The Little Micra has developed another ailment. A fairly minor one, annoying more than anything. Not a gamechanger, but another rustily subtle reminder that he is on his way out. I wondered about getting a new car, well a nearly new, but I think I'm genetically programmed to need the character of an older gentleman of the vehicle disposition. People with new cars get mad when they break, it's just not meant to happen. When the Micra breaks I get more grateful for every trip. Well done, little fellow, you are clinging on in there. Quite remarkably well I think, 50 runkly, noisy miles a day.
There are a few driving lessons better unlearned - like judging your speed by the noise and rattling of your uninsulated bubble, rather than the fully functioning speedometer. You have to be going very, very fast before a normal car reaches those decibels. Foot to the floor braking, taking off in third gear...those kinds of things make you look a bit heavy footed and incompetent in a car that doesn't need quite the same geeing up. Let's be more Top Gear and call it handling. It handles differently. Classically.
When I was wee it felt like there was a 50/50 chance the car would start, which fairly lowers your expectations of car travel. Imagine being grateful just for the car starting - that is a whole heap of grateful every single week. I learned, early on, the shame of breaking down in a heavily trafficked area. There's only so much you can do, and embarrassment doesn't get you far. We had some pretty cool break downs - Le Mans for one, Lockerbie (admittedly not as cool, but a spectacularly bad start to the many 100s of miles to the South of France. It may have been a sign from the Gods to turn back. Parentos didn't listen to the gods...). And witnessing these, I think, gave me an underlying calm when it came to driving (passengers in the early days might dispute that...).
There are not many things that teach you the power of confident driving in the face of terror and adversity like seeing your mother negotiate the series of roundabouts that is the Kingsway in Dundee with 4 young children in a rickety van that would not change out of third gear. What better way to learn about gears than seeing your father negotiate his way down a steep hill with a series of traffic lights, using only the gears and handbrake after the brakes failed. Apologising profusely to the police, Are you aware your brake light isn't working...? And now I feel, in the same situation I'd be...well maybe calm(er). How better to learn about patience than leapfrogging up the A9 in a Daimler Limousine that puffed steam when it got tired and needed a rest. Old cars, life lessons.
And then there are the practical lessons. Clearing rural Aberdeenshire of coolant to get you to the boat in time without overheating. That did involve scouring the manual to find where coolant went. Not as embarrassing as scouring the manual to find out how to open the bonnet so I could top up my screenwash. Less embarassing still than scouring the manual to find out what the bright blue D with the lines coming out of it meant, and why everyone was sheilding their eyes and flashing at me...that was, in my defence, my second outing in the Micra, having learned to drive in the height of summer.
And Jump starts and bump starts. I'm still not sure I know how to do the bump starting...having failed to jump start 3 times while plugged into an ambulance (thankfully I think the people they jump start have a better success rate) I opted out of being in charge of the bump start on the third length of the hospital car park, kindly pushed by the same ambulance men, when it dawned on me I might be doing it wrong...and there was surely only so much strain you should put on an on-shift member of the emergency services. The ever-helpful Gear was on hand to do the bump starting. I think she's a life-lessons-from-old-cars sort too.
I've never left my lights on since. Not because I have an alarm, but because I have learned. Calling an ambulance (not 999....) to jump start your car? That accelerates the learning to switch your lights off process dramatically.
More recently the little man has sprung a leak, leaving a soggy passenger footwell. Which lead to a hilarious example of good old British politeness, Oh God, I'm so sorry I forgot to tell you about the puddle I'm so sorry.... (after an hour round trip) Oh, no no! It's me, I always wear inappropriate shoes, my feet are always cold and wet! Really...?
Most recently one of the hydraulic stick things that opens the boot as started popping off if I close the boot to strongly (which I'm prone to doing having driven home from town once with the boot open, not noticing until I was nearly 20 miles in. It really is that loud and that cold in the Micra). I just pop it back on. As I said, not a game changer, but soon they might all add up, and all I'll be left with is one hydraulic stick with no more car to speak of...then I'll miss the little fellow.
Thursday, 14 May 2015
Wednesday, 13 May 2015
People I wish I was more like...
I've come across lots of people I wish I was more like. If I could squish all their good bits together like plasticine and smoosh them into one person I think that person would be pretty amazing. The best bits might not all work as one though.
