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...

Sundays aren't for running...

They are for having big Sunday lunches, and then digesting.

That's what I'd decided to do, as Jonni had proposed that he come round and put the world to rights with me, lunch and a DVD. I did vaguely think that I'd put the chicken on, and squeeze a run in while it was cooking, but I'd apparently forgotten that (a) you tend to be doing the other food while the chicken is cooking, and (b) I needed to tidy the house. However, as having Jonni in the house generally involves alcohol, I was slightly concerned about getting the run in at any point, but I thought I'd, you know, cope.

At one point, I thought Mixy was a dead cert for lunch as well. I say this on the basis that for at least the last two months, Mixy has been posting requests for Sunday lunch each week on Facebook. So I asked if he wanted to join us, and he said he was busy. He is no longer my favourite poet. (Although see also Wendy Cope's poem about favourites... "When they ask who my favourite poet is, I'd better not mention you. Although you certainly ARE my favourite poet... and I like your poems too."). I also thought Carolyn might have been tempted, so all in all, I had plenty of food. I mentally scrolled through my list of friends (oh alright, I used Facebook, but I mentally ALSO scrolled through my list of friends who weren't on Facebook), and ended up texting Dave (theatre-Dave... remember him?) and much to my surprise, he accepted, which was great, as it meant I hadn't just created a food-mountain.

Anyway, lunch went off a treat, but I didn't go running beforehand. We had a good discussion about cooking, where Jonni told us that his mother is such a bad cook that his brother once turned down an opportunity to come out of prison two weeks early because he thought the food was better inside. I tried to establish how much of this was exaggeration, but Jonni said it was true. I indulged in a gin and tonic or two over the afternoon, and while Dave disappeared off home to get some sleep before his night-shift, Jonni and I watched King and Clown, and I was delighted that Jonni liked it as much as I did.

I did make the important discovery that I'm not incompetent - I did put the cat flap back together again. It emerges that my cat, who is a fast study, has simply learned, from the interloper cat, to headbutt the catflap until he can get in. He left the house with Dave earlier, and I forgot to let him back in, so I was concerned later to hear a loud thudding from the backdoor, and got up, expecting to see the thug-cat, when who emerged through the discarded cat flap but my own little moggy. This cat flap clearly doesn't work.

I used the last of the sunlight to go for a run, which I decided to alter the course a little, and run up the cycle path alongside Bourges Boulevard, which is actually quite tree-y and not at all like running alongside a dual carriageway. I ended up at the top end of Lincoln Road, and headed back along Alexander Street to the top of Dogsthorpe. I felt a spring in my step, and set a good pace for the first kilometer, but this not only faded, I also felt a familiar nagging pain in my left calve muscle. This was alarming. One thing I don't need is two weeks off... I've just reached over £100 in the sponsorship.  I slowed down, and it seemed to ease off, so I just had to hope. It didn't feel that good in the evening though.

I wasn't running in the bare foot shoes, but I wondered if the exercise in them the day before had been more strain than I thought. Hmmm. It is said that walking in them is also good for you, so if needs be, I might try that. 

Bare feet again

I had a cracking day today. The best thing about it was not having a hangover. I wouldn't say I necessarily achieved much. Well, anything. But I had some rest, and got the blog up to date. Oh, and Sal posted a really moving video clip about the Royal Marsden; it made me cry. I guess its because it underlines that this is really all about people, and people who care a lot for their friends and family. And a couple of people have also told me that they know people who've been treated at the Royal Marsden, and they all confirm that it is a really good hospital. Good to know, for if you are thinking about sponsoring me, right?

It also made me think that Sal should get some publicity up for our challenge - there's quite a few people doing it, and also her dog, Scout, who has his own fund-raising page (Scout's page). The Peterborough ET would love it. I've offered to write some copy for her, and she was so moved, she sponsored me. You'd never know she was running a business.

