caught up, because I had to stop twice to prevent a car from running me down [sigh]. Again, my noble facebook friends stepped into the breach, in my somewhat damp hour of need, and kept me entertained with comments such as "Are you mad? It's logging your exercise as swimming" and "no need to shower after this run", and Ian, who I had primed that I was going to alter my route accordingly, filled all spare time with "Left a bit. Left a bit more" (as I was running anti-clockwise). I wondered if my other friends would get the heart, and wanted Ian to write "Can you tell what it is yet?" although obviously we can't quote poor old Rolf any more, not unless I was making a much ruder shape, I suppose. Then Ashley said "Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better, it's not". I still haven't checked with him whether he had got it, but it made me smile a lot because I thought he had. Anyway, I got very wet, and I drew a heart. Because in weather like that, you've got to really love running. Wednesday 2 September 2015
Recovery starts here
There's a lot of stuff I don't know about training, and shoes and legs, and how much to do and how much not to do. But I do know that listening to your body is really important, and yet psychologically, so is belief in yourself. I will be employing both of these things to get better.
So far, this is what I have worked out, and what I've found:
1) In listening to my body, I've found that I'm addicted to running: I love doing it, and it makes me happy.
2) I often know when something is wrong - and usually I go with that. Sometimes I don't run because I'm feeling lazy, and I know I'll be "alright" on the day - alright doesn't get you PBs though. It gets you medals, and that's quite good. But doing better is exciting. Anyway, on Monday, I wasn't sure if I was listening to my body or being lazy: also, sometimes niggles go away because they need a stretch, not a couch. When I set out running on Monday, though, I got one and two mixed up. I got caught up in the love, and ended up in a destructive relationship. Come on, we've all been there.
3) I decided I can still do it.
4) I had a message from my new-found friend-of-Sally's Leeky, who asked after my calf injury and on hearing that I still intended to run the marathon, then said "You remind me of me. That's not a good thing."
5) I downloaded NHS advice on calf muscles. It seemed pretty sensible actually, (you can read it HERE) although I was disappointed to note that they said allow at least 8 weeks before returning to exercise. Overcautious. In other news, however, they do recommend wearing heals! I'd better go and buy some shoes immediately. I wonder if you can get them on prescription. It relieves the tension on your calf muscle you see. Also they recommended swimming, cycling and walking. See! Listening to your body - that's exactly what I'd prescribed myself. They also gave useful advice on doing exercises, and describing how much pain is good and recovering (a little discomfort) but not overdoing ( not moving into "pain"). Moving it and doing the exercises is really an important part of speedy recovery. 8 weeks. Pah.
6) I got in touch with my hairdresser, Laura. Oh no, wait, that was coincidental to my recovery. I got in touch with my sports masseur, Stuart (I did actually get in touch with Laura and Stuart within 5 minutes of each other). I suggested that I wait till the end of the week so my leg could get a bit better, but he said a rest day would be fine - and in effect, it had two rest days, because he came today, Wednesday evening.
7) OK, I don't think this list is really working for me.
Stuart's brilliant. In my opinion, he's the reason why my legs are perfect. Oh, you didn't know? Officially, yes, my legs are perfect. I had that from a physio after I took my running shoes back, and the shop wouldn't exchange them until a physio checked over my legs and ruled out other possible causes. Most people have something going on with tight IT bands, or hamstrings or the like, and I reckon it's an easy way the shop can avoid taking the cop. The physio gave me a really thorough check-over and could find NOTHING WRONG with my legs. This was months ago, back with the shoe-saga. But the words "Your legs are perfect" did pass his lips, and that alone was worth the cash I gave him. Of course, it was rapidly backed up by Poet Pete (AKA the Flyer Fairy) - who enjoys nothing more than making lewd comments about my legs, who said he could have told me that . Anyway, because of his general brilliance (that's Stuart, not Pete), and also because his wife is brilliant (that was not relevant to the story, but I thought I'd mention her anyway, because she's a mate and she works with me) I checked my NHS facts with him. "Well they have to say that, because people take different amounts of time to recover, they're going to be over-cautious" he said, as if scripted, by me. "Also, fit people get better quicker than unfit people" (see, brilliant). I didn't actually give him the schedule I was working to. There was no point in making him an accessory after the fact. He kind of ruined it by adding "although ironically fit people are more likely to injure themselves."
Tragically, Stuart has just left the area, and is moving up to Cumbria - you lucky, lucky people. His website still says Stamford, but trust me, if you're in the wider Kendal area and you need a masseur, drop him a line, you can contact him via his old website - THIS ONE.
