Runner 5 Versus Zombie Swarm (with Stella for back up)

A month since I last blogged which speaks volumes about how much running I've been doing. Not enough! I've had to change up the routine, something that I hear time and time again as way to get the mojo back. I just lost the love. The sofa was winning, and with added daily pressures, my training dropped from 3 times a week to just one lonely session. And I have to give credit to my friend Emily for that one, having a work mate running date helps enormously!

With that in mind I do need to find a running group to help kick my schedule into gear. I'm looking at a few at the moment (from the comfort of my arm chair) but I have yet to get up the nerve to turn up at one. The majority are free, so its not the cash that's the worry, and I have it on good authority that most cater for all abilities, so what am I so afraid of?

My guess is it has something to do with the fact that I still dont see myself as a 'proper' runner. With two half marathons, and four 10kms races behind me, and another 3 races signed up for 2012, you'd think I may have convinced myself by now. I think I'm too slow, or slightly too curvy or maybe my gear isn't quite the right stuff. I think I'm terrified that when I do join a group, I'll not be able to keep up, or I'll stagger up a hill too slowly. I am my own worst enemy here.

Its that old voice playing up again, telling me its easier to just not bother. So I had to counteract it this morning before I become all consumed with self doubt and probably unhelpful obsessing about mileage missed or fitness lost. So I went for a run, but left my HRM, Nike + app and GPS at home.

I just added a few Zombies, just to mix it up a little.

I saw this app advertised a few weeks ago, but for £5 I thought it was a little too steep to invest in. Bring on the Easter sales and for £2.50 I could just about justify it. The premise is, you're Runner 5, collecting essential life saving items and out running zombie swarms with the aid of the radio controller back at base. Once you've completed your run, you log back on and 'distribute' you findings at base, unlocking new missions and helping level up your station.

If you can get over the very cheesy acting, its actually a lot of fun. I pretty much sprinted up my nemesis hill when I was told 'IT'S RIGHT BEHIND YOU!' and the zombie moans get louder in your headphones. Stella had a ball. I'll have to get her written into the script for the next upgrade. Its great for recovery runs or short, sharp sprints, as it reverts back to 'radio' mode after about 5kms. You get to choose your own music, so I'm thinking I may just download the sound track from Resident Evil for authenticity!

It got me out the door, and I'm rather intrigued to see what the next mission may be, so I'm pretty sure I'll be up for another short run tomorrow. Anything that works, I reckon, is worth trying again.

And with the extra milage adding up little by little, I may just take the leap and turn up at a running club next week. There's one next Tuesday with my name on it.

The Groove

 

It's SPRING! Time to get motivated again.

I don't bounce back after a long race. Something in my psyche tells me I deserve a break, time to recover, relax and generally not do any exercise. So, three weeks after the last big event, it really should not be a surprise that I'm flagging after 5K and can't find the motivation to get back into the groove. But I am surprised. I'm outraged and pissed off and generally berating myself for not being able to run 15km at the drop of a hat.

And therein lies the rub. The first thing I am learning, (and it is all new to me as I was the antithesis of sporty at school) is that its all about consistency for me. Fitness is a fickle beast, you have to catch her and she'll elude you. Turn your back for a few weeks and she's out of sight, having a bit of a laugh as you huff and puff up a pathetically small hill. The training has to be consistent.

This became really clear for me on my run this evening with Stella in tow. She's not been out as much as I would like due to the fact she's approaching 7 and the dog gurus suggest you start winding down the mileage as they approach 'middle age'.  She's usually very well trained on the lead when we run. But, given a few weeks off the lead, she's not having any of it. Wrapping herself (and me) around lampposts, tugging at the lead - it look a good 4km to get her back into that groove. She remembers, it just takes a good bit of discipline and metaphorical kick up the ass to jolt back in.

The second thing that struck me today around 5km is, that voice, that one that says, 'stay on the sofa, you're really tired and you have had a long day' is not your friend. Its the same voice that says things like, 'have another piece of cake' when you've had three. I remember this voice well when I was trying to quit smoking. 'Stop tomorrow, you're really stressed at the moment' or 'one cigarette won't kill you, you've really cut down recently, you deserve another lung full of tar'. Not. Your. Friend.