Anyway, what with one thing and another, I forgot to go out until about half five. Well, it did rain earlier in the day. I'd more or less given up waiting for the sun to come out. I planned to give the bare foot trainers another outing today, and with this in mind, I had decided to pick a route with some grass. I figured along the embankment would be best. So, my grand plan was to cycle to somewhere nearby, and run from there. Here's my shoes, still looking clean and neat.

Running along the side of the path at the Embankment was really good. The shoes were comfy, and I could feel there was much less impact than on the road. However, my smugness was shortlived, as was the cleanliness of my shoes.

 This leads me neatly onto a conversation we had in the pub on Friday. It emerges that Stewart, who is generally very mild-mannered, becomes enraged when he come across the phrase "a river burst its banks". I was amazed, as I viewed the term as purely descriptive. I offer this explanation, with visual cues, as a public service. Rivers may "overtop" their banks, but bursting their banks makes it sound as if they somehow broke, in a destructive sort of a way, rather than being a perfectly natural process. I think that's the gist of it. To give you some idea, he looked almost as cross as I get when trying to explain to people that deer damage woods, and no longer have any natural predators (in this country) and therefore have to be managed - and yes, this does involved shooting them. Conservationists, eh? What a crazy lot. Back to the rivers, I guess we have spent a lot of time trying to make them stay in their banks, and then we do a lot of stuff by their edges, so generally it may seem destructive to us. But really, flooding is just a seasonal event that happens in periods of high rainfall. There you go. You heard it here first.

Anyway, as you may have guessed, I opted to cross the perfectly natural flooded footpath, because I'll do anything for some subject matter for this blog, and also because I was keen to carry on along the grass verge. (You can also see that the weeping willows have been given their rather severe pruning. It's OK, it'll all grow back.). The water did get quite deep, but bare foot trainers are supposed to be like bare feet, right? Waterproof?

 Anyway, I thought I was keeping quite good pace, although runkeeper reports otherwise - I was round about a 12 m/m. Having said that, it was faster than day one, when I was doing 13:30 m/m. And don't forget, there was the swimming as well...

Once I'd cleared the embankment area, my plan was to keep along the tow path, where the river is almost canalised (and had also overtopped its banks across the fields), and I was relieved to find that the edges had been mown. However, this was premature, because the verges were very weedy, and the ground was much more lumpy and bumpy than the lawn-like improved grass earlier. When I ran into one of these, I gave up, and ran on the path.

I saw lots of birds, including some I couldn't identify. Any bird experts, I'll give you a description (this failed the RSPB bird identifier test though). OK, they were small, and browny. They were on the ground on the path in front of me, in a group of a half dozen or so. Their chests were paler, and they seemed to have darker feathers along the edge of the wing. When they flew, they had a curious dip to the flight path, and a clear white rump. If birds' arses are called rumps. They tended to only move on in front of me a short way then settled again (and again) Right, over to you. Anyway, I also saw some swans, which put me in mind of another pub conversation, about whether swans are owned by the queen or not. There was much "opinion" going on about this, so I whipped out my iPhone and checked (the answer is that they technically all are in the UK, but she only maintains any sort of authority over the Thames ones). This generated a debate on whether iPhones were killing pub banter, needless to say.

I also aired my views on sponsorship, which, as you may remember, I feel very strongly about. Especially regarding people doing sponsored events which I consider to be luxury holidays. I recently had a thought which I judge to be so good, that I might even undertake it one of these days, where I will do a Sponsored "I'm not going to climb Kilimanjaro/Inca Trail/Insert other destination here". The idea is that I will put on the table, out of my own pocket, the price of an airfare to one of these places. I'll ask people to match it. Because that is one of the things that most bothers me about these so called challenges - if they really wanted to raise money for charity, they don't HAVE to buy that airfare, and pay loads of other expenses. I reckon that my friends would do that. I'm sure enough people must see my point of view on this. (I'll need to save up first.). Tim pointed out that Frank would definitely sponsor me a considerable sum of money NOT to go anywhere at all, as long as I guaranteed to stay put, on the sofa. I wholeheartedly agreed with this statement, although I felt bound to point out that Frank does not actually have a considerable amount of money. "No, but he's got a house..." Tim said, philosophically.

