Negative splits

Today was a four mile run. It was also a long day. I know, I know, all my days are long. I'm reminded of a comedian at the Fringe who said "You know when people are going through counseling, or something, and they say 'I'm just taking it one day at a time...'? Yeah, well so is everyone. That's how time works!" I kind of liked that. I feel like I could get one over on people if I could just learn to run two days concurrently though. That would be great, I would achieve SO much more. (Sleep, mainly).
I had an early start today, for a 7:45 train to York. It started off badly, when I couldn't find my suit. Suddenly remembered I'd had it in North Wales, and it was still in a heap of waiting-to-be-rearranged clothes. Fortunately Jaeger, who make great suits,  seemed to have chosen a fabric that didn't need ironing, there's lucky. Frank tried to get onto my knee, an automatic response to my putting on a black suit, but also in an attempt to eat my cereal. He has a sort of determined expression that suggests he thinks he has every right to do this. And yet, amazingly, I still had enough time to walk to the station.

My meeting in York was interesting, and more so because I met another runner! These people are everywhere! This is perhaps less surprising than scuba divers being everywhere. I took up scuba, oh, 5 years ago - and the most unlikely people turn out to dive. Running - meh. Who really cares? Lots of people can run. I was going to say, it's not like you need any special skills or training, but this probably explains why so many people injure themselves doing it. I expect there are some stats somewhere that illustrate how dangerous it is (broken pelvises and all). Anyway, in answer to the previous question about who cares?, Jake does. Because his doctor told him not to, so now he's running a million marathons back to back. Not a million. And not really back to back either, he's running a marathon this weekend, then a half-marathon, a full one, and another half. I think he said he came to a settlement with his doctor of 10 marathons (he's a lawyer, that's how their minds work - I don't know if the settlement included 10 runs, or 10 full marathons, divided up how Jake sees fit - the doctor should have tied him down to specifics). I invited him to do the Great Eastern with me, but he thinks he's busy. I briefly quizzed him on his training, and I think he needs Sally's help, to be honest. No hills, no pace, no farklets, no swimming... he knew what they all were, though (well, OK, some of them are more obvious... lots of people know what swimming is). I have to say, if I were doing just the running, I'd have died of boredom by now.

So another thing I gleaned recently from "banter" with the runners was "negative splits". I read on the internet that this is a massive misnomer, and I was pleased to read that, because it made no sense to me. The idea, which has been fluttering around (I mean I'd already picked it up, but don't remember how, but I think Sally's massive training plan in all likelihood contains it) is that you run the second half of the race faster than the first half. It shows you're in control, and that you are pacing yourself properly, and it means, if you do it right, that you end the race fast, which is good psychologically. Another website also said that it actually takes a surprisingly long time to warm up, so this really helps as well. Also that on normal running days, you're happier to do this because you just plod along and warm up, but on race days, you're chock-full of adrenalin, and 500 other runners belt past you and you want to catch them up, so it takes massive control to reign in and slow up, but is pretty important because of your total amount of energy and the need to get yourself round the race! Still, stupid name. Negative splits are good, but positive splits (the first half is faster) are bad. Huh? Jake also knew about this, but hadn't really taken it on board yet. I'm gonna do it on Sunday. My estimated time will be 2 hours 30.

Oh, Sunday! I got my email informing me about the race, and you won't believe it! This is a race that (allegedly) serves beer on the course (I'm going to be so disappointed if they don't), and their rules stipulate that you can't run if you have drunken heavily in the last 24 hours! Have they never heard of "hair of the dog"? What is going on here, are the organisers reading my blog or something, and know that I am coming straight from a wedding?

Anyway, I digress from today's training. I thought I'd get back from York a little earlier that 5:30, but what with cross-examining Jake on the finer points of the Agricultural Pests Act (and his training) I got a four oclock train. I'd wanted to get back at five, so I could get my running in, and then, as according to a plan, go swimming with Maggie at 5:30. I've been trying to encourage her to a bit of gentle exercise, but mostly I ask her to go, and then realise I can't make it. To be honest, I never really thought it through because I'd never have fitted the run in, unless I'd bunked off the afternoon completely. So I was determined to get her out, and got home as soon as I could, fed the beast, and got rid of the suit. Hey, I was only an hour out! The plan (my plan, anyway - one of the less well-thought-through ones) was that I'd give Maggie my swimming stuff at 6, go for a circuit around Fengate, and then meet her there at half past. Only, (1) I didn't map it, so it turned out not to be four miles - 3.12 (2) I didn't give myself enough time to do it, and (3) I forgot to bring my phone. I didn't really give Maggie any contingency, nor did I say where I'd meet her. Crucially to this, as it turned out, nor did I tell her that she had my wallet in the bag.

