I had good intentions of running... Dave told me that Fridays generally were good for him, so I brought my running stuff in on Friday, but he forgot. Then the girls decided to go out for lunch, so I thought since Dave wasn't going, I could do that. Then it became apparent that shopping was going to be more productive (food shopping, don't get excited. I didn't pass the shoe shop), so I did that instead. I wondered about maybe doing a run on Saturday morning, before business kicked off, but frankly, I needed a moment of calm, and didn't feel that running was really going to cut it.
On Saturday, I had to make my way down to Sussex for a work meeting. In the past, I've taken the bike down, because it is about 8 miles from Horsham station, and is generally a nice little stretch on a bike. I tentatively suggested this to Chris, who was coming with me, and at first we both dismissed it because of the poor weather forecast, but for some reason, she suddenly changed her mind on Friday afternoon. This was mildly inconvenient - she has a fold-up bicycle, but I need a bike reservation on the East Coast, without which they will not let you travel. I tried to get our work ticket system to acquire me a reservation, but they claimed it wasn't possible, despite having done so in the past. This meant a sudden last minute dash to Peterborough train station on Friday night, which was more than a little inconvenient, as I had folk coming to dinner. However.
While I was waiting on the platform on Saturday, I noticed that my back tire was completely flat. Somewhat to my consternation, I realised that the rubber was cracked all the way around as well. It was also bald. There was no two ways about it: I needed a new tire. Hopeful, as ever, though, I thought a pump-up might suffice for the journey at hand. I mentioned it to Chris, who asked if I had any puncture repair kit with me. I didn't. I'm not sure if it was something she'd thought about on the journey, or if itwas just when she clapped eyes on my bike (AKA "Deadly Peddley"), but she suggested that I might take it to a bike shop and get a new tire right away. "It'll delay us quite a bit" I said. "I'm sure it'll be OK". As I tightened the valve, though, I had grave doubts: somehow, I'd managed to bend it, and it no longer tightened properly. I used iPhone magic and ascertained that there was a store nearby actually called "Cycle Surgery". We thought we'd look in, and find out how busy they were. By the time I'd cycled the 300 yards up the road, my tire was flat again. It was the answer I was looking for. They were not only not busy, they were extremely helpful, and changed my tire in considerably shorter time than I could have dreamed of doing it, and had a weekend discount going on.
They did, however, tell me that my rear wheel needed realigning, and pointed out what they meant. The wheel was practically touching the frame, the mudguard, and the break block, on one side. They said it was damaging the frame. I can only point to one occasion when the rear wheel has been removed... Ian may have saved my life by replacing the broken spindle, but it looks like he may be damaging my frame. Tuh. Some good deeds... This did in fact prove to be slightly problematic, as I could hear a light hum all the way, over and above my broken front mudguard, which clatters continually. Possibly it might be a good idea to have a proper "service" on poor old Deadly.
So, a few weeks ago, I joined Chris on a cycle across London, and I blamed her speed on the fact that I was on a Boris Bike, which is very heavy and has three gears, and I couldn't get any speed up. I realised on Saturday that actually it was more like Chris was on the other bike and is considerably fitter than I am. Let's face it, she is on a Brompton, with 6 gears and tiny wheels. Whatever wonders of modern technology that bike has (and the chain design is very complicated with additional cogs and stuff - so I think that must help), I had a Claud Butler, with 21 gears (admittedly, 14 of them don't actually work) and proper wheels. So I should have had a massive advantage. But she just flew off up those hills...
So we whizzed across London - always fun - and missed the train, owing to time lost on the wheel repair. Our later train meant that we arrived in Horsham at about 5pm. It was pretty dark by then. Also, I last did the cycle ride a year ago, and never at night. "You do know the way, right?" Chris wanted to know. "Yes! Probably..." wasn't the answer she wanted to hear. Horsham itself was OK, because despite the traffic, it was well-lit, but as we progressed outwards, it became rather darker. Chris seemed a bit nervous of the unlit roads, as well she might... with wheels that small, you don't want to hit a pothole. Anyway, there was almost a moon, behind the cloud, and you could kind of see the white line down the middle of the road.
So we got there, and Chris was very impressed overall, but really wanted to see the route on the way back, so on Sunday, we set off with good time to catch the 4:42 train. At least, I thought we did. It seemed that actually maybe we didn't. And Chris was encouraging me by cycling into the distance with her little flashing helmet light (newly acquired at the cycle shop) disappearing gradually. We somehow did make the train, and we somehow did get back across London with enough time to catch the train I was booked on.
That's where it all started to unravel. We actually had time enough to get ourselves a sandwich and a cup of tea, but once I dropped my cup of tea, I knew things were doomed. The train didn't get in until 9 minutes to 7 (due out at 7) and I stood by the guards van, waiting for someone to open the doors. No one came. I sortied up the train, but couldn't find any staff who weren't outright rude. Then a lady came down to close the doors, while the train announcement noted that anyone not wishing to travel should get off the train. I asked her to open the guards van, and she told me it was at the front end of the train. She advised me to cycle up to the front end, to put my bike on. "I'm hardly going to make it, though, if you've closed all the other doors?" I queried, but she just said "You can only try". So I did, but I only got halfway when I met the train guard, a short, young Asian guy who looked as if he'd undergone too many training courses, but not enough on customer services. "You can't put that bike on the train" he snapped. "I have a reservation to put this bike on this train" I told him, helpfully waving it. "You can't put that bike on this train" he said, with some lack of imagination. "I can, if you open the guard's van door" I told him. "If you try to put that bike on this train, I will call the transport police, and have them throw it off". My thought process was not fast enough. My gut feeling was if he had time to do that, surely he had time to open the door? What I didn't think was, "he'd have to do it at the first stop... in Peterborough", so I should have just got on the train behind him, and obstructed the carriage, instead of behaving like a good citizen, and taking it. I estimated I had about 30 seconds to get up to carriage C and let Chris know I wouldn't be joining her (it was the older train, that had pull-down windows). Then a lady blocked my way, took my arm, and more or less shrieked at me "You are not allowed to board this train!" My goodness, they are people of one idea! "I KNOW!" I shrieked back, "THAT'S WHY I'M NOT BOARDING IT! NOW KINDLY GET OUT OF MY WAY". I cycled up to the top end of the train, and banged on Chris's window. I think they had just locked the door by the time I got there, because I'm pretty sure Chris would have dragged me onto the train if they hadn't. She's more confrontational than me.