Quite the opposite. That voice wants you sluggish, tired, depressed and alone on your sofa watching reruns of QVC. Don't get me wrong, we all have our nasty habits, after all vices are just virtues taken to the extreme.We all need a good dose of a vice like anger to tell us when we've had a boundary crossed. Otherwise we'd be doormats. Its when it turns to Rage that its dangerous. Or the occasional over indulgence, keeps us from being too smug or self righteous. Abusing it is a different story. And equally a bit of lazing around on rest days IS good for you. Its getting the balance that's tricky.

To do that, the other voice has to get louder. You know the one. The one that says, in the case of my battle with the smoking, 'enough is enough'. The one that says, 'I can do one more mile' and the one that says 'I'm going to go out in my lycra and rock this route' . It doesn't listen to the paranoid self deprecating nitpicking telling you your ass is maybe a bit too large for those shorts. So it is. So what. Take that. I'm going anyway.

My guess is that listening to that other voice, no matter how much you want the extra hour lie in, that extra piece of cheesecake, or the opportunity to just spend three hours on Twitter (guilty!) and then consistently acting on it, some how starts to balance out the negative one. And something magic happens, it stops being so hard. You look forward to those few hours a week when its just you and the pavement, rather than a chore, you start upping the anti, you achieve a few goals, you complete a few races. And you're hooked. But this habit is building you up, not breaking you down.

And the dog gets a good work out too. Even if her owner is a new-age zen hippy. Winners all round.

Coach Stella Post Run AKA my own personal feet heater

The Big Day: Brighton Half Marathon 2012

Last week I was worried. My immune system wasn't its usual stellar self and I was feeling decidedly Not OK. A benefit of running is that I just don't get colds nearly as often as I used to, something I have been a tad too smug about. I suppose its only fitting that a week before the race I start feeling exhausted, headachey and just not 100%.

Panic starts to set in by Thursday. By this point I have cancelled all non essential activity and sought advice from friends, colleagues and via every social media platform and forum I could find. 'Drink Green Juice!' a good friend advised (celery, cucumber, ginger and garlic FYI), 'Lots of Water!' another suggested and 'Sleep and Eat Loads'. Thankfully, this was not difficult.

Friday night I head to bed at 8pm and by Saturday I can just about drag myself out of bed, pack my bag and get myself ready to head down to Brighton. R feeds me a lot of homemade stew and tea. Perfect combination of carbo loading and comfort food. It works its magic (that and much pleading to various deities and positive mantras, on repeat!).

Sunday morning (race day!), I'm not feeling like a zombie and manage to put my trainers on without sobbing. We wake up to the most beautiful winter sunshine over the Brighton Marina and although its pretty cold, the scenery distracts from the bite in the wind.

View from the breakfast bar in the Seattle Hotel Brighton. Spring!

Our hotel is a 10 minute walk from the start of the race so we arrive in good time, along with 9,000 other competitors and the pre race buzz is electric. The start is a bit slow (lack of staggered starts usually has the effect I'm finding) but by 9:10 we're over the start line and building up to a good pace.

The course is fantastic, through the town centre and then looping out past the golf course, with nothing but the sea to the right and then back along the sea front. Heading past 11 miles, there were no tears (unlike the Great Scottish Run!), but come the 12th mile my feet start feeling numb and my hip was niggling badly. That and the fact that my Nike+ was claiming I'd just hit 12.5 miles (and not just 12), made getting to the finish that much harder. Fair amount of chatter post race about the course being 13.6 so the finishing times are slightly out!

Very pleased with my 2:30:01 (for the 13.1, that's a full 6 minutes faster than the GSR). That includes a 5 minute go slow, where R and I were 'deciding' whether or not I'd head off without him around the 10K mark when I wanted to up the pace and he needed to slow it down. He said go. I said no, I'd wait. Major argument ensues, much to the amusement of a Water Aid runner bumbling past us dressed as a toilet and a man dressed as a burlesque dancer.

We had discussed before the race that if either of us needed to take it slower the other should push on. But it was still really hard to actually do it. But with a likely PB to achieve, I did eventually pick up the pace (and over took the toilet). I'm sure it will be the other way around at some point.