So I trooped off, jogging around the same old route, realising that I wasn't going to be on time, and hoping that Maggie wasn't going to (a) find the pool was shut or (b) get into a bad mood that I kept her waiting. I'm not sure whether a big lunch, or general panic caused this, but I got a stitch, literally for the first time since I started running, just before I arrived. It wasn't bad, so I ran through it. Maggie wasn't waiting in reception, so I sat down for a few minutes. Then realised that she MUST have already got here, although she had no way to tell me if she wasn't coming as I was phoneless. She wouldn't wait all the way in the carpark, and I could see outside. After a moment's hesitation, I decided to ask reception if she had left my bag there and gone upstairs. The man's face showed momentary confusion at my question, and then cracked into a smile. "Oh, a lady just asked if there was anyone who'd just gone up in a tracksuit" he told me, then grinned "I had to tell her it was a leisure centre!" She had taken my bag up with her, but the man was ready to believe my story that she had me leisure card in it, and let me up. 

The pool was nothing short of a nightmare, full up of people randomly stopping, chopping, kicking, screaming, all the rest. Oh and two blokes scratching themselves. Do they not realise people with goggles can see under water? I didn't let it deter me, and swam my 40 lengths in a few minutes over the time Maggie got in her 20; so we both acheived our aim.

I reckon that the extra pool session must make up for the failure of that .88 mile? I'd call that a positive split!

Think of a new pain

Tuesday slid past like a train-dream. We managed, beyond all odds, to get several bags, a huge pram (with a crying baby), a toddler, a bike (OK, a toddler's bike) and two adults into a taxi, and pile out at Waverly, totter to the platform and get onto the 2-coach direct train to Manchester. Yes, I know, it was slightly out of my way. But that's the kind of girl I am. (Confused). The compartment we had especially chosen for access to the toilet was foiled somewhat as the toilet was out of order, and our main dramatic event was changing carriages when another train joined ours, because we learned that the other available toilet had broken down since the start of the journey. That was another mad dash with too many things and not enough hands. It was very exciting for Jasper though, because we joined a carriage with two dogs in it, Cairn terriers, who turned out to be very friendly (Snowball and Toby). After arriving in Manchester, and getting the bus back home, I decided to make a dash for it, and get the next train home to Peterborough, but not before I was able to get some of the longest runner beans ever seen. I got home before 7, but not a running day.

Wednesday slid past in an annoying way, the sort that happens when one of your buddies, who's just always cheered you up and made the place a bit better, leaves. Yep, it was mainly Jim's last day on Wednesday. I took a half day, although in all honesty, the morning was primarily made up of wrapping up his leaving presents, so I time recorded it as Priority Species, as they were mainly frogs and lizards. Also, there was a special, surprise guest - Cat, who feels much the same way as I do about Jim, actually flew all the way from Ireland just for his lunch and leaving-do, and flew back the next morning. Which goes to show some people are actually more insane than me. Fortunately I'd been able to persuade him to go out for dinner that night, without giving the game away (I wasn't sure he'd want to, what with already having eaten lunch out). All in all, it wasn't set up to be a training day, although I had primed Cat that I'd be doing some training in the afternoon, so I emailed Sal to ask if I should do half an hour hill training or pace training. But the long and the short of it was that Cat and I talked for so long, I ran out of time. Nonetheless, I blame Sally wholeheartedly, because she didn't reply to my message till the next morning, which meant I had the perfect excuse to not do either. When I did get her message, she said she'd focus on getting more miles in, so doing some longer runs.

Thursday, then, I set out at lunchtime. No one was around - I looked out for running Dave, but assumed I'd missed him as I was late setting out. I decided that I would add a loop onto the Rowing Lake run, by going around the leisure centre and down to the river before heading up the footpath. This made the run up to 6 miles, and I set out at a good pace, about 9:30m/m. It was a nice warm sunny day (finally) but I realised I'd forgotten my water, which was stupid. Almost as stupid as forgetting to have breakfast. This was doubly stupid, and is something I'm going to have to get out of the habit of. I did quite nicely, and kept the pace up all the way across the railway line, and across the bridge where the weir is, but just over the other side, my head hurt, and I had an ache down the back of my right leg, and I just thought, this is awful, really awful, and I stopped and walked.  I don't know, I may still be a bit post-viral, but on the other hand, not having proper breakfast and running without water on a hot day, really weren't going to help.

