DNS (The York Marathon)

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These are going nowhere

There is much discussion in the running community about the relative merits of DNS (Did not start) versus DNF (Did not finish)........

I want you to imagine a film scene.

A black screen, with only the sound of a wind so sharp that it sounds like it could cut you in two.

Slowly, a dim light fades in and begins to reveal a gravestone. As our view continues to widen there is a loud, booming sound like a heavy book dropped from the balcony of a silent library and a large letter D is stamped on to the gravestone.

The camera continues to zoom out and pan right uncovering a second gravestone. Another boom and  a letter N is stamped on this stone.

A third stone appears out of the gloom and the letter S is heralded by another loud crashing sound.

The camera stops. The wind howls and screams. We take in the morbid scene.

Slowly the first gravestone begins to topple forward taking an age to fall gently forward before it smashes into the ground shattering into thousands of pieces and lifting a cloud of dust. Then the second gravestone falls forwards and once again disturbs the ancient ground. It is followed a split second later by the third and final gravestone. The film switches to slow motion and we watch as the cloud of dust swirls around in the wind.

Fade to black.

To DNS or to DNF, that is the question.

Yes, I know I'm a drama queen but nearly every runner will, at some point, face the agonising decision of whether to start a race not knowing if they are going to finish, or to simply not start it. DNS v DNF. I faced such a decision a couple of weeks ago.

If you read my last blog, you'll know that I took quite a heavy tumble during my last race- the Ian Hodgson Mountain relay. I badly injured my shoulder and arm and the strength has been slowly returning ever since. Although that still isn't better, I can run with it fine and it doesn't slow me down, however, my right knee, which wasn't a problem at the time of the run, became a problem in the following days. When I ran again, the following Wednesday, I began to experience a sharp pain in my right knee after a couple of miles and, to cut a long story short, it's continued ever since. 

The day before the York marathon I went out for a final run, having taken a few days off to see if my knee would be ok. One slow 5 mile run later, the obvious answer was no, it wouldn't. 

I had gone backwards and forwards thinking about it, should I or shouldn't I? I really didn't want to miss the race as I was very lucky to get in- it sold out inside 72 hours- amazing for an inaugural event. The York marathon was supposed to be my first sub 3 hour marathon or at the least, my "Good for Age" qualifying time for an automatic place in to the London marathon. But would I get round? Would I end up finishing really slowly? Or not at all? Would I put myself out for weeks if I did it and miss a couple other races I signed up for? Was it worth the risk?

The run on Saturday confirmed that there was no way I would get all the way around 26.2 miles. The knee just wouldn't put up with it. A shorter race I might have been able to tough it out, 10 or 15 miles maybe, but a marathon is a step up. The wall can hit you like a ton of bricks at 18 miles. Reluctantly I took the decision to withdraw and posted to facebook. The sympathy I received was nice to read. 

For the rest of the week I enjoyed reading about all my friends finishing the race and looking at their photos. For quite a few of them it was their first marathon. I was a little more gutted, but very pleased for them.

So, in retrospect, did I make the right decision? I have to say yes. The knee is still painful and I can only manage a couple of miles before it gets very sore. I had no choice. I still want to lower my 10k time before the end of the year and I need to give myself the best chance of being fit for the two 10k's I have signed up for, starting with Scarborough tomorrow.

Race Review: The Ian Hodgson Mountain Relay 6/10/13

If you enjoy this blog, please do leave a comment at the end or you can tweet me @scott_leach 

River Deep, Mountain High

I joined Horsforth Fellandale quite a few months ago now, but have only managed to run 3 fell races since, The Otley Chevin Fell Race, The Stirton Fell Race and The Belper Rugby Rover 30k, due to me having signed up to quite a few road races well in advance and also because of my propensity to face-plant. So when I was asked if I would like to be part of Fellandale's team for the upcoming Ian Hodgson Mountain Relay race, I jumped at the chance.

At the time I didn't realise what a big deal this race is on the fell running circuit. The race is held in memory of the tragic death of Ian Hodgson whilst cycling in Leeds the day after winning his category in the Karrimor Mountain marathon and this year would be the relay's 26th running. You can read about the history of the race here.

