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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The 40-40-40 Challenge - and the Problem

So this year hasn't been brilliant, in terms of my running progress. There was the aborted Connemara Marathon, which I must try to stick in my head is actually deferred, not aborted. That means I'm going to have to run it next year, and I've seen that hill now. Also, Summer will probably want to make us walk up a mountain 2 days later, in some sort of revenge.

Then obviously the success of the K2B2, which you know, was brilliant, but felt a bit rushed, what with training for it in 5 weeks and everything. So when I entered the Chester Marathon in October (see sponsorship link, that's new that is, top right hand of the blog. Yes that one. You can click it. It works. Mind you, bookmark me, because it doesn't open in a new window) I really thought that I'd get the training programme sorted, and nail this sub 4 hours. I recalled that I'd have a problem with even attempting to do my sub 4 hour training programme for Connemara because when I opened my training plan 12 weeks before the marathon, it said "you should be able to run a 9 minute mile for 2 hours", which as far as I was concerned, meant that I was already ready for the marathon. However, it obviously turned into a moot point for Connemara, but it didn't have to be for Chester.

Let me tell you about Chester: on the wonderful Social Networking site, you can find out about new people, right? It's amazing. And you can stay in touch with old ones who do awkward things like moving away. That was what Kerry did, who was one of my favourite poetry people, he up and left for the Derbyshire Dales. Then out of the blue, he contacted me. I'm a good go-to person if you're looking for someone who likes running, and is well-into hair-brained schemes. Anyway, Kerry told me about a friend of his who likes running. A lot. So much so that he has a website called LucasKeepsRunning, and he does! (Check it out - HERE). Anyway, Lucas wants to run his 40th Marathon on his 40th birthday, with 40 friends. He's calling it 40-40-40, in a sort of Ronseal thing. Well, always a sucker for hairbrained schemes, this one especially appealed to me because I loved my 40th birthday. I mean, I really did. I don't remember ever enjoying a childhood birthday so much, I know they were a long time ago, but there was a lot of stress about them. There was always the birthday rivalries, would your party be thought of as a "good one" in the playground, would your friends come? I don't remember worrying about presents I got that much, but I did worry about going to other people's parties and whether my present would be good enough. But my 40th had none of that. Furthermore, I wasn't expecting presents, and I got hundreds! I felt a lot of love, and it was wonderful. I also made an important new rule, which everyone is invited to follow if they wish, which is basically that for a decadal birthday, you get to celebrate it all year. It makes a lot of sense. Lots of people apologise and feel bad that they didn't make it, so you just have another meal out with them, which is a great excuse.

So I was all in for helping this crazy guy with his challenge, and I also thought I'll get in with the training plenty early. I did a few 10k races, and started really getting my pace up. I didn't fall into that trap of letting my body believe it was an ultra runner, and didn't really have to run fast or anything. Then I did some interval training with moustachioed Chris. I'm not blaming him or anything, but my knee started hurting. I took 2 weeks off, I went back to the barefoot trainers (Chris and I don't see eye to eye on this subject!) I took glucosamine (definitely clutching at straws). The knee eased back into normality but still didn't feel massively right. I just about got over it when I started my 12 week countdown, I think I lost the first week. Almost immediately, my calf muscle on my other leg (right - it's worth making a note of this, actually) gave way, on a short run from the office. Not badly, but bad enough. I took a week off. One that I definitely didn't have at this point. Somewhat to my surprise, it got better really fast. Faster than I thought it should. I didn't push it, just made sure I was running. Speed now wasn't a concern. Then I went up to Edinburgh, having not really done enough training - I ran 9 miles the week before I left, I should have been up to 14 or so on my long runs. It was hard getting the training time, between shows, but I ran around Arthurs Seat, and felt pretty good about it. The star of my show, Jeremy Kyle, joined me, and so did lovely Steph. The next day I swam a mile, which made my legs feel like jelly, but surely all the walking up and down hills during the day was also doing me the power of good. The following day, when I had my biggest gap in my schedule, I had jotted down "hills" optimistically. I should have stuck to doing a proper hill exercise, but I prefer glory to structure, and I instead opted to go for a hilly run. I ran up the bottom of Salisbury Crags, and then I ran into Holyrood Park, and up the top of Salisbury Crags. Then i ran through the middle of the park, and up Arthur's Seat. I hadn't intended to go to the top, and that bit was more "slow motion" running, but I made it up there, which is always lovely. Then I ran back around the the back of Arthurs Seat, and all the way along the bottom, coming up the final hill to pass Pollark Halls and back home. It was a nice, nearly 8 mile run, and I felt exhilarated and happy. In short, I felt exactly like how Oatmeal describes in the Terrible and Wonderful Reasons. This was why I run.

Then, at the end of another long Festival day, I ran down a flight of stairs to get someone. That was when my left calf muscle pinged. Not in a bad way, but just so I noticed. I didn't run in Edinburgh again. I came home and 2 days later (5 days after injury) I went for a 6 mile run. My leg ached. I went swimming the following day, instead, calculating that as the Lido is, after all, a 50 yard pool, and not a 50m pool (like the Royal Commonwealth, which felt considerably longer!), that I had to swim 36 lengths to clear a mile. My leg ached, but not as much as when I ran on it. Every time I was on my bicycle, my leg ached.

I stopped. Each day I stopped made me feel like I was wasting time. And not doing what I wanted to be doing.