Relief!

Very knackered R

But we did it!

Reunited at the finish line in our space blankets, I tell R that I had overtaken Katie Price (only just!), who still looked impeccable, not a smudged mascara line in sight, and her hair was salon perfect. I'd like to know the brand of her foundation immediately. Also very impressed she co-ordinated both her car and her running gear, fuchsia pink. I'm jealous of both, clearly. I very rarely manage match my nail polish to my pedicure.  Plus her coach seemed pretty awesome. I'd like one of those too please.

I very rarely spot celebrities, so here's my first paparazzi attempt. I wont give up my day job!

The inevitable come down, from the endorphin rush after finishing the race, was eased slightly by indulging in a completely OTT Italian meal in the Brighton Marina. Guilt free! Post race meals deserve to be relished and laden with as many calories as possible. I hear a collective sigh from my nutritionist friends. Oh and there was pudding too. And then more pizza. One day I will learn.

Pana cotta @ Bella Napoli Brighton Marina

R's chocolate profiteroles 

Back in London, I'm relishing my day off with more tea and a few ice packs for the old legs. I've already started looking into the next challenge. Paris is a bit soon, so thinking it may have to be further afield. Any suggestions very welcome!

Hot and Cold

Just over two weeks to go and with my weekend long run lost to snow on sunday. I need to up my game ahead of the Brighton half marathon. Race numbers have arrived, hotel is booked and the count down begins.

So, Monday or not, I hit the sludgy streets of Ealing en route home this evening. Besides the mounds of grey slushy snow and black ice, it was a balmy 3 degrees, so thankfully I retained the feeling in my fingers. No such luck for my toes, I accidentally hit a puddle or two, which is unpleasant at the best of times, but when the water is recently melted snow its freezing. Bone chilling cold.

The 5.5. mile run home is definitely getting easier, but its still enough of a work out to get the appetite raging. Getting through the front door I was delighted to smell the beginnings of a tasty chicken soup brewing in the kitchen. Perfect!

That is until R throws in an entire scotch bonnet. I still can't go in the kitchen due to the excessive chilli, and that's just from the steam. I suffered a major coughing fit and streaming eyes just from a casual glance in its direction. This stuff is hardcore.  I do love a bit of a kick in my food, but this, I would rather not inflict it on my insides. So hot soup and cheese on toast it is.

 Let the carbo loading commence!

Brass Monkeys

Brass monkeys. That means it's farrrken cold. That winter we thought we were having? Autumn with a wig on. They keep promising snow, but no such luck. No black ice = no excuses.

Layering up to run I'm sure I'm clearly losing my mind, possibly caused by a week without running due to various time constraints. Losing my mind and also, it would transpire, my ability to feel my fingers and nose.

Three minutes into the run and I'm realising I am running A LOT faster. Its so cold the thought of slowing down or stopping just isn't an option. Result! I find I'm actually overtaking slower runners (well, just the one). I feel like a freakin' super hero. Then I get a stitch.

1.5 miles from home and my hand have gone numb, so without gloves I'm having to flay my hands around like a deranged nursery school teacher singing 'twinkle twinkle'. Attracting odd looks at Shepherd's Bush roundabout, which is an achievement in itself. It's at this point I remember I've left my front door keys at work.

Thankfully, R is home and lets me in, frozen to the core and slightly manic from my cold shock injected speed fest. The combination of being hit with warm central heating and rush of endorphins, means I have to lie very still on the sofa for about twenty minutes while I try and string a sentence together.

5.5 miles logged and in the bank. Need to stop checking accuweather. 7 degrees below on Friday. Will be investing in those gloves, and beanie and maybe more thermals.

9:03

Whoop! Just achieved my fastest mile to date, 9:03 - not bad for a soggy and cold Tuesday evening en route home (5.5 miles in all).

Slowly, I'm getting a bit faster. Rather pleased and my splits look pretty even, so it wasn't just a fluke while running down hill, or arenalin from escaping a rabid mutt in Acton.