The relay is run in pairs over 4 legs, so 8 runners in each team. There is a limit of 80 teams and each year it could be sold out several times. The calibre of the field is very high as each club sends out its best runners. Fellandale have finished well down the field in recent years but this year a couple of faster runners were involved and it sounded like there was hopes to finish a little higher than the second-from-last of a year or two ago.

I was teamed with Adrian on the 4th and final leg of the relay. My road race times are a little quicker than Adrian's (Though I suspect that is a lot more to do with a lack of races on Adrian's part than me actually being faster) but on an ascent Adrian is a street ahead of me. Our leg was around 7 miles with a lot of ascent and descent. I did my usual trick and forgot to turn on my GPS watch as we set off and only remembered about 30 minutes in. I also forgot to turn it off at the end. I really should get checked for early onset dementia. Anyway, here's the elevation we would be facing. The leg started and finished at around the same elevation so about 200m of the beginning of the ascent are missing.

Simon picked me up at an un-flying-spaghetti-monster type time on a Sunday morning for the 2ish hour drive up to the lakes. On the way our conversation rambled around as they usually do. I felt pretty guilty for having missed the recce of the route that Adrian did so I was entirely reliant on him for directions meaning the helpful pointers Simon gave me about what to expect from the race were very welcome.
As we got closer to the lakes the weather started to change until we entered thick fog with visibility dropping to only a few yards. It turned out to be only in one valley and we passed through it, but when we arrived at the start point in Patterdale it was clear at ground level, but the tops were shrouded in mist.

The start area was like a small county fair. I enjoyed a gorgeous bacon sandwich and cup of tea before looking around a stall set up by the famous Pete Bland sports. In hindsight, I should have been looking for some decent fell running shoes, but more of that later.

We walked round to see the mass start and arrived a bit late so basically watched a lot of arses disappearing down the track.

We met up with Adrian at Brotherswater for the start of the 4th leg and by now the weather was closing in. Earlier in the week I realised I needed to buy a waterproof running jacket to adhere to the rules, so off I went on a hunt for said item. And what a hunt it was. The FRA (Fell Runners' Association) have stipulated this year that your waterproof jacket must have taped seams and this more than doubles the price of a jacket. Urgh! After a long search that involved a lot of miles I ended up with an Inov8 raceshell 220. Hardly a snip at £120, but I decided that it was a waste of time spending £50 for one without the taped seams only to have to buy one next year. The rain began to fall whilst we waited for the 3rd leg runners, Ben and Simon, to get to us, so both Adrian and I donned our jackets. Good job the duct tape on Adrian's jacket held in the awful weather to follow.
The other rules included everyone carrying a compass and whistle and at least one map between each duo to go with the full set of waterproofs. I decided on taking my cheapy supermarket backpack with the bladder in it, which was a bad mistake. Everyone else was wearing a simple, light, bum bag and no one else was carrying water. Another lesson learnt.

The picture Simon took with panoramic mode on his iPhone has helpfully made me extra wide. Thanks for that, Apple. See that mountain behind us? We ran up that....

We found out later that Ben and Simon had taken a detour in the fog and had lost about 10 minutes, so Adrian and I only just beat the mass start (If your team hasn't come in by the cut off the rest of the teams are set off) We had started to get very cold as we waited and Adrian, only 1 week from the Berlin marathon and still full of cold, was visibly shivering .

Watching the 3rd leg runners from the other teams coming in was a great experience, sometimes inspiring, sometimes hilarious. Some runners were taking it incredibly seriously despite being in with no chance of a podium finish; if I had to guess, I'd say they must have been trying to break their PBs from last year. Down the hill they came flying and desperately waved their dibbers about trying to work out which heavily-hi-viz-jacketed marshall had the dibber thingy. (Each team carries a "dibber" a small electronic device which tracks your split time each time you "dib" in at the checkpoints) Some of the not-exactly-spring-chicken runners came down the hill at tremendous speeds and as always, the sight made me more determined to be one of those crazy old buggers in the future. One guy came down and I actually thought he was wearing a mask- you know the one- a very old and wrinkled face with very long white hair, and he was really flying. He had to be at least in his 70's.

Eventually we spotted Simon. He was chasing Ben and looked absolutely knackered to my eyes. Simon hadn't ever run with Ben before and had been told by the Hodgson family that Ben was a walker more than a runner and not really very fast. This was a gross misrepresentation, Ben is a real flyer!