Gavin expressed his preference that I should do a sponsored silence, and said he would pay quite a lot for that. (He will, but not how he means).

Anyway, good news was that I really quite enjoyed today's run. I don't know whether it was because I spent a lot of it focusing on bare foot trainers, or the wildlife, or a different route, or that I'm finally on the mend, but I heartily welcomed the change. When I got back to my bike, I went to Asda's for some groceries. It's surprising how few people notice what you are wearing on your feet. (I guess if anyone had, they might have wondered how those shoes even fit, with the webbing). If anyone is thinking of bare foot shoes, I might suggest that there are styles that don't have individual toes, which I believe would be more practical. I say this only because my little toes feel quite vulnerable, and I think that they are in danger of being broken. I doubt I will develop any particular strength in the little toes, although this remains to be seen, but I think that a sharp turn could see the rubber maybe pulling the little toe further out than it wanted to be. But with any luck, I'm being overly pessimistic about this. I'm still overall, quite happy about the effect of the trainers. Depending on how I feel tomorrow, I might try another bare-foot run on grass on Monday.

Finding time...

I always suspected the challenge for me in undertaking this was going to be finding the time to run every day, and Friday was the ultimate challenge for that so far. I have to admit, I am also finding the running quite difficult, but I'm sure it will get better. Sally emailed the team recently to say that the website where we are recording our times and distances has been changed, and now allows you to add longer distances than your challenge. This is fortuitous, as I rather hope that at some point I will feel like running more than three miles - although admittedly, this certainly hasn't happened yet. I imagine it will when Dave suggests I go running with him.

Anyway, the run on Friday was a challenge. I just didn't know when I could do it. It's all very well for Nigel and moustachioed Chris to go for a run at 6 in the morning, but I personally am unable to do this. The reason being that after rehearsal on Thursday night, I went to the pub with Jonni and Rich, and we had a lovely chat, then I was VERY naughty and went to that kebab shop I'd seen earlier to get a bag of chips; and then I went to bed, and it just got to be very very late. I know, on a school night too. But I had it all worked out... it's a bank holiday weekend, and I plan to Spring clean (house and garden, weather permitting, but I'll settle for the house if it doesn't), rest lots, and eat very healthy food with lots of veg, to get myself fighting fit. I'm always bad at going to bed, and try to resolve to go to bed earlier, and usually end up being worse than ever. I shamelessly stole this from Facebook... (thank you Relaxx Pleasse) as it sums it up pretty well. Basically, no, I didn't go running before work on Friday.

So, there was Friday lunchtime, and Friday evening. Now Friday lunchtime would ordinarily be a good bet, but the problem was I had a hair appointment. I'd actually moved this from Saturday, after I found that my lovely hair dresser only had an 8:30 appointment. See above for why this would have been a bad idea. It seems criminal to have your hair cut and made all beautiful, and then go for a run, although I did contemplate it because Laura finished in half an hour, and with a bit of flexi, I could have stretched lunchtime a bit. But I had (or thought I had) a meeting at half two with my boss, so I thought I'd better not. In the event, he didn't show up, so I could have done, but my psychic skills were flagging. Laura was mightily impressed that I could run three miles, let alone every day, which was charming.

After work then...? Well, you know what happens on Fridays... it's the end of a week, and a group of my friends tend to convene in a local hostelry and discuss the week's events over a beverage or two. I'd just about settled on the idea that I was prepared to walk for 3 miles today (walking's allowed as long as you do the distance) and wondered if I had too many, whether 1.5 miles in a zigzag line would count? But then, as the Friday night Plan came together, people said they were quite happy to go home and get some food first (and walk the dog), and then meet up, which was perfect, and enabled me to properly suffer the run, and not skive.