I met Lucas for the first time. Jon came up from deepest darkest Bury, and Lucas came down from Hull. He was enthusiastic, and not as crazy as you might think (it's all relative, after all). He told us about people dropping out through injury, and how hard it was going to be to replace them, but not to worry, because he had some ideas. And did I still have that chap's name, Lee, because he might be needed? I didn't tell him that I might need Lee myself. There was no point in worrying him. The other calf muscle fixed really quickly, after all. All I needed was patience. And I'm great at that...

Trotting along

Anyway, I did that Ultra. And again, playing catch-up you lose the moment, but on the plus side, think how much shorter it's going to be :)  (NB I forgot I had half drafted the race, so this can catch up with that, and then finish up...)

Here are the highlights then.

I had a kind of guilty feeling that I wasn't sure Jon really knew what he'd let himself in for, and he forgot some stuff, I think his backpack, so had problems carrying stuff, he was going to run bits, and walk bits. But he knew I was set on running, and he waved me off. And it was wonderful in its familiarity this time, and the farmer where we'd stayed told us that it was the wettest part of Cumbria, and it always rained there, and that it would surely be not raining immediately outside. And, as for last year, so it proved. It didn't rain VERY hard, anyway, but even through the rain, the atmosphere was beautiful. Ghosts of last year's runners popped into my head.

I chatted to a few people, and was talking to a young lad when I overtook some of his team on Dunmail Rise. Again, I failed to see my crew, but this time, I had everything I wanted in my pack. As we descended, I started talking to the fellow that I'd passed at Dunmail Rise, who wanted to know how I knew his teammate. We had a chat, and then passed on. Around Grassmere, I remember talking to an elderly chap who had an odd gait, and I wondered (aloud) if he was in fact a speed walker. He considered this, and then said, "No, I reckon this is the Ultra-shuffle", which I took on with good heart.

Again, the green-mac guy caught up with me, and we engaged in chat, pretty much for the rest of the way. I didn't think we would, but there you have it. It was clearly a strategy he'd adopted before, and while I quite like the coming and going of different people, he certainly could talk (and we know I don't struggle in that department), so we got off to a flying conversation about politics and religion, and other subjects you aren't to mention at dinner parties. But this definitely wasn't a dinner party. I also told him about my running exploits, and various running themes, ideas and chums were mulled over, not least Chris' legendary comment about finding a nice arse, and following it. I got a few compliments at this juncture!

I did lose him for a while, when he went off to see his "crew", I remember after joining the Coniston lot, seeing a girl wearing a rain coat I had bought years ago, it looked very nice on her, so I told her what good taste she had. I also was following a chap wearing my fluorescent yellow cycle jacket, he was less engaging about stealing my coat, but I did feel that my wardrobe had been rifled before coming out. Along the Coniston Lake, realising that I wasn't going to meet Heather, I changed my tops (now safely in my backpack, in a ziplock bag) and once again, the dry clothes did good things to my psyche. As did the chocolate croissant that Jon had purchased for me. It was also around this point that I met Stew on his bicycle, on the lookout for Chan.

Ben caught up with me, and we kept going, although he'd calculated a brilliant time for me on the basis of my first half (I've always been bad at this, but he'd run 7, or 8 times, and was also seemingly good at it. However, I knew the second half would be a slog, and it was. It seemed hillier than I remembered it, and Ben was clear that he didn't want to run up the hills. I could have gone on, of course, but I was pretty tired too, and it seemed ungrateful to abandon him. And so much easier not to. But as we neared Dalton, I realised that it was going to take everything in me to keep going. I recalled exactly every bit of this route, so I wasn't fooled into thinking I was nearly anywhere, when I bloody wasn't. But the mile markers said I was 3 miles away, and on the one hand, that meant I'd run 37, but on the other, at the speed I was going, that was a lot over half an hour. And when you've run for 37 miles, another half an hour seems like an eternity, not "nearly there". I realised that I had no energy to run at someone else's pace. I was going to get into a 12 minute mile plod, and that would get me over the finish line. I didn't explain, but I didn't wait for Ben either, and it was quite a surprise 2 and half miles later to find him just behind me. I had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't have made that time without the push of not falling behind, but I didn't voice it. We still had that hill to get up, and I would take any encouragement I could get. He gave it.

I finished in 7h43 minutes, or thereabouts. Chan came in after me, but it turned out that she'd been delayed getting to the start, so her time was 7h 27, which was amazing. She's already talking about taking another half hour off for next year. I kind of think I could get another 20 minutes off my time too... but I think we'll struggle to get another team together next time!  Jon and I stayed in the Queen's Arms in Biggar, which is really the most charismatic place you could stay, and enjoyed our team breakfast in the morning, although disappointingly not many of the team made it. Running Dave has sworn never to do that stupid race again, after spending the last 15 miles with cramp, and Nigel and his misses went off to catch up with other friends in a not very team-like fashion!

Still a bloody incredible thing to do. I don't have pictures this year, as I didn't have a pal (or a camera), but did get a couple of shots from the "experts" where I'm looking surprisingly fresh. They posted the pics on the facebook page, which is absolutely brilliant, and makes quite a change from most race-photos. You do kind of feel like you deserve your picture though!

Here's my favourite picture - clearly need to try harder, as I am at about 28 miles, and don't look like I'm really struggling: