The Jozi vs Western Cape Sessions: A Sea Level Softy Speaks Out

Back in London post three week holiday to South Africa.  Back to work, and invariably back to treadmill sessions and/or  bracing pavement pounding in the freezing cold. Spring brought snow and sleet, the poor daffs are literally freezing to death.

But rather then dwelling on the pretty dire training conditions i.e. ice on the Portobello Tuesday night, I'm much happier to recount my running sessions in sunny South Africa, while I load all my pictures over from iphone, making sure I logged all the activity on good old Nike+

I ran a lot in South Africa. Weird for me, because back in the olden days, a holiday was the perfect excuse to do NO EXERCISE whatsoever, so rejoicing in packing shorts and vests for my holiday down south was slightly ludicrous. But the crazyis here to stay. No more long running tights and waterproof jackets, hats and running gloves. Just shorts and a vest. Fan-bloody-tastic.

I was really looking forward to exploring a bit more of Joburg, and a lot more of the Cape. I have realised that I NOTICE more when I am running. I've become more aware of my neighbourhood in London as a result, rather than just rushing past everything while on autopilot en-route to work. When I run, I take it all in. So I was very keen to take this theory and test it on the big bad streets of Jozi, and the wild trails of the Cape.

But Johannesburg is another story. Its a city 4,921 feet above sea level and by mid February is pretty damn hot on the high veld. By 9am it's close to 25 degrees and there are no clouds, no wind and no place to hide. There are also NO PAVEMENTS. I must first make it very clear that although I grew up in Joburg, I never did any running there, so this is the first time I have really paid attention to the lack of any kind of side walk action. I did a bit of light sprinting, once or twice while avoiding parents, teachers and the occasional lunatic ex boyfriend, but no sport. I famously came last in school cross-country when I was 8. It look me another 21 years to get over that humiliation, having convinced myself I just 'wasn't sporty', so hitting the asphalt in this town was a mental thing too.

I'd love to say I smashed it. That it was 5ks of speed and agility.That the neighbours waved encouragingly and that I discovered some fantastic new coffee house/gallery/ cake shop on my route (a fav past time in London). But I didn't.

First the altitude difference hit me like a ton of bricks. I could barely breathe let alone keep up my pace and form. After 2.5km I had to walk, heaving as I went, stopping to wipe the sweat which was pouring down my face and succeeding in freaking out a few neurotic Doberman as I stumbled past. A messy mess really. Oh and Jo'burg has some serious hills. I has not bargained for that. I had failed to notice these while driving around in my youth. I managed another 2.5km and limped home. Having had my ass handed to me, and being on holiday, I climbed back into bed determined to start the day over. Fail.

Respect to you Jozi runners. Call me a sea-level softy all you like, you guys are HARDCORE

Thankfully running in the Cape is a completely different experience. Betty's Bay in particular has a fantastic mix of great tarred road along the coast as well as some pretty awesome trails that wind along the beach. You even get to see Penguins on your morning run. Yes really. I mean who doesn't want to wake up to that? And it's at sea level. YES!!

Over the two weeks we were there I ran religiously every other day, between 4 and 6 kms as per my training post injury, and took in the trails, botanical gardens, beach routes and got reacquanited with a beautiful part of the world that is very close to my famiy's hearts, and part of our history now spanning five generations.

Here's a taste of the place and a few snaps of me post run. Just to prove I actually logged the mileage!

Moody: There are actual Penguins behind me here at Stony Point , but this pic doesn't quite show them!

View just before I hit the trail along the dunes/ beach path

Half way point in my 6K run having got to the Harold Porter Botanical Gardens. Not a cloud in the sky

Got to love early morning endorphins!

Breakfast back at Craigeburn, our family cottage by the sea, over looking the lake

I am hugely grateful to have the opportunity to take in the beauty of a place, almost like it was the first time, with just a pair of trainers.Smashed that then! WINNING

Sorry Jo'burg, you may be my birth place, but heart belongs to the Cape. That and I''m too much of a wimp to take on your altitude. And lack of pavements. Its too much  for this very amateur runner   (and there are penguins in the Cape. You can't beat the Penguins).

Ten Years On - The Great London Experiment

View East headed over the Thames to the Southbank Summer 2012

I should qualify this post by saying its not strictly about running. It should possibly be classified as a Ludicrous Pastime - because that's what my trip to London was supposed to be. Not a fully committed life choice. Which of course it now is, the Summer Fling that turned into the Real Thing.

