Talking about / out of my @®$€

Right then – where were we?

I last posted on February 9, talking a load of BMI as I aimed to get mine under 20. The following day, I ran an 18’17” parkrun (although official results will tell you otherwise, due to technical glitches); and, on the Sunday, I ran 23.2mi in 2:36’05”, at 6’43”/mi. Given my marathon PB is 2:58’59”, had I run another three miles in under 22’53”, so at 7’38”, I could have claimed to have beaten it. I might have added an extra .2mi just to be on the safe side, which would have required 7’09”/miling: still doable. I knew that then, I know that now. But I’d promised myself I’d stop at 23.2 and, more importantly, I’d promised Karen I’d be home in time for a croissant family breakfast. So I behaved and stuck to the plan. Besides, training PBs aren’t real PBs: the job has to be done in a race, on measured courses. Whilst not on the GPS front, I’ve had enough challenges with my Fenix 3 of late to be all too aware of that…

So that was Sunday, February 11: a neat four weeks ahead of Sunday’s Barcelona Marathon, my ‘A’ race for 2018. I ran twenty decent miles the following Sunday, and twenty slower ones the Sunday after that (or “last Sunday”, if you prefer). The plan was then to keep up the pace whilst reducing mileage: standard taper strategy. Last week was to be a mixture of 10mis and 10ks, with Tuesday’s 42’17” 10k somewhat tougher than I’d have liked but still, at 6’48”/mi, not far from the 6’40” I need for my sub-2:55’ goal. As I sit here now, a cricket ball under my left glute, it’s hard to think that was less than a week ago. The following day was the first to feature a coating of snow here, and I headed out for what turned out to be a slower than planned nine. Since then, my daily mileage has been:

3.2

1.2

2.0

1.2

1.4

So: have I finally got the hang of this taper? Did the weather make running nigh-on impossible in North Somerset last week? Or is the game up?

Well, if I have got the hang of tapering it’s not through choice. Not my mind’s or my heart’s, anyway. Nor the weather’s: we had snow, yes, but not enough to prevent running. No: if anybody deserves credit for me taking tapering to what for me is a new level it’s…

…my body. Not entirely sure which part: that much I hope to find out tonight. Based on things I’ve heard other runners say over the year, my uneducated instinct is to point to the piriformis: but I make no claim to know what I’m talking about when it comes to injuries. Indeed, I’ve often been asked about recovering from specific injuries, but have always had to respond that I’ve been fortunate enough in my running days to not really suffer from any and to thus not have much advice to dispense. Whereas, whatever *this* is, I reckon I’ll be able to offer an opinion. In due course.

For not only have I run a mere 5.8 miles over the past four days: they have been slow and, for the most part, painful. Crawling up the stairs after today’s might just have been the low point. Then again, there have been so many, over so few miles, it’s hard to put them in any meaningful order.

I’d been feeling a pain in my left side, towards the point where the leg turns into the arse, since around mid-January: but I was only truly aware of it whilst walking, and, even then, not all the time. Running was fine. Until, that is, my last long run, on February 25. Having set off on a group run, I found I couldn’t keep up with the rest of the group: as they became smaller and smaller dots in the distance, I turned on myself and ran back solo. At a push I could have caught up with them and caught up with them, yes: but I didn’t want to push. On my final pre-taper run, I wanted around 7’45”-8’00”, whereas their training for VLM meant they ended up running faster. As I’d set off from home to meet them, I was also aware that running with them might have meant running further than planned: so I hit twenty, jogged to the nearest bus stop and caught the first bus up the hill. Walked in and got a strange look from Karen, who noticed I was hobbling. Not unusual after a long’un, I thought. What has been unusual, however, is the amount of hobbling I’ve done since.

Two days later I had that decent 10k, if still more draining than previous, comparable runs. Yesterday, after a mile at 9’00”, my pace dropped to 10’38”; so I stopped ‘running’ a quarter of a mile from home and ‘walked’ home. What a difference less than a week makes.

As I type this, my ‘A’ race is six sleeps away. So: where does this leave me? Other than unable to run a mile slowly before finding running a real pain in the arse – and most of the leg beneath it?

It leaves me with all options for the weekend ahead. Well, most of them, anyway…

. . .

On February 14 an e-mail kindly alerted to a special offer on the hotel I’d booked months ago. Booking again on a pre-paid basis and cancelling my flexible booking would save me £40. It won’t surprise you that I did so; it may or may not surprise you that I now regret that. With the cost of the flights totalling £117, I would much rather have the option of cancelling my hotel and staying put, saving myself around £50 in taxis to and fro the airport; but, having prepaid around twice as much for my hotel room, I might as well travel regardless. Even if I clock a DNS (“Did Not Start”).

At the same time, I’ve not totally ruled out heading out for sub-2:55’. It’s looking extremely unlikely, but hopefully that will change over the next few hours. Hopefully the physio I’m seeing shortly will work a miracle: or, more realistically, hopefully he’ll find The Spot that’s causing me all this pain and restore it to its rightful condition. Hopefully.

Is it too much to ask? Quite possibly. But last year he sorted out the calf tear that had hampered my build-up to Rotterdam. He did so the day after I’d set my PB, as the pain gradually subsided closer to race day; whilst it came back during the final ten miles, I was able to keep going. So, whilst I may be dreaming, it’s a dream worth contemplating.

