Home run
A bump in the road
Bad news folks. I have chondromalacia patellae, otherwise known as Iliotibial band syndrome, or patello-femoral pain.
This is not an obscure genital infection. A quick Google search explains that this is perhaps best known as Runners’ knee: ‘a softening or wearing away and cracking of the cartilage under the kneecap, resulting in pain and inflammation. The cartilage becomes like sandpaper…’
There is a silver lining here somewhere. First of all it is vaguely common ailment; apparently around one in four runners suffer from it (the weaker un-sporty ones, probably).
Second, it is at least evidence that I have been doing enough training to have bagged a legitimate running injury. Yep, that’s right: since I last blogged I have been busy.
My efforts in earnest began on Christmas morning. I don’t think I have ever felt smugger than slipping out the door in the drizzle and busting a gut to get to the top of the downs behind my house and then coming home in time to open my stocking on the day of national gluttony.
I committed myself to running every day until New Years Eve. And I did. Most days I ran a four mile loop with my army friend who was armed with a precision sat nav watch that measured our exact pace at any given time. Richard, known, not without irony to some of his friends as Dangerous Percy, or ‘Danger’ is also running the marathon. He is far fitter than me and pushed me into running whatever the weather. One day he made me run four miles in 31 minutes.
That was a milestone and felt a bit like progress.
Another day I drove to Dorset and ran from Studland Bay round past Old Harry’s Rock to Swanage and back. In the pouring rain. And I loved it. To be honest, it’s not that hard when you’re bored in the countryside.
When I got back to London things were harder. Much harder. The smugness I had enjoyed was gone – I needed a way to get it back.
At first I tried to run back from work four nights a week - a four and a half mile journey from Canary Wharf north along the canal past Victoria Park and the west towards Dalston – and then a longer run on Saturday.
When I tried this before Christmas it was an erratic, arduous, affair that would culminate in me arriving home ravenous, tired and sweaty. Huge 10.30pm suppers were making it hard for me to sleep, and I was resenting the process. After a long press day, the last thing you want to do is don the lycra and hit the pavement in the cold rain and darkness.
Now, I was finding it more of a routine having upped my runs from three times a week to every night. But it was only when I forced myself to start running in to work instead of out that it all started to make sense again. Morning running is the key to smugness and frees up the evenings.
And since New Year I have been holding myself back on weekend nights out so that I am not too hungover to do bigger runs in the morning. What a new world that has opened up. Apart from the fact that I am remembering what a Saturday morning feels like, I have been able to rack up 10 mile runs (usually just laps of Victoria Park) and then return to the house before any of my friends have even considered stirring (albeit at 1pm).
It’s just when you begin reveling in the resulting smugness and start asking yourself why you didn’t do this years ago that you suddenly realise why not. It’s not actually good for you – bad even. Our cotton wool wrapped bodies are not ready or used to the violence and repetitive trauma of running on tarmac everyday. Walking up or down stairs is now painful. My knees click furiously if I dare so much as bend them. Strangely my knees actually hurt less when I run than when I walk. Added to this, now even my right ankle/calf is hurting
I tried to blame my new running shoes and returned to the treadmill for yet another video analysis, the woman in Runners Need informed that I have weak quads.
‘Weak quads’. Whatever.
Well, at first I dismissed this idea as a bitter retailer resenting the fact I was trying to return a product and decided to try and ‘run it off’.
Let’s call it a ‘magic sponge’ mentality. After a few weeks of trying, I can confirm that the magic sponge mentality is bull and I definitely need to do something about my knees that doesn’t involve expensive consultations with physiotherapists who will, in all likelihood, tell me to run less – which given how far away from being marathon fit I am is simply not an option.
It turns out the morose sales woman is right: I so have weak quads. The remedy is time in the gym doing a series of exercises that I would be pretty embarrassed to do in any gym – but especially our work gym which happens to be populated by muscle bound, overly helpful, protein guzzling antipodeans. They must never know about my weak quads.
Today I made my first trip to the gym in a long time. I used to go in order to do beach weights. There was no real strategy, it was just a case of lifting as much as I could in half and hour so that I looked okay naked. This time, my motivation was not aesthetics, but performance.
First of all I did some pull-ups just so every one knew I meant business. Then I did some leg weights until my quads burned. This was legitimate gym activity. Next, I approached the bench press.