While booking flights for a holiday later this Spring, I noticed an old passport stamp, 23 Jan 2003, JHB International. Exit Stamp. One Year Return booked. I remember that gave us 365 days to decide if we wanted to extend the adventure. I was almost certain I'd work in a few pubs, pick a few strawberries, hit Glastonbury, the Edinburgh Fringe, maybe a few jaunts over to Europe and be straight back on a plane to beloved Jozi in 2004. I would not be a statistic. I would not be contributing to the much maligned Brain Drain. I was 'just going to over a bit of a look'.

And why not? I had my Honours Degree licked, the luxury of an Irish passport and enough blind naivety to think it wouldn't really phase me. That I'd enjoy Over There, but it would leave me interested but unchanged. I'd return a bit more well versed in having 'done' Europe, maybe have a few cool vintage finds from Camden, and of course wax lyrical about all the amazing gigs I had been to, of bands no-one had heard of back home.

Ten years on, I have not worked in a pub, picked a single solitary strawberry or hit Glastonbury. But I have managed Edinburgh, bought loads of dodgy clobber from Camden (to my shame) and am lucky enough to have seen more gigs in more weird and wonderful venues that I can remember (really, I can't actually remember a good few of them). I have packed my bag countless times ventured on long weekends to Barcelona, Prague, Croatia, Marbella, Palma, Tunisia, a festival in Belgium, NYE in Amsterdam, a late spring trip to New York. I even fulfilled a life long dream of smoking a proper cigar in Cuba, drinking mint tea in Turkey, seeing the midnight sun in Sweden, late night swimming in Portugal, and a million other wonderful experiences my EU passport has allowed me to have. Of course, the best picture postcard moment? Getting married in St Lucia to my very own born and bred Londoner.

Mr and Mrs -  June 13th 2012 St Lucia 

Inevitably Over There became Over Here. I now say 'yeah' rather than 'ya', I know the tube backwards, and can also find my way round on most buses (having spent a lot of time in South London and having a long standing hate hate relationship with the Northern Line). I own (five) proper winter coats, get over excited when it hits 18 degrees in the summer and can hold a very dull, but fairly effectual conversation with anyone about the weather and the inability of our public transport system to cope with it.

Arriving at the tender age of 21, I have done the vast majority of my growing up here too, its been a hugely steep learning curve. The inevitable failing miserably at managing finances, relationships, and cooking. But surviving the hugely entertaining minefield that is house sharing, figuring out WHERE I actually wanted to live at all, (I have lived in NW3, E14, SW15, SW11, SW9, SW2, and finally settled in W10 with The Londoner), and once decided, who would man up and take out the bins. The first five years were a whirlwind of moving house, going out, staying up until stupid o'clock, figuring out what I actually wanted to DO, and by meeting the most magnificent people along the way, WHO I wanted to do it with.

The Girls. All as mad as they are magnificent (Notting Hill Carnival 2011)

Having figured out some of the basics, the last five years have been far less crazy, but not necessarily any easier.  London offers so much, its hard not to want more, from everyone and yourself. Anything you want to do, its available. Change your mind? Here's a thousand other options. Want to stand out? You and a million others. I've had to learn to challenge myself, and push past my own expectations to see what I'm made of. Running has been a huge part of this. Something I thought I would never do, I now love. To the point where I have invested inordinate amounts of time, money and effort to get back on track and running post injury, and have been slowly, painfully learning to correct my form.

I am pleased to say I have finished my six week coaching session, my form has dramatically improved, and I just smashed 20 minutes flat out on the treadmill at a rocking pace. As a result, ten years on, I'm fitter than I was when I arrived and over ten pounds lighter (whoop! The running eating plan has meant I have shed a stone in about 12 weeks). Even with the roller-coaster ride of bitter disappointments and ecstatic highs, I feel a 100% more optimistic now then I did back then, stepping off that plane ten years ago with all the arrogance of a 21 year old grad student. And I was a royal pain in the arse know-it-all back then, so that's saying something.

Amateur Month

Ah January. Everyone is bleak, skint, and exhausted from the excesses of the festive season. Invariably the weather reflects the general mood by being damp, cold and unpredictable. Which means that these very same people, while cutting back on booze, sugar and general fun have turned their attentions to GETTING FIT/LOSING WEIGHT. But having not quite acquired a taste for exercise of the outdoor variety, they hit the gyms. In force and en masse, taking up space in the change rooms, slots in the spinning classes and mats on the gym floor.