They dibbed in and handed the little device to us and off we went. It really didn't take long before we started the ascent and got our first sight of the Bingley ladies that we would battle on and off with until close to the end of the race. The ascent was brutal and it felt neverending. I felt we did very well to keep running for quite a bit until the mountain got the better of us and we began to walk. Around 3/4 of the up I was struggling badly and Adrian was still climbing relentlessly. "I wouldn't mind if we took a break" I said. Adrian answered with a nonchalant "Ok" which apparently belied the relief he felt when I suggested a break.
We stopped only briefly and plowed on again.

Despite the fact Adrian had reconnoitered the leg in bad weather and the weather was now coming in badly, his memory of the route was truly amazing. He managed to warn me each time we came to a false summit so I wasn't suddenly expecting to start the descent.

At the top the weather turned ugly and the wind whipped the rain in to our faces like a psychopathic jailer. It was so ferocious that I ran with the hood up on my jacket for a fair distance as the side of my face felt like it was being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles. The visibility dropped to only a few dozen yards but this didn't stop the magnets in Adrian's head from keeping us on the right track. I suspect he is part pigeon.

Not long after we reached the summit, Adrian started us off on the slapstick fell running that we decided to adopt for the rest of the race. And when I say "we" I mean "me". But anyway, Adrian started it by taking the first tumble. I watched in terror as Adrian landed heavily and didn't move for a second whilst he regathered his wits. He came up with is knee bloodied. "Are you ok?!" I really thought that our race was over.
"Knee's a bit sore" he said, stoically, before carrying on seemingly unaffected.

With the weather lashing us mercilessly we followed the path as it went up and down the peaks and I began to pull Adrian along; the Berlin marathon, cold and the fall taking its toll on him. And then I started. Down I went and found myself staring at lakeland rock. I came up bloody and muddy but I was ok. A lucky escape. Just minor damage.
At this point the Bingley girls were with us. Time and again we would over take them, only to find them coming down the next peak at a better angle, and moving back in front of us. Slightly guiltily, each time we saw their better lines we fell in behind them using their route to over take them.

The visibility dropped even further as we reached the final summit. The marshalls had spread out a bit to help the runners as we dibbed in. You could have run within a few feet of the checkpoint and missed it easily.
Then we began the descent of St Sunday Crag on soaking wet and slippery rock.
Which is when the main disaster of my race struck. I fell again, this time landing heavily on my right forearm, ramming my shoulder upwards. I let out a loud cry and lay still for a minute as I mentally examined the damage and waited for the initial shock and pain to subside. "Take your time!" Adrian said as I uttered expletives.
I sat up and my shoulder was hurting like hell. It felt a bit like the really nasty injury I had done to myself only a few months before that had left me unable to run for several weeks. I flexed the shoulder back and forth and it was sore, but it felt ok. We set off again and I realised that I had also badly stubbed my big toe in the fall or maybe it was what caused the fall. Either way, it was throbbing badly and was making it difficult to run. After a while I had to ask Adrian to walk for a bit. A few minutes later the pain eased and I was able to run again. Unfortunately the sore shoulder was making it difficult to throw out my arms, badly affecting my balance and as we started to descend I was struggling awfully. I was all over the place slipping and sliding. I couldn't adjust my balance quickly enough and I could barely stay upright. I was trying to keep on at the same pace to catch the Bingley girls that had passed us while I was sitting on the ground.
I slipped again and sat down heavily and I knew it was game over. I was going to have to take the rest of the descent carefully. The trail trainers I had on were also entirely inadequate for getting down this sort of rock in the rain and the inner soles had bunched up inside the toes of the shoes. Another lesson learned- I won't be taking on the mountains in trail shoes again!

The rest of the race was tough. Just trying to keep my feet was a real challenge and I wasn't sorry when I saw the final field and the finishing straight.

That's Adrian and me in the distance

As we crossed the field we started to sprint so we'd at least look reasonable as we finished.

The crowd went wild and crazy as we crossed the line...or not.

We were made to show our race numbers in case we had turned delirious in the mountains and gave the wrong number verbally. We also had our packs checked to ensure we were carrying the required kit. Then a surreal moment- one of the Hodgsons was standing in the entrance to the finish helping take the numbers then when I walked on a few feet- there he was again, wearing different clothes. Maybe I was a little delirious as it took me a moment to work out they were twins.