There was a queue of bigger people in singlets clutching energy drinks and protein shakes. This is was the worst case scenario. After 10 minutes, it was my turn and they all watched as I proceeded to begin squats with the bench press bar on my shoulders (with no weights on the end).
I looked pathetic – and I felt pathetic. My weak quads felt like they were about to pop. And now, with the lactic acid finally leaving my legs I sit here typing in the knowledge that pain and embarrassment is my new medicine.
Anyway, that’s the long update story short.
However, going forward I won’t bore you with my fast fading smugness or the anal details of my training plan.
No. Instead I will be writing less, but more frequently so that I can focus instead on the bizarre world I have entered; one where competitive couples run together in silent loathing, roller bladers are universally acknowledged as scum, cyclists frequently nearly kill you, some shorts are too short, and the chafing – oh the chafing.
All I ask, as I place plasters over nipples and cup myself sadly, is that you make this worth it and donate anything you can spare to a fantastic cause.
Phone etiquette
Two weeks into the New Year and my marathon training has hit its first serious snag.
You see, the clever GPS app on my ‘you get what you pay for’ nowhere-near-as-good-as-an-iPhone mobile seems to have been a little generous to me.
Having been encouraged by the times I’d posted on some of my trundles around Victoria Park, I came into the post Christmas period feeling uncharacteristically good about my running. Sure, I was limping for five days after attempting to crack the 10-mile barrier but I’d been doing regular stints of 7 or 8 miles and was preparing to up my game.
So when I hooked up with marathon buddy Anjay on Tuesday night for a jog down to the Olympic stadium and back, I was dismayed to find that his on-board computer thingy (to give it its technical name) said we had done more than a quarter of a mile less than mine did.
In the spirit of scientific discovery, we synchronised watches and hit the road again before sunrise on Thursday. Maybe, I thought hopefully, Anjay had just taken the inside line on every turn; maybe he’d taken a short cut at some point, while I was busy blinking or tying a shoelace?
But the same happened again. Despite matching my friend stride for stride, Mr iPhone read 5.71 miles, while Mr Not-Quite-An-iPhone gave a confidence-boosting (but, more importantly, entirely inaccurate) reading of 5.97 miles.
Yes, I know, it’s not much. But that 4 per cent gap could mean the difference between breasting the tape on the Mall to the general acclaim of friends and family or running out of steam, like a red-faced beached whale, somewhere along the Embankment.
And what if my phone has just gone completely haywire, like Hal in 2001? What if the 50 miles it tells me I’ve clocked up since the start of December – the figure I’ve been touting around as evidence that I am, despite all predictions, taking this training business seriously – has just been plucked out of thin air?
Perhaps it’s time to harness my inner luddite and leave the technology at home. Next time, like Theseus, I’m just going to take out the longest ball of thread known to man and pray that I don’t come across any kittens on the way.
In better news, Nick and I have started piling on the sponsorship pressure and made some significant dents in our targets
We are running on behalf of housing charity HACT and, with the generous help of the sector, we hope to go way beyond the £2,000 minimum we have pledged to raise. It’s a great cause and all donations are gratefully received. You’ll even get a tweet from us for your troubles, so dig deep if you can afford it.
Jog on
It’s midnight on 30 November. And, as I have done on this date for the past few years, I’ve just done a little jig of delight.
Why? Because the hateful spectacle that is Movember is finally behind us.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against people donating money to the fight against prostate cancer. I am, after all, not a monster.
No, what really grinds my gears is the idea that I should give money to grown men for the ability to produce facial hair. To a hardened cynic like me, it’s symbolic of the something for nothing culture that has allowed the likes of Kim Kardashian and the cast of Made in Chelsea to become more famous than Tim Berners-Lee (look him up).
If you want a challenge, I say, do something difficult. That’s why I, along with my fellow masochist on the Inside Housing news desk Nick Duxbury, am running the London Marathon next April in aid of housing charity HACT.
I accept that to some people – Paula Radcliffe, Eddie Izzard, Forrest Gump – running a marathon is no great shakes. But, presumably, all those people enjoy running.