On the way back down the platform, I took the name of the officious lady who **assaulted me**. I learned this later: it's illegal to put your hands on a member of the public. I will mention that I won't be pressing charges in my complaints letter. Frankly, I'm more affronted that I was threatened with the police, but I guess that the guard knew he couldn't actually stop me getting on the train, unlike her. He didn't realise he was addressing someone who is such a rule-keeper that there is no way I would have taken my cycle into the carriage of the train, because it is against the rules. **Sigh** it's hard being me. Anyway, I was able to persuade the guards on the Newcastle train to let me on, which I did largely by dissolving into tears when they asked if I had missed the train I was booked onto.
Overall, I suppose there was no real harm done, apart from distressing several of my friends by posting on facebook that I was in tears at Kings Cross station. And the cycle ride certainly counted as an adventure, even if not a full exercise programme....
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Thursday, 3 November 2011
Keeping it up
Hello again people. I know, I know, there was all that stuff about whether I should carry on the blog or not, and I was overwhelmed with the number of people who thought that I should keep blogging. In all honesty, the blogging does take a lot longer than the training ever took, but now that I'm no longer training per se, I may limit the blogging as well, and try to find some happy balance. So, you've basically all been thinking that I've been a quitter, haven't you? It's a fair point. I haven't been running since the half marathon on 9th October. Until yesterday.
There were reasons why it took so long, however, which were beyond sheer laziness. Remember the whole "being ill" thing I had going on around the race? Amazingly, the running with a virus neither killed me, nor made me feel any worse than I expected to feel at that point of an illness. In all honesty, if anything, I felt better. Notwithstanding this, however, I did progress on, as one does so often, into a chesty cough. And frankly, I felt that an athlete deserves a break after a race, so the two things coincided nicely.
Yes, folks, yesterday I got the trainers on again. I primed Running Dave the day before, knowing that I'm a good runner but pretty useless in terms of going by myself. Interestingly, I gave the garmin back, so I was technology-free. This was disconcerting, so I had to get updates from Dave on our speed. We ran around the rowing lake, which is 5.5 miles, and ran a good speed of 9:30 minute-miles. This is actually faster than I ran my 10k race, and almost the same distance. No wonder my lungs were hurting. Dave is back in training (although in fairness, he wasn't really "in" training for the half marathon) for the Hereward Relay Race, which goes from Peterborough to Ely. He's got to run a leg of 7 miles, so he's keen to keep up a good speed. They also have Tim who is a very fast runner, Sal, and moustachioed Chris.
My running gear caused something of a frisson among the running community in the office. "Oh, are you keeping it up?" people generally wanted to know. The non-runners (well, Richard) asked if I usually wore those clothes in the office, an equally rhetorical question, I presumed. I explained that I was waiting for the shower to be free. Sal wanted to know if I was going in for the London Marathon, so I filled her in on the thinking around this to date. Oh go on then, as long as you're here.
I emailed Arthritis Research UK to ask if they had a charity place, so I could run for my mum, who has Polymyalgia Rheumatica, and who gave me such a fearsome glare when I told her I was running the half for someone else's mother. They ask you to raise £1800 to take part. Then I found out while on a Finance for Charities course that technically speaking, if a charity says you can't compete unless you raise the money they have asked for, that it ceases to be a donation and you can only claim gift-aid on donations. They were pretty blase about it, and said that the Inland Revenue are aware of this, and frankly have better things to do, but I'm kind of anal in a law-abiding way, and don't want the IR to have anything to stick on me. This put me off the whole idea of running in a charity place. If you get a place yourself, you can obviously still donate to charity, and then you don't have an additional stress of trying to raise a set target. There are other marathons... Brighton, Edinburgh...
I also had the ridiculous notion placed before me to run the Norway Half Marathon, which excited me because it is so insane, and also because you might get to see the Northern Lights, which would be magic. I'd think of it less as a race and more as a survival exercise to brag to other runners about. I certainly wouldn't be overly concerned about my time, for example. It was Summer who suggested this lunacy, but then backed out and said that unfortunately she had reckoned without her family's travel plans. She is still hopeful for another year though. Incidentally, if you don't know where Tromso is, it is here.
Paul overheard my discussions with Sal, and and immediately suggested three races (only one of which Sal had already got in) which were a 15km, a 20km and a possible 20 miles, depending on which marathon I plumbed for. There seems to be a general acceptance of the fact that as I like racing, clearly entering races is the way to keep me motivated. Dave suggested that I talk Sal out of her place in the relay. I hadn't intended on doign this, as it seems to me that fair's fair - she got in first. However, it came up in conversation anyway. "Why aren't you doing the Hereward Relay?" Sal demanded. "Um. Well, there's four places..." I said. "Have mine! You should run it. Go on. Just do it" She said. I panicked a bit: "But that's only three weeks away". We've kind of left it hanging...
There were reasons why it took so long, however, which were beyond sheer laziness. Remember the whole "being ill" thing I had going on around the race? Amazingly, the running with a virus neither killed me, nor made me feel any worse than I expected to feel at that point of an illness. In all honesty, if anything, I felt better. Notwithstanding this, however, I did progress on, as one does so often, into a chesty cough. And frankly, I felt that an athlete deserves a break after a race, so the two things coincided nicely.