Having said that, as I walked along the top end of the rowing lake, down the nice side with the trees around, and the sun was shining, I did suddenly realise what a gorgeous day it was, and I really enjoyed my little walk. I decided I would start running again when my heartrate dropped to 120. This was entirely arbitrary, mainly being because it wasn't showing any sign of doing so. I found it ironic how much I enjoyed the walk on my run. Usually it would have annoyed me because of ruining my pace, and giving up, but it was just such a lovely day. I walked past someone who seemed to be giving my "running gear" a mocking glance, so i decided that when I'd cleared him, I'd start again - I didn't want him to think I had acknowledged the lack of running. Also, my HB dropped to 117, it was time. I started again, but didn't get the pace back up. My leg really hurt, and it made me feel like a crock, the fact that I seemed to "think of a new pain" seemingly every time I went out. It was more of a dull ache, though, so I decided I could keep going.

Well, I made it back to the Lido, and got to the pelican crossing. Just round the corner, where the Fengate roundabout is, that's where Dave usually gets me to speed up for my "home straight". Sal says it is good to get the body used to a fast ending, so you can end a race on a high. Today was different, though. I was really knackered, and just pleased to get back, and I told myself I wasn't going to do the fast bit, I was listening to my body, it hurt, and it had done well. But here's the weird thing: my feet didn't listen to my brain! They went ahead and ran faster! I swear, it freaked me out! I mean, they didn't go Dave-fast, or anything. But I went back up to a 9m/m! I was impressed, in spite of myself.

Anyway, the good news is that the pain isn't a debilitating one - it is piriformis syndrome, which affects a muscle that runs down the back of your leg along your sciatic nerve, and can sometimes pull it. This made perfect sense. There are some stretches you can do to stop it aching. Woo-hoo! On with the training!

Buttercups are gold

Well Saturday rolled round before I knew it, and there was nothing for it, back to the training. She said I should give it a go on Saturday, and well, there was that comment promising me "more attention" next week... which obviously scared me rigid. I'd actually trotted back to the car on Friday to get something Keith left there, feeling rather good about the fact that I knew it wasn't going to be a problem running that distance, so was disappointed that my leg still hurt running. I wasn't all that optimistic about the run on Saturday morning.

However, doing my utmost to follow instructions, I got an early night on Friday, which was pretty easy because (a) I was exhausted and (b) I was in Oxford YHA, so I didn't have a lot else to do, except pay a pound for 20 minutes internet access, which enabled me to upload my blog, and check in on Facebook. Perhaps that helped, because I woke up early (for me) on Saturday, which enabled me to up and out for a run. I took Keith's advice on where to run, as he is a seasoned runner, and that was to turn right out of the youth hostel and then jog up the river for my allotted time, and then come back.

And you know, the river was quite nice. It was a bright sunny day, and the trees were there, and there were barges and narrow boats, and generally the world was at peace. The birds may or may not have been singing, I was plugged in and didn't hear them. In fact, I accidentally had my iphone playing random things, not the songs I'd selected as having a faster pace, so I had a bit of Leonard Cohen and even some Edith Piaf. Then I got to a juncture where I recognised Portland Meadow, which is an SSSI. I decided with the leg and all, I might be as well jogging over the meadow. So I did. I got some rude looks from the geese, and some cows were interested but too lazy to interact, but I have to say I really struggled. The main thing I struggled with was how boring grassland is. I jogged almost all the way to Wolvercote, and it was sunny and grassy and really quite dull. I would have stopped running, to be honest, but then I'd have just been stuck in the middle of it. I could just see Wytham woods on the horizon, and thought how much I'd prefer to be jogging there, hills and all. Portland Meadow has a billion trillion buttercups in it, although sadly, they weren't in flower at this precise weekend.

It put me to thinking that sometimes you'll get a wood which may be mainly interesting, for example, for its bluebell display, which will be stunning for 3-4 weeks in Spring; but then in autumn you'll get its autumnal display of leaves turning gold, and perhaps a mass of fungi springing up, and the smell of leaf mould; and in winter the bleak trunks and twisty branches cutting the sky; and in summer the dark green leafy canopy giving protection from sun (or rain!). So they are good all-rounders. Unlike this grassland, which was dull. I have a photo of Keith in among the buttercups from a couple of years ago, so when it's good, it looks like this.

I also ran past some moored boats and barges, and I wondered if the big barge was the Corpus Christi College barge that my brother lived in for a year. I went to visit it on another occasion while visiting Oxford, and a caretaker let me on board. There was no sign of life on the boat I thought might be it, but it wasn't quite exactly how I remembered: a quick examination on Google Images tells me that this is for the very good reason that it wasn't it.


Anyway, I should be able to gauge whether my grassland colleagues are reading the blog, see if they have any choice words of defense the next time I see them...