We had got in just in time to see the multitude of prizes given out (Not that we came close to getting one)
that consisted of sports books and beer. As we stood watching my injuries began to clamour for attention. My shoulder was stiffening badly and eventually I needed to go change out of the wet clothes which involved using the back of Simon's car. Trying to get out of soaking wet clothing with a badly damaged arm and shoulder  in a confined space was a real experience. It would have been quite a sight had anyone ventured by.

Afterwards, numerous people asked if I had enjoyed my first experience of fell running in the lakes. At the time I reserved judgement, I was in lots of pain and feeling pretty sorry for myself. But now, in retrospect, I'm in lots of pain and feeling pretty sorry for myself. So no, I can't say I enjoyed it, but not because of the race - that's fantastic - just because I got so much wrong and have ended up injured and still am as I write this three weeks later.

The Fellandale team finished 61st which was an improvement over the results of recent years. Here's the team, minus me as I was struggling away in the back of a car.

Not sure what that person is doing on the floor behind Simon......

Damage Report:

First the good news- by the next day the stubbed toe was pain-free. 

And now the bad news- the next day I could not move my elbow up more than a few inches and not because of the pain, but because I had no strength in it. A few days later, at training, Adrian (A doctor in A&E) confirmed what I thought- I had done some nerve damage in the fall. A bundle of nerves runs down the shoulder and under the arm pit. I had given them a good old twang. Since then, the strength has come back a little bit each day but I am still probably only at 60% in that arm.

Worse than that was my right knee. At the race I hadn't noticed it, and in fact I didn't notice it for a few days until I went for a run and got stabbing pains after a couple of miles. It too is getting better, but is still causing me problems.

Damn- I feel like a proper fell runner now!

But the worst damage (for a Yorkshireman) was the rip in the elbow of my expensive, brand-spanking new jacket on its maiden voyage. Getting it repaired turned into a bit of an epic and left me feeling pretty disappointed with Inov8. To summarise- I emailed Inov8 to ask them how I would access their repair service, only to be told they didn't have one. I expressed my amazement that a high-end technical clothing manufacturer who specifically makes clothing for extreme conditions didn't have a repair service! Then the emails got surreal- they suggested I could use duct tape (I told them that suggesting amateur repairs wasn't helpful and I had contacted them so that I could get a professional repair) then they told me on googling they had found a repair service. I replied that I am capable of using google myself- I was trying to access THEIR repair service or at least an approved one. In the end, it wasn't until I made a fuss on their facebook page that they sent me an email asking me to send it to them, which I did.(and the facebook discussion promptly disappeared) I then didn't hear from them for a while so I emailed asking what had happened (It being an expensive jacket I had sent it special delivery so knew that they had received it) They explained that they were trying to find a suitable service and that it was difficult because the hole was in the elbow. I eventually got the jacket back after about 2 weeks with the repair done. The repair is very good in that it is very very waterproof still, but it doesn't look amazing because the rip wasn't sewn or pulled together in any way before the patch was put on on the inside. Good job I want it for practicality and not for poncing about in.
I have to say, this has really made me feel very wary about buying another Inov8 product. I wasn't actually trying to get a free repair for the jacket; I had been very impressed with the abuse it had taken and was entirely responsible for the damage that I had eventually done to it- I just wanted the repair done properly. Hopefully they now have something in place for when this happens next; I cannot imagine that, given the sort of things that people do in Inov8 jackets, that they won't get a lot more enquiries of this nature.

I'd still do it again

Crazy I know, but you read right. The race was a disaster for me personally, but it really is a great race. It's really well run and amazing fun in a brilliant location.  Next year, all being well, I'll be back armed with some experience and a better pair of shoes!