From a shot at sub-2:55’ to DNSing, all options are on the table. For now, I’m treating this as I would any other MaraPB attempt week: little carbs for the next few days, lots of protein instead… the “Oats So Simple” pots have been purchased, one cinnamon and one maple syrup… and, as for low mileage, I’m excelling! As for whether I’ll indulge in a little crema catalana out there… well, no need to make that call just yet. Time aplenty for plans to change. And change. And change again.

Indeed, even if I do start (and I’m not expressing a likelihood till I’ve heard from the expert), and even if I do so at 6’40”/mi (unlikely), it’ll be with an open mind and an accepting heart. As Rotterdam taught me, setting off pain-free offers no guarantee that the pain won’t return, be it one mile in, with a mile to go or at any point in between. But then we’re talking about a marathon here. And marathons don’t offer guarantees. Of any type. Ever.

One thing I have learnt over the past few days is that my biggest maranoia concern is more misplaced than I thought when analysing rationally outside of racing season. Not only have I not put on weight during these days of virtually no running: I’ve actually shed some. And that without my calorie intake changing. So, going back to my sub-20 BMI goal, upon which I’d given up around a fortnight ago, I’ve actually now reached 19.6. Which makes little sense… and, unless tonight’s session delivers beyond expectations, means nothing. Other than…

…well, I do have a back-up race for a sub-2:55’ attempt, four weeks after Sunday: Manchester. If I don’t start on Sunday, or whether I get round near the 4-hr mark, at least I’d be starting from a decent place in terms of shape to get myself back into 6’40”ing form before April 8. I’d still have no idea as to whether my body would recover in time, let alone whether it could keep itself together for the full 26.2mi distance: but, given right now I cannot contemplate running 2.6mi, it would represent a leap forward beyond my wildest dreams.

Does 2:55’ hold any special meaning? How badly do I want it?

Truth be told, “no” and “not that badly”. The main reason I set myself that stretch goal was to motivate me in training. What mattered to me was joining the sub-3 club, and I secured lifetime membership fifteen months ago. Which is why I’ll keep on runstreaking…

…running a mile every day for life would by far eclipse any PB ‘tweaking’ for me. I’ve surpassed any time dreams I had when I took up running. Could I improve on 18’01”, 38’54”, 1:24’18”, 2:58’59” and 22:16’23”? Most likely. Could I ever have dreamt of those times when I began running under six years ago? Not at all. So, whilst I hope to get under 18’ for 5k, under 2:55’ for the Marathon and nearer 21 hours over 100 miles, I’d happily take my current PBs to the grave with me. Especially if, on that day, I’d managed to get in a run first. And anyway, there’s always “next year” or “the next race” for a shot at a PB; whereas, when your runstreak’s reached 1,971 days, resetting the clock isn’t quite as easy…

…besides: knowing me, I’d not restart it. Within a month, I’d stop running. As I pointed out recently in this interview.

. . .

As I sign off, I feel I owe you all an apology.

Commenting on Thursday’s ‘run’ on Strava, Bob wrote:

“So sorry to read this and the previous day's posts Gia. You always appear to be invincible (and also appear to believe that you are invincible) but there comes a time... Anyway, fingers and toes crossed that this is 'just a niggle' and hopefully a few one mile days won't hurt your preparation too much.”

I met Bob thanks to the now defunct Little Stoke parkrun. We’ve kept in touch via social media; he provided invaluable feedback on my book; he’s a really, really good and nice guy. Which is why I value his views.

I wanted to make this clear because I’ve never felt invincible. It amazes me that my body’s managed to run at least 200 miles for the past sixty-two months: March 2018 would be the sixty-third, we’ll have to see… Rather than ‘invincible’, I’ve always considered myself ‘lucky’ when it comes to injuries. But for Bob to say that I must have, at least at times, projected a different opinion: and I apologise for that. I already knew I wasn’t invincible: this week has offered a stark reminder, but not a blinding revelation. So sorry if I’ve got carried away and stumbled into projecting arrogance; and thanks Bob for the frankness in raising this. It might not have been easy, I don’t know: but it’s what good people do.

. . .

Not long now to physio o’clock. However I feel tonight will mean relatively little: there’ll still be time aplenty for things to worsen or improve. I just hope that, if I do head over to Barcelona with a view to not running the event, I don’t put too much of a dampener on the spirits of friends I’m set to meet there who are all set to do well. If the previous apology was long overdue, this one’s an advance one: Mike, Ben, Lorna, Frankie… I may keep myself to myself a bit more than even I would like. Yes, to not be the mardy one and spoil things for you; but also because even sightseeing’s not quite as fun when walking hurts… so just as well I’ve already been to Barcelona several times! 

Anyroad, guys: even if come Sunday I don’t don my race vest, I’ll still be on those avenidas and ramblas to support you - if I can keep up with Sarah!

Right: I’ve a physio appointment to get to… it might only be just over a mile away, but I’d best allow plenty of time, as I can’t sprint there… Laters!

Oh, and as for the Bath Half: I didn’t run it. Nor was I going to before it got cancelled due to the weather. Nor was I going to before becoming unable to run 3.1 miles, let alone 13.1. No: this year, I never was. See, I thought I’d entered, I really did. But…