So, homeward, and togged up, I set off. No bare foot shoes today, I'm thinking of a plan for the weekend. First thing was, I ran into Keith! It wasn't entirely unexpected, I knew he was on his way home, but for someone who has technically left Peterborough, it counts as note-worthy (reason: he hasn't sold his house yet). He has rather brilliantly sponsored me a whole £30, and he always likes to put an incentive into his donations: usually it will be something like, £1 for the first 12 miles, £19 for the last 1.1 miles! So, when he emailed me to say he would try to think of an incentive, I checked out my Just Giving page straight away! (You should too...  Just Giving). He'd written: £2 for the first week, £4 for week 2, £8 for week three, and £16 for week 4! This is very apposite. Just think how much I'll be struggling by then. I shall try not to. Anyway, we wished each other good weekends, and I plodded on. The rain, or rather, missle, started very gently at about 2km. Refreshing.

On Newark Avenue, thinking about friends who had posted about Star Wars (because of it being May 4th) I digressed to Dr Who. I'm not sure why, but Sal, and her aura of power, crept into my mind at about the same time as The Master. It fitted very well, apart from the obvious point of The Master being male. It struck me that as The Master is the adversary of The Doctor, then surely, by extension of the metaphor, that means that I must therefore be The Doctor. Which was nice, because I like being a scientist, and have always wanted to be a Doctor. (So proud of the slack researchers at The Telegraph who awarded me a PhD... so it is official.). And then it all fitted together... the Doctor being a time traveller, and all, and me having sorted out my time crisis.

My friends were overwhelmed at my modesty, later on in the pub, when I expounded this idea.

Olfactory nerve endings

Well, on day 3, Thursday, I had a rehearsal, but when I checked the schedule, I found out that Rich was running two sections, and I was only in the second, so I texted him to ask if it was OK to rock up an hour late, and he said that was fine. This was good, it meant that I didn't do another night-patrol of the streets of Dogsthorpe/Millfield. It also managed to not be raining, which was good. Less good was that I was also quite tired, and really hungry. My suspicions that I'm not entirely over the cold virus was confirmed today when I sneezed over my hand, and, without too graphic a description, really wished I'd had a tissue.

I didn't have a lot of time to plan a different route, so I added another corner onto my route, to make up for yesterday's shortage, and ran it the other way round. This took me past the Golden Cod. I'm not bragging about my olfactory nerve endings here, because I know that chips are pretty easy to pick out. It seemed wrong, how much I wanted some chips, while on a run, that's all I'm saying. Round the corner, I was able to pick out the slightly different scent of a kebab shop, which I didn't even know was there. This was clearly a plot to make me hungrier.

I've been feeling unnecessarily slow for these runs. I know perfectly well that if running Dave was with me, we'd be going much faster. It is a lot slower than the time I ran that 10k race at Belvoir Castle last year. But at the current time, my thoughts are: go with it. Let's just warm up to this month, and get the challenge done. About this moment, however, I passed one of those digital displays that tell motorists their speed, and it lit up and said 23 mph, which amused me somewhat - going faster than I thought, then! Up Eastfield Road, and then down passed Tony's old house, vaguely thinking it was nice to be out in daylight. I've been doing some permutations in my route around the end of this street (left or right), and I decided to go for the shorter route, because I could always add some more on at the end. I passed another speed sign, which ALSO flashed up 23mph. Coincidence?

At the top end of Dogsthorpe Road, I checked my distance, and decided I wasn't going to make the 5k total unless I added something in, so I decided to run down Park Road, and then cut back along one of the streets to Dogsthorpe, giving myself a dog-leg of extra road. I tried to figure out which road had fewer people I knew on it. All Souls is where Fiona and Steve live, as well as Kate and Rich; and possibly Marcus. But Princes Gate is where Ian, Tim, Megan and Stewart live. I opted for All Souls, although primarily because I got to it first.

I'd reached a state of lethargy by now that was frankly, annoying even me, so first checking that my distance was about right, I thought it was time to speed up for the end of the run. I ran faster along Dogsthorpe (past Pete and Jenny) and turned up Granville Street, I started to sprint. Now, what with the whole phlegm thing, I have to admit to feeling slightly sick some of the time, but as I turned the corner, although there was no one in sight, there was such a strong smell of marijuana that I physically gagged. Seriously. Once again, I do possess a fine set of olfactory nerve endings, but...