Anyway, Stuart is in charge of the fine-tuning that keeps my IT band how it needs to be. But this is the kind of selfless masochist he is - today, when kneading my calf muscle, he actually said 'I'm going to stop there. The only reason to go on would be to make you go "Ow"!' - how thoughtful is that?
Of course it could be because I'd just kicked him in the face.
So far, this is what I have worked out, and what I've found:
1) In listening to my body, I've found that I'm addicted to running: I love doing it, and it makes me happy.
2) I often know when something is wrong - and usually I go with that. Sometimes I don't run because I'm feeling lazy, and I know I'll be "alright" on the day - alright doesn't get you PBs though. It gets you medals, and that's quite good. But doing better is exciting. Anyway, on Monday, I wasn't sure if I was listening to my body or being lazy: also, sometimes niggles go away because they need a stretch, not a couch. When I set out running on Monday, though, I got one and two mixed up. I got caught up in the love, and ended up in a destructive relationship. Come on, we've all been there.
3) I decided I can still do it.
4) I had a message from my new-found friend-of-Sally's Leeky, who asked after my calf injury and on hearing that I still intended to run the marathon, then said "You remind me of me. That's not a good thing."
5) I downloaded NHS advice on calf muscles. It seemed pretty sensible actually, (you can read it HERE) although I was disappointed to note that they said allow at least 8 weeks before returning to exercise. Overcautious. In other news, however, they do recommend wearing heals! I'd better go and buy some shoes immediately. I wonder if you can get them on prescription. It relieves the tension on your calf muscle you see. Also they recommended swimming, cycling and walking. See! Listening to your body - that's exactly what I'd prescribed myself. They also gave useful advice on doing exercises, and describing how much pain is good and recovering (a little discomfort) but not overdoing ( not moving into "pain"). Moving it and doing the exercises is really an important part of speedy recovery. 8 weeks. Pah.
6) I got in touch with my hairdresser, Laura. Oh no, wait, that was coincidental to my recovery. I got in touch with my sports masseur, Stuart (I did actually get in touch with Laura and Stuart within 5 minutes of each other). I suggested that I wait till the end of the week so my leg could get a bit better, but he said a rest day would be fine - and in effect, it had two rest days, because he came today, Wednesday evening.
7) OK, I don't think this list is really working for me.
Stuart's brilliant. In my opinion, he's the reason why my legs are perfect. Oh, you didn't know? Officially, yes, my legs are perfect. I had that from a physio after I took my running shoes back, and the shop wouldn't exchange them until a physio checked over my legs and ruled out other possible causes. Most people have something going on with tight IT bands, or hamstrings or the like, and I reckon it's an easy way the shop can avoid taking the cop. The physio gave me a really thorough check-over and could find NOTHING WRONG with my legs. This was months ago, back with the shoe-saga. But the words "Your legs are perfect" did pass his lips, and that alone was worth the cash I gave him. Of course, it was rapidly backed up by Poet Pete (AKA the Flyer Fairy) - who enjoys nothing more than making lewd comments about my legs, who said he could have told me that . Anyway, because of his general brilliance (that's Stuart, not Pete), and also because his wife is brilliant (that was not relevant to the story, but I thought I'd mention her anyway, because she's a mate and she works with me) I checked my NHS facts with him. "Well they have to say that, because people take different amounts of time to recover, they're going to be over-cautious" he said, as if scripted, by me. "Also, fit people get better quicker than unfit people" (see, brilliant). I didn't actually give him the schedule I was working to. There was no point in making him an accessory after the fact. He kind of ruined it by adding "although ironically fit people are more likely to injure themselves."
Tragically, Stuart has just left the area, and is moving up to Cumbria - you lucky, lucky people. His website still says Stamford, but trust me, if you're in the wider Kendal area and you need a masseur, drop him a line, you can contact him via his old website - THIS ONE.
Anyway, Stuart is in charge of the fine-tuning that keeps my IT band how it needs to be. But this is the kind of selfless masochist he is - today, when kneading my calf muscle, he actually said 'I'm going to stop there. The only reason to go on would be to make you go "Ow"!' - how thoughtful is that?
Of course it could be because I'd just kicked him in the face.