My Runner's love letter to my body

You've read the title of this post and you're wondering where I am going with this one. Don't worry, I'm not about to boast about my decidedly average body, but yeah, it probably is a bit hippy. (The post, not my body)

That's right, it's possible to be really happy whilst running! (I'm in the white GB vest)

A few years ago, I became totally fed up with my lack of running. GPs and surgeons had told me my knees were knackered and that I should avoid impact. The surgeon wanted to poke a camera in to my knee but he "managed my expectations" by down-playing any possible benefit that I might have. He dismissively mentioned physio but gave it little chance of success (he couldn't have been more wrong) .
That was when I decided to spend all of the tiny amount of disposable income I had on a specialist physio and give him the long, long list of my aches and pains that started at the soles of my feet and made a slow, painful journey up my body and ended at my shoulders. Best money I have EVER spent.
For the next year, whilst the physio and I worked hard, chasing the pains around my body with various exercises and stretches, I really only managed to run a couple of 5ks a week. Any more and my shins would start screaming, but at least the noise from my shins would drown out the shouting from my back, hips, ankles, etc. etc, etc.

In frustration I posted this status on Facebook:

Dear body, I feel I have been very patient with you over the last two years. All I really want to do is be able to run for long distances. You, however, do not seem to want to let me. I have pampered you in every way I could. How can you forget the two stones I lost for you? I now feel it is time for you to wind your frigging neck in (not literally) and just let me run. Please. I beg of you. With affection, Scott

Now, I feel that it has relented, so it is time to write to my body again......

Dear Body,

I've been meaning to write to you for a while, but this time, it's to thank you.
A couple of years ago we were going through a really bad time together. I began to fear that we would never see eye to eye; that communication between us would forever be strained and that we would never fulfil my dream of running freely.
I had neglected you, I admit it. I had put poor quality fuel in to you and failed to maintain you properly. I let you grow out of shape. It was a shameful period and I apologise. No wonder our relationship suffered. It was my fault and I am sorry.

2 years later and my Manchester marathon medal hangs in the kitchen and I couldn't be more proud of you.
Time and again I have asked you to rise to a challenge and despite the problems, the set backs, the blood, toil, tears and sweat, you have achieved each one.
Many times I thought this day would never come, so I can barely begin to tell you how very grateful I am.
Allowing me to run 18.5 miles off road for the first ever time on Sunday was a real high point. Truly, you were fantastic!

3 years ago I plodded around the Leeds 10k in 48 minutes (albeit beating my 50 minute target) with painful shins, bursting lungs and burning muscles. Today, I run several minutes faster than that in training and with little to no pain. From where we started, this seems incredible to me. I never dreamed I could reach this point, but together we worked towards this goal and discovered what we could accomplish. I am immensely proud that we put in this work despite the problems.

Look what I put my body through, and yet it forgives me!

I doubt you will ever grace the cover of "men's health" because let's face it, we like beer and pizza too much to have 6% body fat. But! The moobs are gone, clothes fit properly and I would no longer scare Gok Wan in a changing room.We may never win a race (then again who knows? Maybe we will) but that's not the ultimate aim anyway and I am very grateful for the progress we have made and the improvement I feel in all things.

Now we seemed to be in sync. We like each other, we talk and the recriminations are gone. I can now believe we have a long and wonderful relationship to look forward to. Even better, we now have a brilliant and dirty ménage a trois going on with Running and it's amazing to think how well this little threesome gets on these days, especially considering just how much you two used to bicker.

I know that I have to keep you happy too. I don't mind forgoing some of the food and alcohol that I would otherwise consume and I don't mind buying you special clothing, corn plasters for your nipples and paying for your massages. These are small prices to pay considering what you do for me.

So many people questioned my faith in you. They told me you were too old, that you had too many issues, that you would let me down in the end. They were wrong, very wrong. You have stepped up to the challenge. We still have some way to go before I achieve everything I want to, but I now know that we will get there, rather than just hoping that we will.

So thank you body. Thank you for carrying me to places I feared were beyond me. Thank you for learning to live with my ever-increasing demands. Thank you for learning to work with me instead of against me. Thank you for listening to me and giving me feed-back when needed.

Thank you. I can now honestly say, I love you.

Your faithful servant,

Scott

Me and my body, working together, having fun. Smiling like Grommit

A Runner's Guide to Face-Planting

Feel free to say hello in the comments or tweet me: @scott_leach

Some fine reading to be had in them thar books

face-plant

 - vb 1. (intr) To fall on to one's face, usually during a sporting activity, as a consequence of tripping and falling, often in a way that is humorous only to the on-looker and not to the face-plantee.

- n 2. The act or instance of falling on to one's face.