Yes, folks, yesterday I got the trainers on again. I primed Running Dave the day before, knowing that I'm a good runner but pretty useless in terms of going by myself. Interestingly, I gave the garmin back, so I was technology-free. This was disconcerting, so I had to get updates from Dave on our speed. We ran around the rowing lake, which is 5.5 miles, and ran a good speed of 9:30 minute-miles. This is actually faster than I ran my 10k race, and almost the same distance. No wonder my lungs were hurting. Dave is back in training (although in fairness, he wasn't really "in" training for the half marathon) for the Hereward Relay Race, which goes from Peterborough to Ely. He's got to run a leg of 7 miles, so he's keen to keep up a good speed. They also have Tim who is a very fast runner, Sal, and moustachioed Chris.
My running gear caused something of a frisson among the running community in the office. "Oh, are you keeping it up?" people generally wanted to know. The non-runners (well, Richard) asked if I usually wore those clothes in the office, an equally rhetorical question, I presumed. I explained that I was waiting for the shower to be free. Sal wanted to know if I was going in for the London Marathon, so I filled her in on the thinking around this to date. Oh go on then, as long as you're here.
I emailed Arthritis Research UK to ask if they had a charity place, so I could run for my mum, who has Polymyalgia Rheumatica, and who gave me such a fearsome glare when I told her I was running the half for someone else's mother. They ask you to raise £1800 to take part. Then I found out while on a Finance for Charities course that technically speaking, if a charity says you can't compete unless you raise the money they have asked for, that it ceases to be a donation and you can only claim gift-aid on donations. They were pretty blase about it, and said that the Inland Revenue are aware of this, and frankly have better things to do, but I'm kind of anal in a law-abiding way, and don't want the IR to have anything to stick on me. This put me off the whole idea of running in a charity place. If you get a place yourself, you can obviously still donate to charity, and then you don't have an additional stress of trying to raise a set target. There are other marathons... Brighton, Edinburgh...
I also had the ridiculous notion placed before me to run the Norway Half Marathon, which excited me because it is so insane, and also because you might get to see the Northern Lights, which would be magic. I'd think of it less as a race and more as a survival exercise to brag to other runners about. I certainly wouldn't be overly concerned about my time, for example. It was Summer who suggested this lunacy, but then backed out and said that unfortunately she had reckoned without her family's travel plans. She is still hopeful for another year though. Incidentally, if you don't know where Tromso is, it is here.Paul overheard my discussions with Sal, and and immediately suggested three races (only one of which Sal had already got in) which were a 15km, a 20km and a possible 20 miles, depending on which marathon I plumbed for. There seems to be a general acceptance of the fact that as I like racing, clearly entering races is the way to keep me motivated. Dave suggested that I talk Sal out of her place in the relay. I hadn't intended on doign this, as it seems to me that fair's fair - she got in first. However, it came up in conversation anyway. "Why aren't you doing the Hereward Relay?" Sal demanded. "Um. Well, there's four places..." I said. "Have mine! You should run it. Go on. Just do it" She said. I panicked a bit: "But that's only three weeks away". We've kind of left it hanging...
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
A joke's never as funny....
...the second time around.
Well, that's what they say. Thing is, I'm already missing the blogging (the training... not so much). The facebook fans have been kind enough to support my continuing to blog, and I thought you might be wondering how the aftermath is hitting me.
I guess you've seen the pictures taken around the race. Frankly, I'm amazed, I can only concur with what people are saying: I DO look happy and relaxed. Even in Julian's photo when I know how much I was suffering, I had a smile for the camera. The only one I look remotely worried in is one he took very early on (it was up on the blog, because I thought it was the 11 mile shot, but when I realised it wasn't I switched them. Oh go on then, this one. Interestingly, although I appear to be looking straight at him, I don't remember seeing him). I probably was really worrying at that point that I'd keel over within the first mile or so. Once I realised I wasn't going to, I relaxed into the whole thing. I'm in trouble, by the way, over the twist-and-turn one. Not because I'm such a drama-queen that I had to get my photo in rather than focus on the race. It is the angle my foot is hitting the floor at. It looks wrong even to me: I'm a suprinator. I don't know if it follows that I'm suprinating, but probably. Check it out, it's only the previous blog. It basically means that I (if this is usual with me) have a tendency to land on the outer edge of my foot. It has pluses and minuses: on the plus side, you run faster. On the minus side, that is because your foot is not evenly distributing the weight of your body landing, and you can seriously damage your calves, shin splints and the like.
Anyway, at the end of the race, I was just so happy. I think you can also observe my grinning ear-to-ear in the smurf picture. It wasn't just the smurf, I was grinning anyway. Heather was telling me how moved she was and how she wished Iris had been there, and I was still grinning. OK, I looked a bit serious. For a moment. I didn't really notice any pain. I did some stretches, and when I showered, I carefully dowsed my legs in freezing water for a few minutes. And I didn't think too much of it. I was expecting the stairs to be hard, and they were - I'd had the same thing from that fast run I did a week last Wednesday. But the next day - WOW. I'm not the most organised person, but the 3rd time I realised I'd left something else in my bedroom, I was just - oh, right, well how much do I really need that? I texted Sal to ask if I should ice or anything, and she replied that I needed to go for a half-hour walk.
I did this towards the end of the day, I walked into town to pick up some shopping. Rather gallingly, I forgot to buy actual food, but I did spend my usual obscene amount of money buying cards (I like to stockpile them), and a replacement ink cartridge for the printer. And I bought a hat that I'll probably never wear, but might if I have to go somewhere classy in Scotland when it is cold. (You have to think of these eventualities). Half way home, I'd got to beyond the half-hour, and beyond a joke. Cambers on the pavement were causing me to whimper out loud. Although I was nearly home, I stopped at Keely's house and begged for tea. I was entertained by a sign on the door that said "No thanks to salesmen; religions; junk mail", and was trying to formulate a sentence around trying to sell them some religious junk mail, but I was more interested in the tea, preferably accompanied by a seat, so I let it go.