Don't get me wrong, I was one of these newbies, everyone has to start somewhere. I fell off the treadmill, dropped weights on my feet, nearly flew head first over the handlebars in spin and of course, got ALL the steps wrong in Body Attack -  to the point where the instructor told me to 'just concentrate on the feet dear, don't worry about the arms yet'. I even wore grey (Don't - it shows up all your sweat patches - everywhere!)

But year in and year out I am always astonished at the lack of common sense people have, and equally the sheer lack of willingness to learn. There must be an assumption that you gain fitness through osmosis and it starts working as soon as you walk through the door, and this somehow makes you deaf / impervious to the instructor's suggestions, or the instructions on the equipment.

I have many mad, bad examples of this, but my current favourite has to be the newbies who turn up at spin, in major kit - clip ons, the lot - and then proceed to freewheel for 45 minutes while bouncing up and down so rapidly on the seat I'm surprised the seat doesn't cave in. They totally ignore the instructor when he suggests increasing the resistance to stop the bounce, which would also make you sweat a bit and save your nether regions (win win). His very good advice was met with sniping comments, and eye rolling. Actual eye rolling.

Why people fork out £50+ a month to turn up in full gear, barely break a sweat and ignore the professional advice readily available, is beyond me and just a sheer waste of hard earned cash. Ask the stupid questions. Fall of the treadmill, you only really need to do this once, you'll learn pretty quickly. Set your bike up wrong, make a tit of yourself in Combat, but just give it a go, you'll get over it!

Thankfully the invasion only lasts about 3 weeks, usually subsiding around January pay day, when the impulse joiners swap the gyms for the pub again, and I get a bit more elbow room in classes. In the meantime I'm investing in more winter running gear to avoid the madness. Hooray for empty streets, crisp air and sleet!* Plus I get to have Stella for company, no eye rolling from her, she only gets bitchy when she's after a stick and I get to tell her off when she's behaving badly. Too bad we can't leash the newbies.

* okay, not the sleet

Pouring with Rain? Perfect!

Its Week 3 on the new regime and I'm up to 2.5 mins running/ 2.5 mins walking. Still knackering, but its getting easier and I can really see a difference. Dave, my running coach even said, 'massive improvement would be an understatement' so I am feeling pretty pleased with myself. That and the eating plan is also paying off, 10 pounds down and back in my size 10 skinny jeans. Hopefully the combination of nutrition and training should make me faster. I'm aiming for a 5K by the end of Jan, with a view to sign up for a half marathon in the Autumn 2013. 

But Christmas is getting in the way! I hadn't managed a run since last Sunday, and spinning classes were given up in favour of night out with work and friends. That also means the eating plan was 'tweaked' somewhat. So with this being day one of my Christmas holidays and with all this extra time on my hands I really had no excuses not to run, plus cabin fever was already setting in and Stella looked like she might start eating the Christmas tree. 

We set off in a light drizzle, and 5 minutes in it started chucking it down. At only 7 degrees out, that's not all that fun when you're still warming up. Very glad I had the sense to wear a hat, but thankfully 10 minutes in, the routine kicks up a notch, so I may have got soaked through, but I wasn't freezing. And its worth it, I am loving being back on the road, even if its only for 20 minutes every other day. 

Stella had a ball, which meant we both got back to the flat looking like drowned rats, and pretty covered in mud. Hot showers all round, and I'm treating myself to a mince pie. Tis Christmas after all. 

Hot New Look - Bedraggled 

Stella submits to being bathed

But not for long...

ARMS and ABS! All Hail the New Regime

Week Two of the New Running Regime. Just a few sessions under my belt and I can already see a huge improvement, that and it feels completely different. Much more streamlined.

The main focus has been strengthening my core, in a bid to stabilise my running and sort out the alignment. So that means literally, sucking it (the abs) up. I have never felt my abs work like they do when I'm working this program. Hopefully by the end of this I should have a wash board stomach.

The running itself is knackering, mentally as well a physically. The combination of core work, and trying to remember to pull in the tail bone, keep the back soft, remembering to lift and pull (hamstrings and glutes) rather than push (calves) AND lean forward from the ankles to aid momentum, my brain is having a hard time keeping up with my feet. That's only doing two minute intervals (running) and three minutes walking. Exhausting and I have to keep reminding myself to breathe.

Most of the time all I can hear in my head is my coach shouting ARMS and ABS! Repeatedly. Arms must not swing across my body. Ever. Abs need to be in pain. Constantly.