As a child I played lots of different sports but I don't remember having face-planted very often. Perhaps it's not the sort of thing you choose to commit to memory. I do however, remember chasing a player down the wing during a rugby league training session, as our paths coincided I flung myself at his legs. Somehow I managed to make a huge mess of it and speared myself in to the floor, face first. Nothing more was damaged then my dignity and I quickly got up and played on.
A few years later I managed to face-plant from my bike. I was crossing my old school's running track on my racer when I misjudged lifting my front wheel on to the grass. I went straight over the handle bars and snapped my collar bone. My audience was about 20 school children.

As I wasn't a skate boarder and parkour hadn't been invented my chances to face-plant whilst a child were perhaps limited. As an adult, the consequences of a face-plant can be much more serious. You could break the bottle of wine you've just bought, smash the screen of your smart phone, break your neck of femur or all three.

So, with no race this weekend I planned to hit it hard in training. Of course, as a mouse, my plans oft gang agley....

On Wednesday I trotted around the Chevin with Simon and Phil of Fellandale, following Phil as he plunged down banks and off the paths, thoroughly enjoying myself. Half way around the run, Simon managed a poor-effort of a face-plant. He didn't really get his face right in to the ground and did little to no damage, apart from possibly his pride. Phil and I, not being morons or children, knew that these things can be serious and actually, they're not funny. So we asked if he was alright. He has a pretty serious long race coming up and has been preparing and training for it for a long time, missing it due to  fall on his local run would be a disaster. So we were pleased to see him bounce back up with no real problems and carry on. 

We talked about falling as we carried on running and I decided to shout out, "Oy! Fate! You're a big girl's blouse, come here while I tweak your nipples and give you a wedgie" Not literally of course, but as good as. I waxed lyrical about how I rarely fall. How I have a low centre of gravity and that though I may trip and/or stumble, generally, I regain my feet. Oh no, I don't fall often....

Fate didn't like this and obviously believes that revenge should be delivered on a chilled platter. On Friday this week, it donned an apron, prepared a lovely meal, turned up in the Chevin with a clean tea-towel draped over an arm and hid behind a corner waiting for me.

I don't have a problem, I can give up trainers any time I like

I woke on Friday quite excited. A whole day off, no injuries, a car full of petrol and the world was my running lobster. After talking myself out of an attempt at the 3 peaks, I decided to do a couple of laps of the Chevin with full pack as training for getting used to carrying what I would need on a long trail/fell run.

Fate must have been in a good mood that day as she did try to warn me. I forgot my GPS watch and instead of taking this as a sign of not to run, I decided that I would have lunch at the Cheerful Chilli, read a bit more of the Brownlee brothers' book, then nip back for my watch. Even when it turned out the Cheerful Chilli was closed, I didn't take that hint, I just changed plans to eat at home instead. 

Yes- I know I could have run without the watch, but as my first training run with full pack, I really wanted to see what distance I covered and at what speed.

Later that afternoon I returned with my watch and set off running. I was already blowing hard with 2k covered when I rounded a corner. A very innocuous corner on a very well made and even part of the trail. A split second later I found myself lying face down on the floor, wheezing for breath, winded.

Looking behind me it seems I had tripped over a rock. Not even a small rock. A big rock. An obvious rock. How the hell had I missed it? I had just run directly through the forest, off the path, managing to miss roots and branches and covering completely uneven ground with no problems and I had tripped over a giant rock, smack in the middle of the path. It wasn't even hiding, it was obvious. Or it was fate sticking out her foot. Yeah, that's what it was. Well played fate, well played.

There was no stumble from which to recover,  no warning at all. I wasn't able to brace myself or lessen the fall in any way, I had already hit the ground before I knew what was happening.

I was grateful no one else was around, not because of the embarrassment factor, but because I hate having to wave away the offers of help and assuring them I am ok.  When I got to my feet, everything felt reasonably ok and I walked for a minute to regain the breath that had been knocked out of me. When I tried to run I discovered a sore patch on my side, just below my right pec, that was pretty painful. I stopped again and walked to give me a minute or so more to recover then I tried to run again. No chance. I knew my running was over for the day.

On the way home I did a couple of errands with the pain building in my ribs. By the time I got home it was becoming difficult to move. I assessed my injuries and was amazed at the amount of damage I had managed to do to myself. Grazes above my right eye, my right shoulder, my right forearm, a knuckle on my right hand and the outside of my right knee. By far and away the worst is the injury to my ribs. Also, to make it a little worse, I had to face up to the fact that most likely, the injury to my ribs was caused by landing on my own arm.