At this point, it is only fair to share with you an idea that has been growing in my troubled mind. I'm not sure if I said at the time, but I may have mentioned it in passing: when I told my mother about the race, and raising money for Iris, I got quite a frosty reception. She came round in the end, and supported me like a good 'un, but to be honest, no one does scowls like my mother. (Well, actually, yes they do. Wow, I wonder what would happen if mum and Jeanette met, and annoyed each other? Fortunately I doubt that would happen, although it's possible that my dad might annoy both of them). The point was, you see, that I was running the race for someone else's mum. "What about me?" she wanted to know. "Well, you don't have cancer, do you?" [wrong response]. "No, but I have Polymyalgia rheumatica," she said. This is true. Well, obviously: she's not prone to lying. "It's not killing you, though, is it?" [wrong response]. I shan't tell you what she said, because I hope she didn't mean it. But it's nasty, and very painful. It's treated using a very strong steroid that has uncomfortable side effects itself, and is highly addictive, so doses are started high, and then reduced as rapidly as possible, and hopefully to the point of coming off it altogether. But flare-ups can occur, and then treatment has to begin again. Now, mum has been suffering for over 2 years, and I distinctly recall at its worst (at least, I hope it was) she had just completed writing her first ever book, but hadn't had it published, and she took my hand and said "if I don't make it, will you see that my book is published?". Now, she's not prone to histrionics as a general rule, this is just how awful she felt. I'm happy to say that the book is published, and we're all immensely proud of her. In fact, if you're interested, you can buy it on Amazon. It is about my great, great Grandfather, Edward Capern, who was a postman in Bideford, and used to write poems on the backs of envelopes he delivered. Since then she has had periods where she's felt better, but then also, periods where she's declined again. The pattern of almost "getting there" and then worsening depresses her deeply.
So amid my euphoria for having completed my challenge - which I regard as being pretty massive, but in the grand scale of things, obviously it isn't, there was a little nag of guilt. Your mother's suffering: it said, and you haven't tried to do anything to support her. Now here's another thing. My mum loved running as a child, and has harboured a desire to run the London marathon herself, which she had as a pipe dream, through my childhood, I think. She recently expanded it to "any marathon - in fact, I'd settle for just being able to run 26 miles". I think you can probably tell the general direction my thoughts are going in. 5 months ago, I considered it a physical impossibility for me to run 13.1 miles. I worked, I trained (and you know I did) and I did it. Seemingly pretty effortlessly, even with a virus. So, 26.2 miles also seems an impossibility. Especially as I've now established that I am, in fact, deeply competitive, and will need to do it in a "good time". I texted Sal, and she said, with her usual lack of hesitation "have to be a charity place now". This means that although the open ballot for places on the London marathon has closed, you can run for a charity, because they have places that they can give you. I looked up on the internet, and the charity that supports Polymyalgia research is Arthritis Research UK, and they have charity places. I'd have to raise £1800. This is almost as big a challenge (but not really) as undertaking the race. Of course, there are other marathons - the Edinburgh one, for example, which is a month later on (and hence potentially warmer).
I ran the whole thing past Luke and Keely. "Wow, a marathon" said Luke, trying not to laugh at the fact I was seriously discussing this at his table basically because I was too crippled to walk home. "Twice as far: I imagine that the pain afterwards wouldn't be twice as bad as a half marathon..." I don't know why I thought that was the end of his sentence: "no, I'd say it would be much worse. It's bound to be an exponential scale, isn't it?"
So a joke's never as funny the second time you hear it.... But then, running jokes are supposed to get funnier through repetition, right?
Watch this space.
Well, that's what they say. Thing is, I'm already missing the blogging (the training... not so much). The facebook fans have been kind enough to support my continuing to blog, and I thought you might be wondering how the aftermath is hitting me.
Anyway, at the end of the race, I was just so happy. I think you can also observe my grinning ear-to-ear in the smurf picture. It wasn't just the smurf, I was grinning anyway. Heather was telling me how moved she was and how she wished Iris had been there, and I was still grinning. OK, I looked a bit serious. For a moment. I didn't really notice any pain. I did some stretches, and when I showered, I carefully dowsed my legs in freezing water for a few minutes. And I didn't think too much of it. I was expecting the stairs to be hard, and they were - I'd had the same thing from that fast run I did a week last Wednesday. But the next day - WOW. I'm not the most organised person, but the 3rd time I realised I'd left something else in my bedroom, I was just - oh, right, well how much do I really need that? I texted Sal to ask if I should ice or anything, and she replied that I needed to go for a half-hour walk.
I did this towards the end of the day, I walked into town to pick up some shopping. Rather gallingly, I forgot to buy actual food, but I did spend my usual obscene amount of money buying cards (I like to stockpile them), and a replacement ink cartridge for the printer. And I bought a hat that I'll probably never wear, but might if I have to go somewhere classy in Scotland when it is cold. (You have to think of these eventualities). Half way home, I'd got to beyond the half-hour, and beyond a joke. Cambers on the pavement were causing me to whimper out loud. Although I was nearly home, I stopped at Keely's house and begged for tea. I was entertained by a sign on the door that said "No thanks to salesmen; religions; junk mail", and was trying to formulate a sentence around trying to sell them some religious junk mail, but I was more interested in the tea, preferably accompanied by a seat, so I let it go.