The first person I remember wanting to be like was my best friend in Primary 1. I'm not sure why we were best friends, I think it was more circumstance than anything. We weren't particularly alike and I knew it. She was cool, sometimes she was even a little bit naughty. I've never been cool, and I climbed in a window in P2 but I wouldn't say I was naughty. Not naturally anyway, and feigned naughty just isn't the same. I didn't have much (of value to a 5 year old) to offer Stephanie. I could spell her name better than she could. That doesn't barter you much in P1. She was funny (for a 5 year old), she called me Woosy-Lucy a few times (in jest) but even my superior reading age couldn't come up with a rhyme for Stephanie. What can you do with "Stephanie"?
Stephanie didn't like Peanut Butter. I loved Peanut Butter.That had to stop...I sold my peanut butter soul for a best friend. Overnight I became a hater. No more peanut butter sandwiches, no more peanut butter on toast, I goaded people for liking it, I wasn't indifferent, I actively disliked it. I'd found something we could have in common and I ran with it...I didn't eat it for nearly 10 years. I relly don't think she noticed. The power of a 5 year old best friend...Then I started eating it out of the jar. In secret (the kind your mum knows all about, one of those secrets). Maybe this is the deep-seated psychological truth behind my secret eating...
I'm glad I've found myself now, so many years later, I haven't seen my 5 year old best friend for a long, long time. She ditched me in about P5 (it had been on the cards for a while. Since P1 in fact...). My new, assertive, peanut-butter smeared self don't change for noone! Well maybe someone with a severe peanut allergy...but noone else.
Anyway, the peanut butter tells a bigger story...which I think must in some way be connected to what I was going to say...
My friends are varied and not especially alike, the bestest of them are ones I want to be more like. Is that a bad thing? Maybe a little bit creepy-weird...? I like to think I just appreciate all their good bits, and the things I like about them are things I'd like to have too (mostly I'm better as a sidekick, but it's good to have aspirations...). I like these kinds of friends - people who make you a better version of you, bring out your best bits. I've tried to have a negatives cull. I don't have the tolerance I used to...so I'm selfishly looking out for myself - life is so much nicer without life sucking people. I saw a kids book about Bucket Fillers and Bucket Dippers - clear your life of bucket dippers, everything is so much brighter!
The people who can talk to anyone, who introduce themselves with confidence, who are unendingly, genuinely lovely, who always see the good in other people, who are life and soul of the party, the people people want to know, the funny people, the thoughtful people, the kind people, the people who dance and don't care, the people who can swear theatrically the people who can save a bad situation, the ones who always know what to say, who can shatter awkwardness, the people who never assume the worst, the helpers. The people who when you see them brighten your day, or make you reassess how you do things. Make you wish you hadn't commented, not because they make you feel guilty, but because you wish you'd reacted how they did. The man who, when I was in a charity bookshop and an odd man, edging around strangely, dropped his books and ran out of the shop, "Bit strange!" I said making conversation, "Oh aren't we all! Hope everything's ok" said shop man. I'd distanced myself from the man, peering over at him, whispering, he'd stood next to him and offered his kindness. I want to be more like him.
So I'm going to tell these people I want to be more like. They so often can't see it for themselves...go tell someone how they're super today.
(Currently auditioning as motivational speaker...encourager....vomit inducer...)
The first person I remember wanting to be like was my best friend in Primary 1. I'm not sure why we were best friends, I think it was more circumstance than anything. We weren't particularly alike and I knew it. She was cool, sometimes she was even a little bit naughty. I've never been cool, and I climbed in a window in P2 but I wouldn't say I was naughty. Not naturally anyway, and feigned naughty just isn't the same. I didn't have much (of value to a 5 year old) to offer Stephanie. I could spell her name better than she could. That doesn't barter you much in P1. She was funny (for a 5 year old), she called me Woosy-Lucy a few times (in jest) but even my superior reading age couldn't come up with a rhyme for Stephanie. What can you do with "Stephanie"?