Seriously though, how do you manage to hit the floor with 6 points of contact?! That has to be some sort of talent.

If only I had looked more like this on Friday

The next morning getting out of bed was a real ordeal. Moving any part of my upper body was agony. I hadn't cracked a rib or punctured a lung, but moving anything on my body shot pains through my whole torso. Applying ice just made it further stiffen up and caused more pain. Thankfully, applying heat, via a heat-wheat pack loosened it off and lessened the pain. 

This morning I woke up in a slightly better state, I had managed to get comfortable in bed and had slept well. I'm still stiff and I think it is going to be a while before my next run, but at least it's beginning to get better. I now begin another battle to be better before my next scheduled race, the Humber Bridge half marathon in 2 week's time.

Telling Simon about my fall and how I felt silly after having told him about how I rarely fell, he mentioned that he had felt pretty silly that he had been talking about the grips on his numerous different trainers just before he had fallen. Fate, what a fickle little madam. 

So to summarise, if one wishes to face-plant effectively with maximum impact, one must:

1) Ensure to have thoroughly pissed off fate by telling everyone of how unlikely you are to fall, or something similar.

2) Go straight to ground at speed, no stumbling which could lessen the impact or enable you to brace yourself.

3) Make sure one has an audience, preferably of giggling school children.

4) Make sure someone has it on video so you can be laughed at around the world via the wonder of youtube.

5) If you can land in muddy water to cause a spectacular splash, this is all the better.

6) If performed in front of an audience, ensure you ask for marks out of 10

If it's not injury, it's illness

When my multitude of injuries finally began to fade in to the background, I began to believe that due to the work I had done, I was far less likely to get injured again. Hopefully, that's true. What I didn't expect to scupper me, was illness.
A few posts ago I described how I became ill with successive colds and then a really nasty flu over Christmas and how long it had taken me to finally get back running. The last few weeks things had been going well. I completed my first marathon, recovered well, then began speed training again. For the first time since the illnesses over Christmas, I had no calf problems. In fact, I had no problems at all.
Which is, of course, why sod's law has been applied to me yet again.

Sod's Law: Category: Sport. No 29845. Subsection 4:
"If one has finally over come one's running injuries after a long period of problems; one will come down with a lurgy. A lurgy like you have never known before. Expect to see purple boils, projection of bodily fluids that could win an Olympic throwing event, a temperature like the surface of the sun and hallucinations surreal like a Mighty Boosh episode."

No running pics this week, so here's a picture of my lion-head rabbit, Mufasa, instead

I was really looking forward to my first outing at the Leeds' half marathon yesterday. Ironically, my entry this year was a deferred entry from last year because of injury. During the week I felt the first tickle in my throat. I did what I could, vit c, zinc, fluids, etc..  All to no avail. I had to move house on Saturday and the house move finally pushed me over from feeling a little under the weather, to feeling like I had run, mouth open, in to the Gillette factory and swallowed for all I was worth.  Even so, I wasn't going to let a sore throat stop me, it would just stop my attempt at a PB. I am, after all, a medal whore. I could saunter round and collect my winnings.
But no. Sunday morning came and I knew there was no chance. The infection had migrated downwards, once again pouring cement in to my lungs. As an asthmatic, I have to be careful. Usually my asthma is well controlled and it doesn't effect my running; but if a chest infection gets me, it can floor me.
Not to give you too much detail, but my cough has become productive and every cough is very painful. So no running for me, but even worse, no work. As a contractor, this isn't good news.

The frustration that runners experience when they can't run is well documented, especially when you start to miss races and especially ones you've already paid for. (The Yokshireman in me again)
This weekend is the Jane Tomlinson 10k in Hull, my home city. Another race I have been looking forward to very much. It's flat and another I had hope for a PB at. No doubt this week will include some difficult choices, unless the choice is taken away and I stay too ill.
The decision of when to restart training is always very difficult. Too soon, or too much and it's easy to become ill again; it's a mistake I've made before and am keen not to make again.

Well, I will keep this short and go back to my wallowing on the sofa (At least I am now sitting back on my own, huge, comfortable sofa now) Wish me well in my convalescing!