At this point, it is only fair to share with you an idea that has been growing in my troubled mind. I'm not sure if I said at the time, but I may have mentioned it in passing: when I told my mother about the race, and raising money for Iris, I got quite a frosty reception. She came round in the end, and supported me like a good 'un, but to be honest, no one does scowls like my mother. (Well, actually, yes they do. Wow, I wonder what would happen if mum and Jeanette met, and annoyed each other? Fortunately I doubt that would happen, although it's possible that my dad might annoy both of them). The point was, you see, that I was running the race for someone else's mum. "What about me?" she wanted to know. "Well, you don't have cancer, do you?" [wrong response]. "No, but I have Polymyalgia rheumatica," she said. This is true. Well, obviously: she's not prone to lying. "It's not killing you, though, is it?" [wrong response]. I shan't tell you what she said, because I hope she didn't mean it. But it's nasty, and very painful. It's treated using a very strong steroid that has uncomfortable side effects itself, and is highly addictive, so doses are started high, and then reduced as rapidly as possible, and hopefully to the point of coming off it altogether. But flare-ups can occur, and then treatment has to begin again. Now, mum has been suffering for over 2 years, and I distinctly recall at its worst (at least, I hope it was) she had just completed writing her first ever book, but hadn't had it published, and she took my hand and said "if I don't make it, will you see that my book is published?". Now, she's not prone to histrionics as a general rule, this is just how awful she felt. I'm happy to say that the book is published, and we're all immensely proud of her. In fact, if you're interested, you can buy it on Amazon. It is about my great, great Grandfather, Edward Capern, who was a postman in Bideford, and used to write poems on the backs of envelopes he delivered. Since then she has had periods where she's felt better, but then also, periods where she's declined again. The pattern of almost "getting there" and then worsening depresses her deeply.
So amid my euphoria for having completed my challenge - which I regard as being pretty massive, but in the grand scale of things, obviously it isn't, there was a little nag of guilt. Your mother's suffering: it said, and you haven't tried to do anything to support her. Now here's another thing. My mum loved running as a child, and has harboured a desire to run the London marathon herself, which she had as a pipe dream, through my childhood, I think. She recently expanded it to "any marathon - in fact, I'd settle for just being able to run 26 miles". I think you can probably tell the general direction my thoughts are going in. 5 months ago, I considered it a physical impossibility for me to run 13.1 miles. I worked, I trained (and you know I did) and I did it. Seemingly pretty effortlessly, even with a virus. So, 26.2 miles also seems an impossibility. Especially as I've now established that I am, in fact, deeply competitive, and will need to do it in a "good time". I texted Sal, and she said, with her usual lack of hesitation "have to be a charity place now". This means that although the open ballot for places on the London marathon has closed, you can run for a charity, because they have places that they can give you. I looked up on the internet, and the charity that supports Polymyalgia research is Arthritis Research UK, and they have charity places. I'd have to raise £1800. This is almost as big a challenge (but not really) as undertaking the race. Of course, there are other marathons - the Edinburgh one, for example, which is a month later on (and hence potentially warmer).
I ran the whole thing past Luke and Keely. "Wow, a marathon" said Luke, trying not to laugh at the fact I was seriously discussing this at his table basically because I was too crippled to walk home. "Twice as far: I imagine that the pain afterwards wouldn't be twice as bad as a half marathon..." I don't know why I thought that was the end of his sentence: "no, I'd say it would be much worse. It's bound to be an exponential scale, isn't it?"
So a joke's never as funny the second time you hear it.... But then, running jokes are supposed to get funnier through repetition, right?
Watch this space.
Sunday, 9 October 2011
Living on a Prayer
I started getting paranoid about missing the start of the race, and even though Nic's advice was I really only needed to get there half an hour before I started, I was scared in case the road was blocked or something, and set off at half nine, dosed up with paracetamol (as recommended by the GP) with an ibuprofen in my pocket for later. I don't tend to take analgesics that much, so I hadn't overloaded my liver too much over the previous days. I saw lots of runners and pedestrians on the way down, and everyone was very friendly and wishing each other luck, and made it to Cathedral Square, where I ran into Trudie who was doing the fun run with her boys. She was glad to see my up on my feet, after the last few days. The square was deafening, and it seemed unlikely that I was going to run into Heather and Nic accidentally. I sought refuge in the Cathedral - I thought, a quiet word can't hurt at this point. (It was also where I was the day I was interviewed for my job with English Nature). I sat at the back, relieved they hadn't started the service, and had a quiet moment, then saw Pete and Jenny, who I hadn't seen since they arrived back from honeymoon, so that was good. They promised they'd look out for me on the course.
Out in the square again, I randomly bumped into a guy I was at uni with, Michael, which was fun. I run into him about every 3 years, and think the last time I saw him was in almost exactly the same spot - he was also running, but i didn't see him again. I finally found Heather and Nic, who had brought Gavin with them, and was able to offload my bag and coat with them successfully. I lined up between 2 hours and 2:15, at the starter post, and spotted Rich, with his running protege, Tara. He said that a lot of folk from JNCC had said they would run, but had all dropped out (shame). He frowned at my ipod and said he thought it might be against the law, but I certainly wasn't alone, so I laughed at him. Also, lawbreaking is easy when you don't know the rules (right, Stephen?). However, he fully condoned my use of drugs, and said when he ran the Sahara, the squaddies were popping paracetamol and ibuprofen all the way round. I also ran into Will and Tony, but not Summer, who they said had stayed back a bit. They were hoping for sub 2 hours, so I made a mental note not to run with them. No sign of running Dave, though I scoured the crowds, I didn't see him, so that was one worry taken care of (I'd been going to run with him, and Sal said not to, so I was wondering about whether I dared raise her wrath or not).