I don’t enjoy running. In fact, it’s fair to say that I hate running. For one, it’s almost mind-numbingly boring. Secondly, I look like an idiot when I try doing it. And, above all, doing it for an extended period of time takes a degree of dedication, discipline and single-mindedness that is beyond the grasp of a humble hack such as me.
So it was that, a couple of weekends ago, I reluctantly pulled on my Sergio Tacchini trackie bottoms, set Eye of the Tiger to play on an endless loop on my iPod and set off on a miserable trudge up and down the Regents Canal, wistfully eyeing my favourite watering holes on the way.
Suffice to say, I am not a bright-eyed convert to the latter day church of physical perfection.
But don’t get me wrong; I’m trying to embrace my new lycra-clad self. I have even joined a Saturday morning running club, along with my mate Anjay - an architect who’s running for Notting Hill Housing Trust – and I’ve worked out that, if you add up all my training runs so far, I’m nearly at full marathon distance. And it’s only taken the best part of a month.
So, having cracked the running part of this gig (Come on Paula – it’s really not that hard), all I’ve got to do now is raise a bit of cash.
That’s where you, dear reader, come in…
HACT was set up to help improve the lives of those in marginalised communities. It is a charity whose raison d’etre is at the heart of what our sector should be about. They do incredible work up and down the country, which Nick and I will be highlighting in our weekly blogs. For readers of Inside Housing, there can surely be no worthier cause.
If you don’t want to sponsor me or Nick (we may have written something nasty about you in the past – sorry), there are 10 hardier souls who will be battling the wind and rain over the next 5 months to line up in Greenwich Park next April for HACT.
And, I can only hope, not a single novelty tache between them.
Dig Deep
Nick and I are both targeting at least £2,000 in sponsorship, but would love to go well beyond this. All donations, of whatever size, will be gratefully received, so get involved.
Getting up to speed
Following on from last year’s fundraising success, two more Inside Housing hacks are taking up the marathon mantle for 2012
‘You probably also need tights’.
‘Do I really, though?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay’
And that is how I became a man in tights.
Not just tights, though - quick-dry Nike running tights. I emerged from Runners Need in Liverpool Street £150 quid poorer but feeling like I have taken the first and hardest step towards running the London Marathon. Finally, after a lot of big talk, I had put my money where my mouth is and committed myself to running 26 miles - ideally in less than four and a half hours.
Inside Housing’s business reporter Gavriel Hollander and myself will be joining 10 other housing professionals (see below) who are going to be giving up sleep, beer and any semblance of comfort so they can beast themselves over the finish line and raise lots of cash for the Housing Action Charitable Trust.
The cause is undoubtedly a worthy one. HACT’s mission statement is as follows: ‘HACT helps housing providers to improve the wellbeing of people in poor and marginalised communities.’ Most people in housing have probably come across the amazing work HACT do - but for those that haven’t yet, in this blog, Gav and myself will attempt to unpick some examples of the kind of projects the charity undertakes. We will also introduce you to other runners, and update you on our journey as we attempt to train our way from being out of shape, desk-bound, microwave meal munching housing hacks to trim, eagle-eyed marathon runners.
In short, whether it is through hearing about how your money could be spent, or through reading grim stories about our runs home in the darkness, ice and rain, we hope to provide you with enough reasons to dig deep into your pockets and sponsor us. I am also in grave need of your help and pointers as I don’t really have a clue what I am doing - as illustrated by my recent spending splurge.
In retrospect, of course, going into a shop and buying a lot of shiny new things - however expensive they might be - is not going to even register on the scale of ‘hardest steps’ I am likely to take over the next six months. But I got quite a buzz out of making that all-important first financial commitment.
I don’t do much in the way of exercise these days. But I would consider myself averagely fit. While I am no stranger to the occasional jog to keep myself ticking over, there is no part of me that has ever wanted to do run a regular basis - let alone a marathon.
But presenting my debit card to the man in Runners Need, I felt like I could be entering into a new world; one where, for the first time in my life, I might be looked on as an athlete of sorts; one in which every day I attempt to better myself; one in which I can buy a whole new set of magazines, books and performance enhancing products. There’s all the new jargon to pick up, new heroes to emulate, and ‘like-minded people’ I can run with/past exchanging a nod of understanding that we populate the same spiritual plain. In short this could be a new obsession - and until I had the gear then, frankly, I would just be another bloke doggedly hauling himself round the park in the rain.