Tuesday 1 September 2015
Not running
It's hard to imagine that once upon a time, not so very long ago, the idea of not running would have had no impact on me whatsoever. I didn't know anything about, or like, running, then. Now, when I've literally imagined doing a marathon on the morning of my wedding in specially designed bridal gear (look, women have fantasies about their weddings, OK. It's normal. I mean, admittedly they often already have a partner at that time. And don't combine running with the fantasy.) I can no longer imagine not running. But this year, not for the first time, as I sit on my sofa with a bag of frozen peas, I'm imagining not running (right: the after-use of frozen peas: ham pea and mint soup). It scares me and it makes me very upset. The deepest fear came with the unexplained knee problem. But since that hasn't got worse, and has gone away more or less by itself (unless the glucosamine supplements actually work), this fundamentally most likely problem has eased into the back of my head. But now the calf muscle tears have made me feel old and broken, in what is surely ahead of my time. Losing training time in crucial weeks before a race that you are determined not to drop out of is a very disconcerting feeling. And even though I'd already resigned to not getting my sub 4h on this race, I was still hoping to not bag another PW. I had a lot of leeway on my Personal Worst, from the Portland marathon, which I cleared in 4h43 - but as I tell anyone who'll listen, there were mitigating circumstances there: it was really hot. Like, 29 degrees, on the 5 October. Not even the Portlandians believed it; they, like us, are more used to discussing the rain. I have joked since that having a good margin on your personal worst at least means that you'll be able to beat it in future. I'm not so sure about that.
Last week I decided I wouldn't run again until my calf had stopped niggling. I got to the point where I could go up and down stairs, but that swim on Thursday had hurt. Friday still hurt, just now and again really, not a constant pain, but when I pushed the pedals on the bike up a slope, I could feel it. I'd wanted to get in ten miles at least - I thought I might run to Park Run, and back, which would be a half marathon - in a nice gentle lope - but my leg woke me up on Saturday morning. Resting was definitely more sensible. I did some gardening, and didn't feel any exacerbation. On Sunday, I walked around town, and in the evening took my bike round to Summer's. I didn't have any pain. This was good!
On Bank Holiday Monday, in denial about the very very slight niggle, I couldn't hold back. I decided I'd run on grass, and for that reason, took the car out to the rowing lake, to avoid a couple of miles of road; and I ran up the river. I won't lie, the calf muscle started hurting immediately. It obligingly stopped every time I walked, and I thought I'd slow down, and slow down, and slow down, until I could find a pace where it didn't. I didn't find that pace, but the pain wasn't increasing. Really.
And here's where I got stupid. I was just very very happy to be running, you see. I thought, perhaps if I maintained the slow pace, and as long as it didn't hurt any more, I'd push on a bit. I ran up the river, past Ferry Meadows, and up the river, and past the rail line. I ran to a place I'd never got to before. I was on a foot path, and it was lovely, and I was happy. I ran 6 miles. Out. Brilliantly, my phone app worked for the first time - it seemingly needs for the app to be on, ie the phone not asleep, to read out comments from my beloved mates - I'd checked it for some reason, and a stream of messages made me grin, especially Jeanette and Michael arguing whether I should stop and walk or not, and Emma P telling me I was flying like a horse that wanted more polo mints or something! I did some walking, because I wanted to, not admitting that my calf was now in constant pain.
I got back as far as Ferry Meadows, and knew that I was about 3 miles away from the car. Funnily enough, when I planned to go out, I was going to run around and around the rowing lake, precisely because I was worried about my calf, and wanted to be near to my jumper if I injured it. And here I was, in the evening of a cool, damp, last day in August (British summer), lightly covered in sweat, walking. My feet were soaked, because of the grass, and already cold. My fingers were too. And my calf muscle hurt. There was no denying it: a lot.
I thought some more about my injuries, and wondered how I'd get help if I needed it - my phone was dying, and I wasn't that close to a road. I remembered the man in Thornbury driving me to Rebecca's when i got off the bus at the wrong place. I could probably find someone. I remembered fondly how my leg hadn't hurt while walking just a few hours ago. I gave it a reassuring pat, and decided that this race was going to be run. Hadn't I got over a calf injury quite rapidly? Hadn't I just proved that I could happily run (all things being equal) at a slow, ultra-pace, for some distance? What I needed to do was (1) get back to the car without getting hypothermia and (2) maintain a level of fitness without running. In a few days, I'd be able to swim again, and that is clearly good, especially if I focus on the front crawl; and if I can walk without pain, I should probably speed walk. Everywhere. In fact, given the point 1 of the plan, that might be a good idea to start now. I reasoned that having walked earlier without pain, it was likely that walking wasn't going to make the pain a lot worse, even if I could feel it. I picked up my pace, and with music in my ears, I boogied my hips and swung my arms, anything to keep some warmth. I certainly looked ridiculous, but there weren't many spectators around, it was later than I'd intended; and it worked, I got at least some core heat, even if my fingers couldn't really move.
The thing is, I reasoned, I know I can do this. I can do much more than that distance. I can train to 40 miles in less than 5 weeks, and get a respectable Ultra time. OK, I've got about 5 weeks left before this marathon, but if I can get my calf muscle better in the next fortnight, while maintaining core fitness, I can do this marathon. I know I can. And that's what's going to make the difference.
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