We started out, and the first bit was a walk, but that was OK, because we hadn't got to the starting post yet. I fired the garmin up, ignoring Sal's instructions to not wear it - I was kind of interested in my heart rate today, what with being sick and all. Once we went past the post, just like Belvoir, away they went. You have to struggle not to peg off after them. I was all set to do my 11 minute/mile, and that went right out the window. I felt like I was running backwards doing a 10 minute mile, but I courageously let people past me. At the traffic lights, I passed Nic, Heather and Gav, and put in a wave; then at Central Park, I clocked Pete and Jenny again, with Stewart and Fiona (I didn't see Megan, but don't know if she was there or not; and didn't see little Caitlin either). Around Newark Avenue, I saw Tony, who waved and said "Nearly there" because he's a bit of a joker, but he did get a good "fresh" photo.
I kept my eye on the garmin, because let me tell you, my body wasn't telling me anything. Every time I looked at the garmin I was surprised. At how fast I was going. I tried to slow down a bit, because I wanted to get in the negative split, and I knew the second half would punish me if I didn't slow down, but it just didn't seem to be happening and my heart rate was in the comfortable high 160s, and I felt OK, so I kept going. Nigel told me about the kids all holding their hands up so you can high-five them as you go by, and it is really cool. They get all happy, and it gives you a buzz. So I did this for a lot of the first half. I had a chat with someone, mainly because I saw a bloke (walking) in full bomb-disposal outfit, and muttered an expletive, but forgot I had headphones in, so it might have come out louder than I meant. The bloke next to me told me it was bomb-disposal outfit (I wouldn't have known) so we gave him a cheer. I had a chat to the bloke, as I had un-headphoned, and thought i might as well check I was in chat-speed. He did the Grunty Fen, which was his first race, and said it was really cold and windy, so I felt quite smug I'd missed it.
I went passed Anita and her grandkids, high-fiving, and a little while later saw Chris, who had to run along side to get me to notice him. I'd just passed Rachel in Werrington who called out that she didn't know I was running it (note: touch her for sponsorship later), when Living on a Prayer came on the ipod. I looked at the distance, and I was at 7.12 miles - glory be, the boys came in bang on half way! WOAH-WE'RE HALF WAY THERE! - I would have sung, if I could - OOH-OH LIVIN' ON A PRAYER TAKE MY HAND AND WE'LL MAKE IT I SWEAR! WOAH-OH! LIVIN' ON A PRAYER. Just thinking of Fraser's face when he sings the bass made me grin from ear to ear. No idea what the bystanders made of it, but I was looking a lot happier than anyone else round me.
Anyway, time to speed up for the negative split! Didn't feel so comfortable about the idea, when I saw the smurf. The smurf was engaged in telling some female runners in front of me that he was a figment of their imagination "I'm the 9 mile smurf!" he said. The smurf was good to hang around with. Few of you could forget that I myself found Smurf fame at Scone: Rewind - well, a lot of people at that Festival greeted us collectively by screaming "LOOK, IT'S THE SMURFS". This meant that everytime the crowd cheered on the Peterborough Smurf, I just thought they were talking to me. I explained this to him, and he said "That's brilliant - you think they're cheering you, and you didn't even have to dress up!"
Around this point, I saw Julian (who for sake of clarity later, I shall dub Economics Julian), and shortly thereafter, Angela, Natalie, Margaret, and Peter and Mary, at which point I really started to feel like I was part of a community or something. Running around my town, and spotting friends all around the course. It was a good feeling. However, I can't deny I was also feeling knackered. Sal had said that 8-10 were hard. She said I had to be an actor, playing a Shiz hot runner. (Mum, if you're reading this, I don't know). I decided to do that; I thought that what was motivating her was recognition and adulation. Every time I saw a group of spectators, I gestured at them by raising my arms, and without fail I got an enthusiastic round of applause, at which point, I put my arms over my head as if I'd just won. It was good, actually. It was a bit tiring, but worth it, I thought. The crowd loved it, I was working them.
At some point around 11 miles, my next task was to pick people off ahead of me, and overtake them. I was tired, really tired, I don't mind telling you (now). I didn't feel like overtaking people. I felt like lying down. But quite a few seemed to be flagging, it was surely worth taking a few of them. I passed Jen (in the spectators) who gave an ecstatic yell, and further round the park, Pilates Julian, who compromised my time by shouting that he had missed me (brandishing his camera), and could he take another photo. At that point, I'd have done anything to slow down - every time I looked at the garmin now, it just said "warning: heartrate too high" which it defines as being 182 bpm - I don't have any arguments here. The ipod was playing Suzanne Vega, I'd abolished most of her songs from the set list yesterday for being too slow, but this one had something of a beat, so it stayed on. The lyrics went "If you were to kill me now, right here, I would still look you in the eye" - which frankly made two things occur to me - (1) it wouldn't be very difficult. You could probably do it by pushing me over. and (2) I probably would look you in the eye - I think my eyes got welded open several miles ago.
It ended, and Aqua's "Roses are Red" came on. I only added this yesterday, and I was really pleased I remembered about it. It's nuts, but it's very pop-y, and my pace picked right up, despite my state. I was now mile-watching on the garmin. I wanted this thing to be over, I really did. We got onto Padam Road East, which is part of the route that I know, because I run that way sometimes, but the familiarity didn't help, I was knackered. I wanted to stop. I saw Peter and Mary again (where did they spring from?) and they shouted out "Looking Good, Emma" - which perversely, did help, but not for long. I was just thinking that I was going to die for sure, when the Smurf caught up with me. "SMURF" I shouted (or croaked). He recognised me, which was nice, and said something like "Come on, you can do it!" in a way, not unlike Dave. I CAN do it, I thought. I thought of Louise writing on my sponsorship "Go Blue, fellow Smurf!", and I thought, this is it. I fell into pace with the Smurf, who was picking up, not slowing down. We bombed along, until that narrow path, where we had to negotiate our overtaking - including passing Rich and Tara. As the path widened out again, Aqua came on a second time! What a plan, to have it on twice! I decided to forgive the Smurf if he left me behind, but the final part of the plan came into action: I WAS Usain Bolt! (Don't tell Sal, I had to Google him when I read her plan. Sorry Usain). I sprinted around a group of people, conscious that Smurf was sprinting neck and neck with me on the other side of the people, but not getting away, and also that my name was being hollered in my right ear. We pounded past a few more people, and I was just wondering if I could keep it up, glanced at the garmin, which informed me that I was dead (heart rate 197 bpm) but recalled that Sal said she didn't care what my heart rate was at that point - and then it was all over.