Stephanie didn't like Peanut Butter. I loved Peanut Butter.That had to stop...I sold my peanut butter soul for a best friend. Overnight I became a hater. No more peanut butter sandwiches, no more peanut butter on toast, I goaded people for liking it, I wasn't indifferent, I actively disliked it. I'd found something we could have in common and I ran with it...I didn't eat it for nearly 10 years. I relly don't think she noticed. The power of a 5 year old best friend...Then I started eating it out of the jar. In secret (the kind your mum knows all about, one of those secrets). Maybe this is the deep-seated psychological truth behind my secret eating...
I'm glad I've found myself now, so many years later, I haven't seen my 5 year old best friend for a long, long time. She ditched me in about P5 (it had been on the cards for a while. Since P1 in fact...). My new, assertive, peanut-butter smeared self don't change for noone! Well maybe someone with a severe peanut allergy...but noone else.
Anyway, the peanut butter tells a bigger story...which I think must in some way be connected to what I was going to say...
My friends are varied and not especially alike, the bestest of them are ones I want to be more like. Is that a bad thing? Maybe a little bit creepy-weird...? I like to think I just appreciate all their good bits, and the things I like about them are things I'd like to have too (mostly I'm better as a sidekick, but it's good to have aspirations...). I like these kinds of friends - people who make you a better version of you, bring out your best bits. I've tried to have a negatives cull. I don't have the tolerance I used to...so I'm selfishly looking out for myself - life is so much nicer without life sucking people. I saw a kids book about Bucket Fillers and Bucket Dippers - clear your life of bucket dippers, everything is so much brighter!
The people who can talk to anyone, who introduce themselves with confidence, who are unendingly, genuinely lovely, who always see the good in other people, who are life and soul of the party, the people people want to know, the funny people, the thoughtful people, the kind people, the people who dance and don't care, the people who can swear theatrically the people who can save a bad situation, the ones who always know what to say, who can shatter awkwardness, the people who never assume the worst, the helpers. The people who when you see them brighten your day, or make you reassess how you do things. Make you wish you hadn't commented, not because they make you feel guilty, but because you wish you'd reacted how they did. The man who, when I was in a charity bookshop and an odd man, edging around strangely, dropped his books and ran out of the shop, "Bit strange!" I said making conversation, "Oh aren't we all! Hope everything's ok" said shop man. I'd distanced myself from the man, peering over at him, whispering, he'd stood next to him and offered his kindness. I want to be more like him.
So I'm going to tell these people I want to be more like. They so often can't see it for themselves...go tell someone how they're super today.
(Currently auditioning as motivational speaker...encourager....vomit inducer...)
(Or maybe just trying to make myself look lovely, without having to get up early enough to fancy myself up a bit...)
New shooooes (and "brief"ly, running pants...)
Buying new running things always feels a little bit like training, like it might make me a tiny bit better. The first few sessions of any period of running have always involved just wearing the clothes for me. Maybe going around the house dressed in running kit, maybe driving home in running kit (this one is difficult, sometimes the guilt of seeing people's admiration, hearing their congratulations, feeling their guilt at not exercising, brought on by my wearing running kit, is enough to tip me over the edge and make me run, when maybe I'm not quite ready. I think this is technically a preparation phase...). Now that I am running, I think having new kit (all bargains, Mother, don't fret...) counts as an extra session.
Apart from the shoes there are running pants. I think I've settled on the race day (r)underwear. An unlikely choice that need not be discussed and is, in any case, way overshadowed by an unexpected player, perfectly timed after the chub-rub chat. New leggings (or tights, they call them. Capri tights...). Not just any leggings, but ones that make me feel like I've larded up before going out, like a slippery eel, a greased pig, *almost* like I've lost all feeling in my legs (too tight? no....not like that), they're so slip-slidey there is zero friction as the Russian-power-lifter thighs glide past each other. You might even say like the hot-panted running ladies. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't felt it. They are amazing.
But they don't have a pocket. Any suggestions of where to keep my jelly babies would be appreciated. Note the new running pants are not an appropriate place to keep jelly babies...
Sunday, 10 May 2015
A sweaty beef tomato on a panting hippo body
Running's pretty sexy. So they say. All hot pants and crop-tops, swishy ponytails, single beads of (probably sugar sweet) sweat, fluttering eyelashes, long toned limbs loping along like a rippling race horse.
I thought it must happen from the very first step. The sexiness. Turns out it's a lie.