Having spent an hour having my running ‘technique’ analysed on a treadmill and then trying on around eight different pairs of running trainers in an effort to match a pair to my flat, over-pronate feet, I felt inspired to begin my training. The new world embraced me with both arms: had I considered my programme? Perhaps a personal trainer to ensure I reach my full potential? What supplements do I use? Do I have a digital watch, fluorescents or, at the very least, a breathable thermal top and, obviously, a pair of tights. No I didn’t - but I soon would.
It was enough to make me want to leave the shop, don my trainers (and tights) and set off for lap of east London right there and then. However, the retail process was quite tiring. And I was quite hung over. And it was getting dark. And it was a bit drizzly outside which meant I could slip and fall… So I went home and watched the X-factor. And then went out to the pub. And then woke up hung over again.
This was going to be harder than I had thought - and actually training is only one half of the equation; I also have to raise £2,000 by April…
Eventually, when the Sunday sunlight was disappearing and I had no more excuses not to run, I resolved to test out my new gear. I started pounding the pavement from Haggerston overland in Hackney, down the canal toward Victoria Park. My new shoes, I had been told, should be like a slipper - and running in it should be a new and liberating experience that could revolutionise my running. Well, it wasn’t quite like that. Maybe I went too far, or maybe my housemate, Justin, who accompanied me set to great a pace, but by the time I returned from my five mile debut panting and sweating I had a blister. My £40 trainers have never so much as rubbed in the three faithful years I have owned them. Yet my brand spanking new £110 Asics - which are ugly as sin - give me a blister on the first run? Surely I have I been ‘had’.
I am extremely happy with the tights, though.
Dig deep
Please, please sponsor myself or Gav. Movember is now over and we are both targeting £2,000 - a figure that we hope to exceed with the help of the rest of the housing sector. Every pound counts, and every donation will receive a grateful tweet - and especially generous donors will also get a mention in this blog.
Other runners:
Andrew Grant, Head of Commercial Operations (North), Viridian Housing
David Lockerman, Housing Services Manager, Broxbourne Housing Association
Adam Jones, Midland Heart
John Taylor Midland Heart
Paul Bridge, Chief Executive, Homes for Harringey
Joanne Barber, North Star Housing Group
Joy Goodman , North Star Housing Group
Nick Atkin, Chief Executive, Halton Housing
Sandra Rodney, Resident involment officer, Genesis Housing Association
Sandra Maguire, Property Manager, Genesis Housing Association
Post-match analysis
Seventy-two hours after the 2010 London marathon began and I can just about walk down the stairs normally again - the time seems right for some serious post-match analysis.
Mile 0: Things did not get off to a good start with a terrible night’s sleep, punctured by anxiety dreams about forgetting my trainers, or finding I’m wearing a posh dress watch rather than my sports watch, so have no idea how fast I’m running. As soon as I got out of bed at 6am though, the day started to improve. My lovely flatmate had left a bunch of birthday flowers on the kitchen table for me, and as I opened my cards over a bowl of porridge the nerves slowly turned to excitement.
By the time Caroline and I reached the start (after a trouble-free journey - another thing I was stressing about) excitement had almost totally taken over and I couldn’t wait to get going.
The London marathon attracts inspiring stories, but I found myself lining up for the start next to what must be one of the most incredible. Roy, 81, was running his 51st marathon and this was his 20th time in London. He’d raised £180,000 for charity over the years, he told me, having only started marathon running aged 60. That’s an average of 2.4 marathons a year. I couldn’t have asked for a better last-minute motivational chat.
Mile 1: So many people! Starting from pen 7, of 9, it took 15 minutes to cross the line and then it was impossible to run at my target pace.
At the 1 mile marker I was already 20 seconds down on my 9:09 minute-mile goal. I told myself I could catch it up later on and not to waste too much energy weaving through the crowds. In hindsight, the steady going early on was probably a very good thing indeed.
Mile 2: I’d been told this was mainly downhill, so was happy to see a long slope stretching out ahead and tried to pick up some speed. Hang on a minute though, what’s this equally long climb coming out the other side all about? I wasn’t warned about this. Humph.