And you know what? I quite enjoyed it! But the best thing was stopping.
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Thank you, everyone.
I just want to say a massive thank you to every person who sponsored me to do this race - so, many, many thanks to Rebecca, Simon, Nigel, Britta, Kate, David, Linda, Simon, Anne, Babs, Anon, Huw, Judy, Terry, Debbie, Stella, Mina, Keith, Jim, Brenda, Mike, Richard, Rob and Dawn, Justin, Simon, Chris, Colin, Ilfra, Sue, Gavin, Trudy, Margaret, Isabel and Jorg, David, Jessa, Cat, Heather, Louise, Fiona, Matt, Jeanette, Charlotte, Evelyn, Stephen, Sophie & Robbie, Jennifer, Anna, Susan, Ian, Catherine, Gavan, Nic, Jen, Marilyn, Helen, Daniel, Andrew, Carolyn, Dave, Geoff and Donna, Emma, Mike, Jasper & Dorrie, Joe, Stewart, Richard, Dave, Megan, Suzanne, Alistair, Tim, Tim, Mark, Trevor, Tim, Paul, Sue, Paddy, Paddy's guests (including Dougie) and Iain.
Thanks (and good luck) to everyone who joined in the sweepstake: Ian, Justin, Naomi, Chris, Tim, Anna, Sue, Paul, Nic, Brigid, Dave, Keith, Richard, Judy, Nigel, Alistair, Mina, Megan, Hannah, Heather, Suzanne, Stewart, Anita, Tim, & Tim.
Thanks to everyone who went running with me, including Nigel, Chris, Tom, Dave, moustachioed Chris, Paul, Summer and Tony. Thanks to Summer for agreeing to join my team, and help raise sponsorship money for Sue Ryder, as well as your donations to Macmillan. And especially, thanks to Sal for all your help and top tips with the training.
Thanks not just for your sponsorship, but also for all your words of encouragement, for following this blog, and generally keeping me at it!
You went nuts - the total I raised (so far) through this race for Macmillan is £1162.10, plus loads of gift-aided money (£239.53 online, plus more offline). Heather says it really meant a lot to Iris that I decided to do this. I'm sure it means a lot to Heather and her family too. And Macmillan is really grateful - they keep emailing me to tell me!
Thanks (and good luck) to everyone who joined in the sweepstake: Ian, Justin, Naomi, Chris, Tim, Anna, Sue, Paul, Nic, Brigid, Dave, Keith, Richard, Judy, Nigel, Alistair, Mina, Megan, Hannah, Heather, Suzanne, Stewart, Anita, Tim, & Tim.
Thanks to everyone who went running with me, including Nigel, Chris, Tom, Dave, moustachioed Chris, Paul, Summer and Tony. Thanks to Summer for agreeing to join my team, and help raise sponsorship money for Sue Ryder, as well as your donations to Macmillan. And especially, thanks to Sal for all your help and top tips with the training.
Thanks not just for your sponsorship, but also for all your words of encouragement, for following this blog, and generally keeping me at it!
You went nuts - the total I raised (so far) through this race for Macmillan is £1162.10, plus loads of gift-aided money (£239.53 online, plus more offline). Heather says it really meant a lot to Iris that I decided to do this. I'm sure it means a lot to Heather and her family too. And Macmillan is really grateful - they keep emailing me to tell me!
THANK YOU EVERYONE!
and I'll let you know tomorrow how I get on...
Friday, 7 October 2011
The Stupidity Gene
I posted a facebook message that read like this:
In accordance with this instruction, I also decided to take the Friday off work. Actually, I would have done even if I hadn't been trying to get better in order to kill myself for a race. Although I felt better than Thursday, I still felt as if I'd been run over by a truck. I phoned my line manager and explained what was at stake. She was very understanding. There is some rule that says if you take a day's leave and you're sick, you can switch it for sick leave. I told her that although this would probably be the case, I had no intention of doing so, as it was largely going to be my choice.
I've just realised that by including this image, I've blown the secret covers of several of my friends. Damn, I'll just have to hope that they aren't litigious. Or try not to say anything libelous about them from now on, I've only got 2 days to go. Also, I could put here, any similarity in names is entirely coincidental.
Anyway, this morning, I got MORE messages on this thread. They were kind of backing up Sal.
I liked the stupidity gene comment. It's quite possible that the whole "running" thing may trigger this otherwise inactive gene, and turns it on. It definitely has with me. I'm going to have to look out for Nick on the way round as well, in case he tries hunting me down. As if I didn't have enough to worry about.
There's nothing for it, I thought, I'll have to ask a GP, that way it'll be their fault if I die. I booked an appointment for the afternoon, and Frank got onto my lap, purring very contentedly because I finally seemed to have learned my lesson. "Woman, know your place" was his general message. (It's on the sofa - not in the kitchen - and definitely not in Scotland). When my alarm went off at 3, we were snuggled in bed together, and I did wonder if it would do me more good to just stay where I was, but I got dressed and staggered off. The surgery is at the end of my street, so it wasn't far to stagger.
