When I finally began to believe that I could actually run a marathon I signed up for Manchester in September last year, around 8 months before the event. I had just completed the Great North Run with no ill effects at all and feeling great, so it seemed like a good idea. What could possibly go wrong? Judging by my luck, anything up to, and including, a nuclear war.
A couple of months down the line, however, things were going great. I wasn't following a set plan; I felt that decent physio and running experience had given me enough knowledge to be able to listen to my body and judge what I was able to do without one and it was working.
On December the 3rd I had built myself up to a 20 mile run. It went very well. I was tired at the end, but had no aches, pains or blisters. After the run I remembered the best bit of running research I have heard in a long while; that the best thing to consume after long runs for recovery, is chocolate milk. I don't care if those good professorial types at the university have got it totally wrong, I am going to believe that piece of research until the day I die!
The next day I had the tiniest amount of soreness and that was it. I was ridiculously pleased. Considering my injury record this was a real triumph. My thoughts turned from just finishing, to finishing in a (relatively) decent time. All was well.
Then I got ill. I had always supposed that if anything would scupper me, it would be injuries, illness hadn't even occurred to me. Still, it was just a bad cold, it'd be gone soon enough, right? 10 days later, I was just about better and previous experience had taught me that I could run at the very end of a cold and the resultant boost to my immune system would kill off the last of the cold.
As it turned out, I learned a valuable lesson that day; whilst a run may help to finish off a dying cold, a too long run may well start it up again.
The cold came back with a vengeance and all its mates. Another 10 days later the germs were just about done with their party in my sinuses. I tentatively started running again. A few days later, I got flu (real flu, not one of those bad colds that people get and call them flu) for only the 3rd time in my life. My temperature was raised for 5 days, and for 3 of those days it was above 39 degrees.
When the flu finally buggered off back to the bowels of hell from whence it had come, my chest felt like that of a 70 year-old career smoker. I'm sure my asthma didn't help with that. Worse than that though, was that my calves had forgotten that I am a runner and had decided to retire. When they were forced to get out of the rocking chair and grab a zimmer frame, they retaliated by tightening up during every run.
No problem though- I had had this happen before. I ran through what solved it last time. Taking my time building the distance, frequency and speed of my running; ice, heat, massage and glute exercises.
To cut a long and not-very-exciting story shorter, time has started to seriously run out before the marathon.
I realised that my long run each weekend would need to to increase dramatically each week. More than dramatically, drastically, dreadfully, draftily. (I may have run out of words at the end there)
And so I set myself a suicidal schedule: 10 miles, 12, 15, 18, 22, marathon. No time for tapering.
Last week was the 15. It wasn't good. At 6km my calves were sore, at 8km they began to be painful. By 12km they were fine again and I only just felt them for the rest of the run. At 16km my right shoulder began to hurt like a tooth ache and stayed with me for the next 2k. At 19km my left hip started to hurt and became very painful. It helpfully stayed with me until the end of the run. Finishing was a real mental effort (in both senses of the word)
The next day things were a lot better than I feared. Not too much soreness. I was hanging on to the plan by the skin of my teeth. A sports massage on Wednesday had me feeling much better and I managed a 45 minute 10k and a nice easy 5k.
This Sunday dawned with mercifully better weather for my 18 mile run. I even donned shorts for the first time this year. And nery a boat crashed in to the rocks of Leeds that day thanks to the light houses that are my lower legs.
I set off at a ridiculous pace, especially considering last week's run. But I listened to my body and it was fine. I decided to trust how I felt. The run went well. This time no hip pain. The calves were sore, but they weren't that bad and they didn't get worse and at times I couldn't really feel them. I completed the 18 miles in 2 hours 15, at a pace 10 seconds per km quicker than the 15 miles the week before.I couldn't help but feel that a lot of it was due to this week's reading.........
Scott Jurek's book, Run and Eat, is a fascinating read so far (Don't spoil the end for me, I have 60 pages to go) His tips about remembering to enjoy running, on breathing and the psychology helped me during the 18 miler.
Today I had a wonderful moment that I described as being like finding money in the pocket of a jacket you haven't worn for months, but not just a tenner, more like £100! I realised that I had miscounted when I calculated the time I had left until the marathon. Turns out I have an extra week.
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