Miles 3 to 5: As the red starters merged with the blues and greens the sheer scale of the event hit me. The atmosphere was incredible and the early crowds were doing themselves proud. I was still going much slower than I wanted, unable to settle at my own pace amid the volume of runners. But I was cheered by passing the 10 minute-mile pacer, only to come across the 11 minute-mile pacer just down the road.
Mile 6: The first hour was done almost without me noticing and I was feeling good. I took my first drink at 6 miles and got a slight stitch
- a problem I’d experienced in training and was worried about for the day. So I reined myself in slightly, decided not to worry about my split times and just to concentrate on staying calm and on finishing - 20 miles still to go.
Miles 7 and 8: Steady, but starting to really look forward to seeing my family and friends at…
Mile 9: I saw them before they saw me, thanks to the fantastic bright pink flags they’d made the night before. What a genius idea. They were perched on a ledge behind the 20-deep rank of spectators, so I couldn’t hear anything they were saying, but knew they’d seen me. The lift was incredible and for about 500 metres I felt like I could probably sprint the rest of the way.
Mile 10: I knew the plan was for my support crew to cross from the 9 mile mark over to 11, so there wasn’t long before I’d seen them again.
I passed the time by checking out my fellow runners - lo and behold there was Princess Beatrice in her caterpillar, led by Holly and Sam Branson. I had to cut across a grass verge to avoid getting caught up in the 34-strong group as it negotiated a particularly sharp corner.
And note to the tabloids: Bea is definitely no chubster!
Mile 11: Passed in a blur of loveliness as I saw one group of supporters, was joined on the course for a brief jog by another friend, and then saw a third cheering posse.
Mile 12: More support, but this time they missed me. Work-mate Sarah was busy preparing herself a burger from the BBQ, while close by, on the other side of the street, ex-work-mate Philippa stared expectantly into the masses as I passed her.
Mile 13: With the excitement of seeing my supporters and then crossing Tower Bridge behind me, I started to really tire for the first time and was disappointed with my halfway time of 2.08. I knew I could comfortably run half marathons much quicker than that and felt that the sheer number of people had really held me back. With nothing to be done though, I had to concentrate on staying strong and tried to relax by dropping my shoulders and shaking my legs out a little.
Miles 14 to 17: Things started to get tougher. Crowd numbers dwindled around the Isle of Dogs and the quads began to burn. I’ve noticed in training that different parts of the body hurt at different points during a run. To begin with it is the calves and ankles as they scream from the shock of an initial pounding. Then, as they get used to the idea, the stomach often complains after an hour of swishing around. As that settles, a sharp pain often develops in my tense shoulder blades.
But from around 15 miles onwards, it’s the leg muscles that take centre stage. ‘Hello,’ it’s as if they say, ‘what have you lot got to complain about? It’s us that’s taking the real strain, and we’re going to cause the overwhelming pain from now until this nonsense stops.’
Mile 18: I’d started to obsesses ever so slightly about when I’d next see some people I knew, so was really happy to reach mile 18, where my friends and family were planning to be. When there was no sign of them I tried not to be too despondent. At least the Hact folk gave me a loud cheer - much needed after what had felt like 7 lonely miles.
Mile 19: Oh joy, the familiar surrounds of Canary Wharf and the most fantastic crowds yet. Huge big up to my friend Hannah, who, on seeing me turn into North Colonnade, used her entire lung capacity to scream ‘Happy Birthday’. The crowd around her cottoned on and soon 30 or so people were shouting birthday wishes.
Mile 20: This was my lowest point. Exiting the incredible atmosphere of Canary Wharf, the streets were almost deserted and I felt broken. A glance at my watch confirmed that the hallowed sub 4-hour goal was impossible. From somewhere I managed to pick up the pace just a tiny bit, still hoping to break 4:15. That lasted for all of 100 metres before I conceded that, screw the time, just finishing now had to be my main priority.
Miles 21 and 22: Hard, hard, hard. Cheered only by watching the poor folk still at 14 miles on the other side of the street. Some fantastic costumes were on display by those bringing up the rear, including the two men in full-on suits, complete with bowler hats, umbrellas and picnic table. Respect.
Mile 23: Elation! The support crew were back and their numbers had swelled. Another huge boost and by this point, with just three miles to go, I knew I would finish.