Plus its worth noting there's a fair amount of interruption, distraction and stalling on my route home from work. Here are the main offenders

Kids on Scooters (all ages)
From toddlers who can barely walk, to the older kids who careen from one side of the pavement to the other while yacking on their mobiles, none of them have any sense of how fast they are going or have any regard their immediate surroundings.

No one is safe, from elderly people innocently waiting for the bus to runners like myself (in high vis no less!) we've all had to veer out the way or risk being smashed into by two vicious small wheels and being sworn at by either the parents or the snotty preteen. Ban them.

People who don't look where they are walking
Ok, we've all done it. We've been busy updating statuses, too involved in the ipod or distracted by some delinquent child smashing into a poor women at the bus stop on a scooter. Nevertheless, every single time I head out on a run I have to use some fancy footwork to avoid colliding with offenders who just step into the street without looking. Its the typical blinkered London commuter state of being. Shouting 'excuse me' or 'careful' only seems to illicit shocked glares and the occasional 118 joke. I am tempted to get a bell. Or a taser.

Cyclists
Firstly, the pavement is for pedestrians. End of. No negotiation. Secondly, if the light is red for you, but green for the pedestrians, at least slow down. But ideally, just stop. You have brakes and a helmet and runners are not protected by anything other than lycra. Be gracious

I'm hoping those of you who do cycle who read this would never commit these heinous crimes, and if you do, hang your head in shame and change your ways. Along with the bell/taser I may start carrying a small pin to let tyres down...

Smokers
This coming from a woman who smoked for near on 15 years. Yes. I quit just over two and a half years ago and yes, every now and again I do really, really want a marlboro. But never when I am running. Running past crowds of people standing outside pubs or at bus stop practically billowing tar, ash and smoke past me, and sometimes for those extra special bastards, directed at me, makes me want to gag. Nasty habit. Aren't I smug *reaches for nicorette*

So, I'm feeling pretty chuffed with my 9:03. Now I just need to find some decent anger management classes.

The Bad Run

We've all had them. This was a particularly spectacular in its badness. It goes a little something like this:

Woke up late. Couldn't find the right kit. But that happens often enough, so I wasn't totally put out at that point. Got Stella out the door without incident.

Two hundred metres down the road and the the sports bra unhooks. Stop run. Sort out unwieldy hook (while trying not to expose myself to all of Ladbroke Grove!). Start run. Stop run as Stella find something unsavoury to hunt. Get dog back. Start run.

Phew! Finally get the right pace and it looks like it's all turning around. Hit Hyde Park at 4 miles and have to divert from the usual route due to horses with small children. Stella looked far to interested in the equestrian activities so I moved us along to avoid a Fenton incident. Stella still manages to cause a ruckus when she almost slams into a fellow runner with a huge stick she's just found, which is about 3 times her size. Stop run, apologise. Start run.

Around 7kms my headphones start playing up. Right earphone conks out completely at one point. Stop run, check the wiring. Fix this temporarily. Start run. But even with the fixed headphone, my playlist is working against me. Skipping tracks every other song because nothing is really doing it. Should have had this on the playlist.
                                          

Hit 6miles and I'm feeling knackered, three to go and I'm thinking I may have to  call it day. But manage to push through. I remember at this point that I haven't actually had any water to drink since about 8pm the night before. Ah. There's the mistake right there. Stop run. Catch breathe, stop Stella harassing a small puppy. Start run.

Finally, the end is in sight and I can see the final goal. Just another quarter mile, over the road and I'll be home. I'm so busy focusing on the distance, I'm not paying much attention to my immediate surroundings. And I miss running straight into Spencer by half an inch. Yes, that posh boy from Made In Chelsea. I had to swerve to avoid him and nearly came tacky on a lamp post.

Of course, I gave him a dirty look like he should have been watching where HE was going. And legged it in the opposite direction. Got to 9 miles a little quicker than expected, red faced and more than a little embarrassed. Sorry Spence.

Trainers off, dog bathed (so very very muddy today, why I am not surprised), and I'm logging the miles. Although it was a pretty horrendous couple of hours, I made the target mileage after all. I'm constantly surprised by what I can do, or overcome. A year ago, I would have given up after the bra incident! And its always good to see this result on the old HRM. Think that effort deserves some spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. Whoop!