I'm not bragging about what you can get right on my doorstep or anything (not literally - although they might deliver). I'm actually unsure where the law stands on Mary Jane these days, but I can't believe the police don't know about this, I think they've made some house-raids in that area already. Oh the joys of being home! Anyway, the run ended up being bang on 5k, so that was a result. On a high, you might say.

Man up.

OK, two things. Yesterday's run, and today's run.

First off, Runkeeper clearly wasn't working yesterday. I hate to say this, but I don't think my run was 5k. Fortunately all is not lost, because my workout probably was, as I ran 5k, stopped for tea, and then walked home... and today's run was 5k.

Anyway, yesterday's run was most interesting, because I was wearing my new bare-foot shoes. I wasn't entirely sure on technique, but I went for slow, and the way that felt like it would hurt least. I liked feeling the road underneath me. And when there was some grass, I ran on that, and it was even better. It was good. I thought, this barefoot running, it's for me. I stopped to bother Ian on the way home, and realised it was probably late enough to appear unseemly to be knocking on gentlemen's doors at that time of night, but... well, there was tea.

I then went to bed, and woke at various times of night feeling vaguely as if I'd been wrung through a mangle. In the morning, I felt profusely grateful that it was pilates, and I was going to get a proper stretch. There wasn't any pain. Which was good, of course. But there was a gentle ache throughout my legs, up my back even. I couldn't help thinking that this was more than because I hadn't trained for a month. I mean, I did very little training for the half marathon, ran up stacks of hills, and ached less than this. I didn't think it was attributable to being post-viral either. No, I think it was the barefoot running shoes. I'm excited about this. As I said, it wasn't a bad hurt, just a gentle ache that reminded me of... yes, it reminded me of when I first started running. Because I was doing something new, that I wasn't used to.

So, new plan. Get used to barefoot trainers by the end of this month. Perhaps. If Sally doesn't think that is a very poor idea indeed. The thinking is to slowly up the use of them over the course of the month.

Anyway, onto today. Well, that was today. I had pilates today, at lunchtime. It was stretchy, and great. And I still had to do today's run. **sigh**. I came home, and unusually, Frank was rather brave. The interloper cat came back (I haven't been aware of him for some time). He came right up to the inner cat flap. I got up to chase him off, and Frank did it himself! I was overcome by how brave he was. So, I decided that while I figured out which set of batteries needed replacing (as nothing in the secure catflap appeared to be broken) I'd shut off the cat flap with the mechanical lock. Frank can't get out that way, but he doesn't need to.

So a little while later, when I progressed as far as actually going for the run (about half nine), I totally forgot this when Frank came out with me. I just praised him for his courage as I set out. I was precisely 0.65km into the run when I realised I'd locked him out. I debated going back, of course, but I thought, really, it was time for him to Man up. This lasted till about 1.2km, and then I decided I'd better run faster (I was back in my Nike Pegasus today, of course). I ran faster till about 3km, at which point I started expectorating, I believe the medical term is. Or coughing up, in layman's terms. However, I could practically hear the indignation in Frank's miaows, over the music and everything. I kept on. Instead of running around the top of central park, which had taken me to 5k only yesterday, I ran through it, cutting a corner off. I passed Ian's, and carried on, but was surprised to find that Frank wasn't outside when I came home. Nor had I got to 5k. Never one to give up, I ran to the end of the road and back, which just clinched it. When I got back the second time, Frank was waiting in the window. On the inside.

I initially thought he must have snitched on me, and actually got my neighbour to come over and let him in. However, it turned out that when I was examining the cat flap, I'd somehow not managed to reattach the door properly, and he'd bust through it. I hope it made him feel butch. Because I was bloody knackered. Things I do for that cat.