"If you just had a bunged nose, I'd tell you to take some hankies round with you" the GP said, "but for more systemic symptoms" (apparently this is medical for feeling like you've been run over by a truck) "I'd really suggest you didn't run it." I gave her the fish-eye. "It's important to me. I've raised over £800. I want to run it" I told her. "What'll happen if I run it anyway?" She listened to my chest and established I didn't have any bronchial infection, and took my temperature. She said if I'm feeling light-headed now, I might expect to feel more so; that I might be breathless; and that it'd probably take me another week to get rid of the virus. She said if I were a professional sportsperson, obviously it would be out of the question, but if I wanted to... I could. "I think you're mad though" she added helpfully. Then added: "But I think you're mad for running it at all". I almost explained the whole sponsorship deal, and how much I hate running, but I didn't think I'd squeeze her for sponsorship. It's probably unprofessional. She'd told me all I needed to know. I thanked her and left.
Ian came over after work to get a sleeping bag off me for his trip to Kenya, and delivered my sponsorship and sweepstake form. I asked him to check the post for my Macmillan t shirt, but it never arrived, so looks like I'll be running in my red shirt (don't forget to look out for me!). After he'd gone, I totted up my offline earnings, not forgetting to add the £37 from the wedding, and also to deduct £10 off the sweepstake earnings (although hopeful that the winner may add them to the mix. I found I'd had some more online donations too.
I've/You've/We've raised a staggering £997.10!
This is amazing! Although for some reason, JustGiving thinks that this is 100% of my total. I'd love the extra £2:90 if anyone feels so inclined. Macmillan would love it if you blew my total right away.
I may not make the time, but I'm going to do my best to make the distance. It's all in the breakfast now!
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
Ready or not.
I had some training planned for this week... it went, Wednesday, 45 minutes, "at that slightly uncomfortable pace", then Friday, 20 minutes jog. I could barely stand upright in the office today. And it wasn't just because of the racking cough - that calf muscle started giving me gyp again. Furthermore, I felt nauseous all day. I don't know if it was the whole tight throat coupled with phlegm (mmm!) or nerves, or gastric troubles, but it was rubbish. I didn't eat breakfast, and then felt more sick. All in all, I felt like a crumbling wreck all day. Various sympathetic friends (Sue) suggested I should add some more times to the sweepstake.
I saw Sal at coffee time, who came to check how the weekend training had gone. I looked so doleful, she knew something was wrong. "Did you not do it?" she asked. "Oh no, the run at the weekend was fine" I said "it's just I'm still falling apart". She looked disbelieving in a way that suggested not that she didn't believe me, but more that she couldn't believe anyone could possibly be as sick as me. It's a fair point. I did say quite early on that if I didn't train every time I got sick, I was in for a fairly chequered training routine.
Anyway, it's not all bad news. She says that this week's training isn't necessary. She says I've done all the work to get the time I want, and this week is more psychological. She said the fast run today was just to "remind my legs they can run fast". If I'm honest, I think they remember. She said I could go swimming instead but then added "but I wouldn't, not with a chest like that". So that's the alternative out the window. Feeling absolutely sure it would, I told people "I'm going to do it if it kills me", and was horrified to learn that in fact, two people died doing the Great Eastern Run last year. I couldn't find anything that said why they died, though.
I did manage to do pilates at lunchtime, although I was hoping to lie on my mat at the back of the class and have a snooze, Anita made me come to the front, on the seemingly frivolous grounds that the sun coming in from the window would warm me up. Then she complained when I coughed over her. Some people! She also said she could tell something was wrong because I was being so quiet. She said it unnerved her. Anyway, I was quite pleased I'd made an effort because she noticed that I wasn't being very flexible and put in some extra exercises for me. By the end of the class, I was warmed up enough to do them. I might try doing some pilates on Sunday morning.
This is it, everyone. I'll give you an update on Friday to tell you if I go for that 20 minute jog, but I'm nearly there. Ready or not, it's race time. So there's just time to say: if you haven't sponsored me yet, and you're still reading this, then please consider doing so. If I don't know you, and you've enjoyed the blog, just write "love the blog"! - there is a link at the top right of the screen. And if I do know you, please remember that your support means everything to me. Oh, and if you live abroad... I checked, and Just Giving can accept your donation!
THANKS xx
I saw Sal at coffee time, who came to check how the weekend training had gone. I looked so doleful, she knew something was wrong. "Did you not do it?" she asked. "Oh no, the run at the weekend was fine" I said "it's just I'm still falling apart". She looked disbelieving in a way that suggested not that she didn't believe me, but more that she couldn't believe anyone could possibly be as sick as me. It's a fair point. I did say quite early on that if I didn't train every time I got sick, I was in for a fairly chequered training routine.
Anyway, it's not all bad news. She says that this week's training isn't necessary. She says I've done all the work to get the time I want, and this week is more psychological. She said the fast run today was just to "remind my legs they can run fast". If I'm honest, I think they remember. She said I could go swimming instead but then added "but I wouldn't, not with a chest like that". So that's the alternative out the window. Feeling absolutely sure it would, I told people "I'm going to do it if it kills me", and was horrified to learn that in fact, two people died doing the Great Eastern Run last year. I couldn't find anything that said why they died, though.
I did manage to do pilates at lunchtime, although I was hoping to lie on my mat at the back of the class and have a snooze, Anita made me come to the front, on the seemingly frivolous grounds that the sun coming in from the window would warm me up. Then she complained when I coughed over her. Some people! She also said she could tell something was wrong because I was being so quiet. She said it unnerved her. Anyway, I was quite pleased I'd made an effort because she noticed that I wasn't being very flexible and put in some extra exercises for me. By the end of the class, I was warmed up enough to do them. I might try doing some pilates on Sunday morning.
This is it, everyone. I'll give you an update on Friday to tell you if I go for that 20 minute jog, but I'm nearly there. Ready or not, it's race time. So there's just time to say: if you haven't sponsored me yet, and you're still reading this, then please consider doing so. If I don't know you, and you've enjoyed the blog, just write "love the blog"! - there is a link at the top right of the screen. And if I do know you, please remember that your support means everything to me. Oh, and if you live abroad... I checked, and Just Giving can accept your donation!
THANKS xx
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