Once a week I get filmed running on the treadmill (*cringe* but a great motivation to pull in the abs!) so my running coach and me can check out what's going right and what's still going wrong. Everything from my left hip collapsing half way through the cycle and the weird flick I do with my right foot. But its also great for seeing how far I have come, with four weeks still to go.

The great news is that I am already faster. Like much faster. I can't quite believe it was as simple as bring the feet in line with my centre of gravity, upping the cadence and leaning forward. Just a tad. Well, let's be honest, I'm running faster in two minute spurts. Not sure I could keep up the pace for 13.1 miles. But we'll see.

Here's me after 20 minutes (that reflection is actual sweat + smudged mascara for proper authenticity). I usually looked like this after 2 hours. So that's efficiency for you!
Here's hoping for a 5km for Christmas.

Hair a complete state and V sweaty. Not well documented here! 

Earning My (Go Faster) Stripes

FINALLY! New (physio approved) trainers purchased, and a brand spanking new training schedule designed to get me back up and running (ahem) in 6 weeks.

And there is actual running involved. Not just excruciatingly dull muscle group repetitions.  I am delirious with excitement. A very small amount of running, yes, but running. Three times a week and a session with the coach to entrench the new, efficient, super speedy habits.

Box Fresh Mizunos

Lots of other exercises to build up the core, correct the imbalances and at least another three low impact  cardio sessions a week. Having rediscovered how much I love spinning, there's a good chance I'll look like GI Jane by the end of this. But generally I'm just thrilled to have my stress buster staple back.

Celebrated with a new running jackets for the icy winter mornings. Why not (and it matches the new trainers)

New clobber, complete with go faster stripes

Zen and the Art of (Not) Running

If you've been following the blog you'll know I'm currently out of action on the running front. It's been over a month since I last ran, and around 8 weeks since the injury made its (omni)presence known. About seven sessions of physiotherapy, a few sports massages and endless, endless exercises to strengthen my glutes, calves and core, and I'm still no closer to being run ready, 'another two weeks'. I heard that four weeks ago. Going slightly mad.

The problem, they say, with ITB injuries is that its difficult to pin point just one cause.  It turns out I'm pretty riddled with all sorts of odd habits, badly aligned hips, little flexibility in my ankles, etc etc, the list goes on and on. Just as one thing gets sorted, something else flares up. If I'm to run again safely, I need to impact-proof my joints, by building up the *right* muscles.

I am now torn between ignoring all good advice (they're just quacks) and just tearing off regardless, OR quitting running altogether (I'm not cut out for this sporting malarky). Because anything in-between requires frustrating, tears inducing, mind numbing work.

I have never been the patient sort. If I am not able to do something perfectly immediately I lose interest fast. This happened with my 'passion' for guitar when I was 16, my flirtation with Kung Fu when I was 19, Kick Boxing at 22 and then Wing Chung at 25. There was even a 6 month period when I was obsessed with Krav Maga. Nothing stuck. I told myself, I was too uncoordinated, unfit, too short or too old. I also told myself I wasn't the 'sporty type' to justify my lack of perseverance, which in reality, was just a lack of discipline and more than a bit of plain old fashioned laziness. But I had done a really good job of convincing myself otherwise.

So when I found I could actually finish a 5K run without keeling over, I was astonished. Here was something I could do. Just by putting in a bit of extra work every few days, I built myself up to running 10K, then a half marathon. And just to prove it wasn't fluke, I ran another one. I had finally broken through that warped image I had of myself as 'unsporty'. I could do this!

Other mad things happened; people started asking my advice, 'you're really into fitness what do you think?' or 'I've just started running, how long before I can run your kind of distances?'. I had never dreamed I'd ever be referred to as a 'fitness freak' or 'running nerd'. I was over the moon, regardless of whether they were compliments or otherwise.

Then this happened. I literally limped through the Royal Parks. It wasn't fun anymore. My body stopped doing what I wanted it to. It hurt. A lot. I've had to stop and recover properly. My confidence has taken a pretty serious knock, and it was pretty fledgling to begin with. I now find myself contending with all the old mantras. 'What did you expect?', this old voice says, 'you're not sporty. Who are you kidding? You're not built for this. Stop pretending. Sit on the sofa and just give up. Maybe try aqua aerobics instead'. Full on pity-party going on in my head.

Luckily, I have a very positive physiotherapist, who is patient when I am throwing a strop, and a few great running friends who can't wait to get out there again, no matter if I have to take it very slowly.  Come Christmas I am crossing my fingers I should be clocking up the mileage. In the meantime, there's aqua (!)

A gem of wisdom captured on the Portobello Market