Running might lead to sexiness...but the actual running? No. Doesn't work out like that for me. On almost all counts...
Hot pants? This is a no go. This I found out for myself long ago, unfortunately, but my kind auntie offered the knowledge, a very auntie like piece of advice, I think - one of those things you really need to know (if you don't already) but that you'd only really get from a mum/sister/auntie, or maybe a best friend, but less likely.
"Chaffing" she said. "Chub rub?" I said. "Yes, I know chub rub..."
Unfortunately not just in running related incidents, but I'll stick with them. Chub-rub is why I wear leggings and not shorts. When I was on holiday, going for an early morning run (I knew about chub rub already, but had somehow convinced myself that early morning, warm weather running, along a beach in tropical climes would surely be so much like the sexy advert running I could do it in shorts and a vest. after maybe half a mile I was running like I was riding a tiny imaginery horse. Or had developed some kind of worrying pathological gait. People might have thought I'd suffered a small mid run stroke. It was unpleasant. And sore, really sore, which is difficult on a hot holiday. You have to learn to tie a sarong like a giant baggy nappy, or not be out of the pool long enough for the natural gliding powers of water to wear off. Or wear trousers (this last is probably kindest to society).
I should have known better. I won't be wearing shorts in Edinburgh.
I am starting to worry about all the mentions of "bodyglide" in the half-marathon tips I read...I'll see how I go in the 12 miles, apart from my feet towards the end of the biggies I don't think I've had any "gliding" problems, but maybe 12 will be a few steps too far. Investment in ShockAbsorber "Run" bras has taken care of the boob-blisters problem from a couple of years ago (thank goodness) but the bottom end of the (r)underwear situation remains unsolved. But not urgent. Don't worry. Or think about it anymore...I'm sorry.
"Swishy" ponytails...I've started growing my hair again after chopping it off in a moment of boredom last year. I'm getting married next year (still getting used to that idea...) and I think the more hair the better for whoever is beautfiying me. Worst case scenario we go for "the Cousin it" and ignore the face. I do have nice hair. So anyway, this new long hair. It keeps whipping me in the eye when I run. Which is quite sore and very annoying. Imagine being blinded by your own hair...and when the hair's not whipping me in the eye I'm trying to blink flies out of my eyes, which really puts a dampener on the pace.
Trying to hock a fly out of your eyelashes without poking your own eye out, while your ponytail whips you in the other eye, which is stinging from your own sweat dripping into it, as you run along on your tiny imaginery horse creating a safety gap to shield yourself from chub-rub...now that is sexy running. It's like a crystal maze challenge with no fluttery money prize.
And to top it all off the ginger-genes (see earlier mention of nice hair - I'm not anti-ginger, just recognising the downsides...) mean I turn full on pillar box red on exertion, for a long, long time afterwards. Seemingly only in the face department, so I look even more bizarre with my milky white neck/arms/legs and sweaty beef tomato head.
And apparently they take your photo and put it online for the world to see, tomato head-Quasimodo, blind in one eye, shuffling along in a river of my own sweat, cursing they insect life smooshed into my face. Keep posted for that...
3 weeks to go...
It's 3 weeks till half marathon day, I'll definitely be finished by now, on my own two legs or by sweepy bus. Hopefully the own two legs option. I've had a bit of a running lull this past couple of weeks, whether due to big runs or nights out I'm not sure, but it's been a bit of a chore.
I didn't do my proper runs this week, I went out, but not far or fast or with much effort, so come Friday I went for the "cross train" option on the plan and went for a swim. Swimming was good, I've not been in ages, was a bit busy for my liking , but no sign of the old swim-stalker (I have been seeing him a lot in Tesco recently, maybe he thinks I'm the stalker...). I did some over taking, frantic, and realised I don't know how to pull back in after an overtake, lest I kick someone in the face, so it was just a frantic dash to the end and turn and go.
So come Saturday I was ready to go, I was actually excited to run, and a little bit nervous. It was "just" 5 miles, not far enough to test out my "fuelling" plan thankfully, as someone ate all my jelly babies...I went around Spiggie, and actually ran, not fast by global standards, in the week that saw the anniversary of the 4 minute mile being broken, but fast by Lucy standards. And it felt so much better than usual. I was properly knackered at the end, my leggies were tired and it was hard but I felt like I ran instead of plodding. Hurray! Victory is mine! Not sure I could do another one and a half the same, but I think I've broken the feeling that I need to save myself (we'll see what I'm thinking to that next week as mile 10 comes and goes).