Challenge

I had a bit of a hiatus after the Hastings Half. I guess a week off is understandable, even if you don't FEEL damaged, a few days' recovery is going to be advisable. The second week was me being lazy. Or enjoying it. Week three I started coming down with something. By Thursday, I was getting kind of croaky. Rehearsals are interesting when you can't project, but Peter had been in the same boat a week earlier (I can't think where I might have picked it up from). He advised me to go straight to the doctor's, as he had been put on antibiotics. I replied that there wasn't any point, as what i had was clearly viral. "No, the doctor started writing the prescription before I'd finished telling him the symptoms" he said, almost boastfully. I resisted the temptation to reply that his doctor should clearly be struck off, if he'd prescribed antibiotics without first taking his temperature and looking down his throat. But hey ho. It probably would have happened anyway, without the additional talking at rehearsal, but either way, the next day, I was totally mute. Whisper only. However, I still felt fine, and clearly wasn't running a temperature, so I went ahead and went into work anyway. Viruses are for sharing, right? Also, this was vastly entertaining for my colleagues, the majority of whom did not lose the opportunity to observe how peaceful it was in the office, and how hilarious it was listening to me in whispered conference with my colleague, Chris. By the time I went to the pub, my humourous colleagues had created my very own iPad for me, which was in fact, a pad. They indulged in writing entertaining flash-cards (none of which included "Yeah but no but yeah but no" thankfully), and I added my own, an explanatory "I've been putting up with this bollocks all day" which proved quite useful, and in fact, has ongoing applications.

The voice stayed away for the whole weekend, but by Monday I was able to speak softly, allowing for the fact that it occasionally broke mid-sentence, like a prepubescent boy. That was OK, I was at a conference (not giving a paper) and it elicited much more sympathy than I'd got the previous week. I still didn't feel a lot like going running, though, as I'd now developed an unhealthy cough, in addition to being heinously busy, with a three day course from Friday to Sunday, at the end of the week.

But you can't just give up for ever, waiting for a husky voice and a cough to disappear altogether. I recalled moustachioed Chris saying that he tended to go with overall health vs grottiness, and didn't pay too much mind to malingering symptoms. So at some point, I was going to have to think of training for my next challenge. Well, Dave thought I ought to do a bunch of 10k races this year. I don't mind... that's kind of manageable, and I think it will help me to get faster. This can only be good because if you can run faster, you'll be done sooner, that's the way I see it. Only, I still have the transport issue. Usually have to rock up somewhere on a Sunday morning at 9 or 10, and I don't have a car. So, any kind offers of dual support-and-transport, I accept.

Anyway, in the interim, up comes Sally's challenge. Run 5km or 10km every day in May. To be honest, I'd been aware of this challenge for some time, but I really do struggle to find the time to do training 2-4 times a week anyway, and what with being ill, I thought I'd give it a miss, and vicariously live it through her Facebook page, Fit Naturally. Now, for those of us who work in miles (this includes Sally, in fact: when I started training with her, she asked me to switch Runkeeper over from km to miles), 5k is 3.13 miles. So I guess 10k is 6.26 (I'm good). So I was thinking, maybe, 5k won't take too long, even on a busy day. It'd usually take me just under 30 minutes to run that distance. And I guess there's no rules to say I can't run extra if I feel like it. So there's me, leaning towards doing it, but still feeling grotty.

There was another agenda behind this. I'm rehearsing for The Tempest at the moment, I'm playing Ariel. I found out a couple of months ago that my costume is a skin-tight silver catsuit. So I have every reason to do all I can to get into, and stay in, shape until the end of June. I also thought that these new-trend "bare foot trainers" would look great on Ariel for the costume, and they are supposed to be excellent for runners too. So in the back of my head, I also thought it might be a good part of my challenge to run in them. And, they arrived the day before 1 May. How fated was that? I figured that a 3.13 mile start was a short enough distance to (cautiously) give the bare feet a go.

OK, so ideally, they'd have arrived a month earlier, so I could have got used to them first, but you know. I wasn't even dead sure I was going in for the challenge until I came back from rehearsal at 10, and then I thought, come on, it's now or never. So I did it.