I'd be a bit annoyed if I got to the end of the half marathon and felt like I could've tried a bit harder...I'm all for just finish,make sure you finish. But I think I'm drifting away from thinking slow and steady is the way. Yesterday my pace varied massively - fast downhill, slow up, buying myself time on the way down. Seemed to work for yesterday - we'll see how the rest of the week goes.
Apart from the Run/Plod changeover the run highlights were beautiful Spiggie (as usual) and an otter! A chunky looking otter waddled down a burn as I ran past about 4 miles in. May be the best place to run ever...can't see a treadmill gym view beating that.
I've also gotten quite used to running without music. I always used to have music, to block out the noise of my struggling, and distract me. Which now seems silly, if it was so awful I needed musical distraction why was I doing it? Then I washed my iPod. Accidentally. I've never replaced it, but can't imagine running with music now, I like running for the thinking time, when I'm going far enough that there's a gap in the middle where I'm warmed up and managing, and not quite thinking about wanting to finish, then that's a little bit of time where I don't think I should be doing anything else, a little pocket of emptiness that I can fill with any thinks I want.
I think this is the main thing keeping me from running with other people. In some ways I like the idea - it might make me run a bit faster, it might make me run a bit further, but it does mean I wouldn't be on my own, I don't think I'd be a chatty runner, I don't particularly want to be gee'd along if I'm going slow. I'm quite looking forward to just running wherever I want when I'm done with this training, though I might need to have some kind of plan to make sure I do go...guess I'll find out in a few weeks if my motivation has come all the way back from Edinburgh with me.
An easyish week this week, then 12 miles on Sunday...I'm going to wallow in positive thoughts till then. Once I've written about the joys of chubrub and boob-blisters.
I didn't do my proper runs this week, I went out, but not far or fast or with much effort, so come Friday I went for the "cross train" option on the plan and went for a swim. Swimming was good, I've not been in ages, was a bit busy for my liking , but no sign of the old swim-stalker (I have been seeing him a lot in Tesco recently, maybe he thinks I'm the stalker...). I did some over taking, frantic, and realised I don't know how to pull back in after an overtake, lest I kick someone in the face, so it was just a frantic dash to the end and turn and go.
So come Saturday I was ready to go, I was actually excited to run, and a little bit nervous. It was "just" 5 miles, not far enough to test out my "fuelling" plan thankfully, as someone ate all my jelly babies...I went around Spiggie, and actually ran, not fast by global standards, in the week that saw the anniversary of the 4 minute mile being broken, but fast by Lucy standards. And it felt so much better than usual. I was properly knackered at the end, my leggies were tired and it was hard but I felt like I ran instead of plodding. Hurray! Victory is mine! Not sure I could do another one and a half the same, but I think I've broken the feeling that I need to save myself (we'll see what I'm thinking to that next week as mile 10 comes and goes).
I'd be a bit annoyed if I got to the end of the half marathon and felt like I could've tried a bit harder...I'm all for just finish,make sure you finish. But I think I'm drifting away from thinking slow and steady is the way. Yesterday my pace varied massively - fast downhill, slow up, buying myself time on the way down. Seemed to work for yesterday - we'll see how the rest of the week goes.
Apart from the Run/Plod changeover the run highlights were beautiful Spiggie (as usual) and an otter! A chunky looking otter waddled down a burn as I ran past about 4 miles in. May be the best place to run ever...can't see a treadmill gym view beating that.
I've also gotten quite used to running without music. I always used to have music, to block out the noise of my struggling, and distract me. Which now seems silly, if it was so awful I needed musical distraction why was I doing it? Then I washed my iPod. Accidentally. I've never replaced it, but can't imagine running with music now, I like running for the thinking time, when I'm going far enough that there's a gap in the middle where I'm warmed up and managing, and not quite thinking about wanting to finish, then that's a little bit of time where I don't think I should be doing anything else, a little pocket of emptiness that I can fill with any thinks I want.
I think this is the main thing keeping me from running with other people. In some ways I like the idea - it might make me run a bit faster, it might make me run a bit further, but it does mean I wouldn't be on my own, I don't think I'd be a chatty runner, I don't particularly want to be gee'd along if I'm going slow. I'm quite looking forward to just running wherever I want when I'm done with this training, though I might need to have some kind of plan to make sure I do go...guess I'll find out in a few weeks if my motivation has come all the way back from Edinburgh with me.
An easyish week this week, then 12 miles on Sunday...I'm going to wallow in positive thoughts till then. Once I've written about the joys of chubrub and boob-blisters.
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Newsflash - Wine Affects Athletic Performance
(negatively...in case there was doubt)
Another lesson learned. Like the "you should drink water when you run for more than a wee while" lesson it's something I already know. But there is a difference between knowing and knowing, the kind of knowing that comes from experience. Like, I know it's not a good idea to eat 18 bits of toast and a packet of biscuits, I know there isn't physically room for that without some discomfort, but knowing isn't enough to stop me trying. Then you know.
I know it's not a good idea to go south on the ferry in a storm when they've warned people not to travel. Of course I know that. But when you're clinging to the floor, your calming breaths and motivational pep-talk being interrupted by a squawky, old-enough-to-know-better Liverpudlian child puking at your feet, and you feel a little bit of sick soak through your sock (no parental intervention) and you wonder if murder on a boat in high seas is a forgiveable crime of passion. Then you know.
So today I did my first run after the 10 miler. I think the 10 miles affected me more than I thought, legs were a bit tired. But I think what affected me more than the 10 miles, was the 10 wines (<made up for number alliteration...I hope it wasn't 10...). I've not been out much at all this last couple of months, but when I have I have felt it for days afterwards. I like to think this is because I've morphed into an athlete. Part of me thinks it's because I'm getting old. Either way it is discouraging drink, which can only be a good thing I suppose.
I think the routine of a training plan is just making me notice. Something I did quite easily, like a sprightly spring lamb last week, sees me huffing and puffing like a condemned ewe this week. But I'll be better tomorrow. Tomorrow is "Tempo training" which sounds very fancy. I like to think I'm getting a little better at it - what was at first a change of speed imperceptible to the human eye is now a change of pace detectable by an actual measuring device, so tomorrow is the first step in my new get-faster master plan. Wish me luck...
Things I know this week - take it from me, you don't have to find out for yourself - it's a good idea to drink water when you're running, it might even be a good idea to eat something (thanks for the tips running ladies who've come with advice), and wine does not make me a better runner. I might go so far as to say it makes me considerably worse. And really grumpy. Like even more grumpy than usual. But I still know wine isn't necessarily bad. It means well.
These might seem obvious...I'm ok with that, I'm still working on the big things, not at the tiny margins stage quite yet.
Monday, 4 May 2015
Run, run, run as fast as you can
Even if as fast as you can is slow...
I'm 8 weeks in to my 12 week half marathon training. Which, scarily, means 4 weeks from now it'll be all over. Hopefully it won't have ended in the sweepy bus. If I out-run the sweepy bus I'll be happy, I'd like to go quicker, but arriving unsweeped will do me for a first attempt.
Training is going not too bad, I've had a couple of low motivation weeks this past 2 weeks, but I think I've caught up and am back on the wagon after a 10 miler on Saturday. This was my first ever double digit run, but unfortunately did involve quite a lot of run-walk-run-walk after the 7 mile mark. Due, I think to a mixture of unfitness and stupidity. I didn't have anything to drink with me. That was pretty stupid...lesson learned for my next long run. It did give me something to think about though, and the opportunity for some internal amateur dramatics. An internal monologue about your own slow death from thirst under a baking(ha!) Shetland sun, experiencing discomfort only before felt by people doing the Marathon Des Sables, a 6 day ultra-marathon, fairly keeps you entertained for a few miles. And I tell you I can really ham it up. On the inside.
After reading "Born to Run" (courtesy of the sister) I have been humming and hawing about buying new trainers. I had thought to get ones with extra arch support when I started, but then I concluded I was in fact just too heavy for my own feet, and rather than structural support I should shift some timber and run until my feet manned up a bit. Which has worked. My trainers are still pretty ancient and worn though, so I've ordered some new ones. I fully expect to spring about like Mo Farah when they arrive.
So far training has included a one-off fight with some horrid tirricks, who swooped and bullied me along a road, resulting in a half forward, half sideways shuffle, with panted negotiation, that I really was leaving, I meant them no harm, what are they doing nesting on a public road, and leave me alone type whimpering. I emerged unscathed, but after seeing them pecking a polar bear on the snout on Frozen Planet I think a good degree of alarm is reasonable. There has also been an assortment of weather. Hailstones, snow, rain, wind. Though it has been largely fine, I've been quite lucky. I hope the wind training means my real time equivalent pace is a minute or two a mile faster than my Shetland wind pace... but I'm not sure that is any more than wishful thinking.
I seem to have mastered the slow plod, so this few weeks is going to be dedicated to running a little faster (I'm sure the new shoes will see to that...) and maybe a bit of strength training. I think when all this is by with I'll keep running, but maybe only up to an hour, anything more seems a bit overly, and maybe dull, though I like the idea of being able to run to places...running home again, not so much. I might start doing my own "Rave Runs" like in Runners World, that are really just photos of cool places to run, of which there are many up here. Once I'm done training I'll start running interesting places and taking pictures of where I've been (great excuse for a rest...).
Over and out - I'll be back with more soon, maybe something other so as not to be a run bore...
I've had lots of very kind and generous donations already, all of which make me try a little bit harder in training...if you have a spare pound and haven't visited yet, this is where to go...
I'm 8 weeks in to my 12 week half marathon training. Which, scarily, means 4 weeks from now it'll be all over. Hopefully it won't have ended in the sweepy bus. If I out-run the sweepy bus I'll be happy, I'd like to go quicker, but arriving unsweeped will do me for a first attempt.
Training is going not too bad, I've had a couple of low motivation weeks this past 2 weeks, but I think I've caught up and am back on the wagon after a 10 miler on Saturday. This was my first ever double digit run, but unfortunately did involve quite a lot of run-walk-run-walk after the 7 mile mark. Due, I think to a mixture of unfitness and stupidity. I didn't have anything to drink with me. That was pretty stupid...lesson learned for my next long run. It did give me something to think about though, and the opportunity for some internal amateur dramatics. An internal monologue about your own slow death from thirst under a baking(ha!) Shetland sun, experiencing discomfort only before felt by people doing the Marathon Des Sables, a 6 day ultra-marathon, fairly keeps you entertained for a few miles. And I tell you I can really ham it up. On the inside.
After reading "Born to Run" (courtesy of the sister) I have been humming and hawing about buying new trainers. I had thought to get ones with extra arch support when I started, but then I concluded I was in fact just too heavy for my own feet, and rather than structural support I should shift some timber and run until my feet manned up a bit. Which has worked. My trainers are still pretty ancient and worn though, so I've ordered some new ones. I fully expect to spring about like Mo Farah when they arrive.
So far training has included a one-off fight with some horrid tirricks, who swooped and bullied me along a road, resulting in a half forward, half sideways shuffle, with panted negotiation, that I really was leaving, I meant them no harm, what are they doing nesting on a public road, and leave me alone type whimpering. I emerged unscathed, but after seeing them pecking a polar bear on the snout on Frozen Planet I think a good degree of alarm is reasonable. There has also been an assortment of weather. Hailstones, snow, rain, wind. Though it has been largely fine, I've been quite lucky. I hope the wind training means my real time equivalent pace is a minute or two a mile faster than my Shetland wind pace... but I'm not sure that is any more than wishful thinking.
I seem to have mastered the slow plod, so this few weeks is going to be dedicated to running a little faster (I'm sure the new shoes will see to that...) and maybe a bit of strength training. I think when all this is by with I'll keep running, but maybe only up to an hour, anything more seems a bit overly, and maybe dull, though I like the idea of being able to run to places...running home again, not so much. I might start doing my own "Rave Runs" like in Runners World, that are really just photos of cool places to run, of which there are many up here. Once I'm done training I'll start running interesting places and taking pictures of where I've been (great excuse for a rest...).
Over and out - I'll be back with more soon, maybe something other so as not to be a run bore...
I've had lots of very kind and generous donations already, all of which make me try a little bit harder in training...if you have a spare pound and haven't visited yet, this is where to go...
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