In the final stages, only a few miles left to go
Miles 24, 25 and 26: The final stretch passed in a blur of incredible crowd support, disbelief that I’d come this far and relief that it was nearly over. I spent much of this time running next to a giant London Pride bottle, which was very popular with the supporters, so I happily soaked up some of its glory. Passing under the ‘Only 385 yards to go’
banner I finally relaxed and even managed a bit of a sprint finish (for sprint read limping hop at a very slightly quicker pace) to bag a time of 4:24:03. And I didn’t walk once!
The aftermath: The very sore legs, which felt like they might collapse beneath me at any moment, lasted for 48 hours. The real sense of achievement, however, is only just beginning to dawn and will, I feel sure, last for a lot longer. From about halfway onwards, the words ‘never again’ rang in my ears. How quickly we forget though. I’m eager to be back pounding the streets, and to one day run the quicker time that I know is in me. Dublin marathon this October, anyone?
End of the road
See what I said about having to run another one if I ran over 4 hours in yesterday’s London marathon? I take it all back.
Despite finishing in 4:08, four whole minutes slower than my previous marathon time, I was in no doubt as I crossed the finish line: never again.
But what an experience! The first 16 miles of my race went to plan – sort of. The idea was to get time in the bank by starting out at 3:45 pace. Only I found myself running 8.2 minute miles – 3:40 pace - and feeling confident that I would still cross the line under 4 hours despite inevitably slowing in the second half.
It was on the Isle of Dogs that it hit me: I’d failed to respect the distance and gone out way too fast. My thighs were beginning to burn, and I started to slow. By mile 20 – the home strait – I was convinced I couldn’t finish. I had plenty of puff, but by now my thighs were on fire. My legs just didn’t want to move. I started walking here and there before pushing off again. I knew now that my goal was probably out of reach, but there was a pay off: I was soaking in every last drop of the atmosphere.
From the little kids putting their hands out for high-fives from the runners, the spectators urging me on with offers of jelly beans, to the fellow runner who heard my family calling my name and pointed me in their direction when I’d given up hope of seeing them – this was an experience to cherish.
In my darkest moments, where walking the rest of the course or dropping out seemed the only option, two things kept me going: running for Hact and (pure selfishness) the promise of a finisher’s medal. There was no way I was going to miss out on that badboy. And how I grinned when I finally had it round my neck!
I certainly don’t regret the all or nothing approach. I gave it everything I had and I learned that 26.2 miles is a distance which takes no prisoners. It’s a lesson I’d bear in mind if I ever ran another one. Which, of course, I won’t.
Caroline (centre) at the end of the marathon
Check out Home Run later this week for Leonie’s marathon experience, and see Friday’s Inside Housing for a full run-down of Team Hact’s times.
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 402.2
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 431.2
Money they’ve raised for Hact so far: £3,276.20 – and it’s not too late to donate
Eeeeeeek
Crikey. We’re just 42 hours and 35 minutes away from the start line. And, tantalisingly, £48.80 away from reaching our £3,000 fundraising target. As Leonie put it in an email this morning, it’s all getting a bit ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeek’.
So, we thought, nothing like settling the nerves than one final pre-marathon blog. And as a bit of a break from the norm (and, frankly, because our thoughts are a bit all over the place at the moment) we’ve turned Paxman on each other. Without further ado then, we present the Home Run Girls’ interviews: the pre-race special.
Leonie: Snow or sunshine?
Caroline: Sunshine for sure – just not too hot (although looking at Sunday’s weather forecast that might be pushing our luck).
L: Shorts or lycra?
C: Shorts. No question about that.
L: Over 4 hrs or under 4 hrs?
C: Under. If I go over 4 I’ll have to run another one! So keep everything crossed.
L: Paris or London?
C: Ask me on Sunday afternoon! The atmosphere when I ran the Paris marathon was fantastic, so London has its work cut out there. Although I am looking forward to running/hobbling bits of my usual routes only this time with 36,000 others and crowds cheering.
L: Running or walking once the marathon’s over?
C: Running for sure. Just not quite so far.
Caroline: Pleasure or pain?
Leonie: Definitely pleasure, although there has been a fair amount of pain too. But overall, training for this marathon has been the most amazing experience. I feel fitter, happier and more fulfilled than when I started. Cheesy but true.
C: Riverside or park?
L: Canalside, actually. Regent’s Canal has been my faithful friend during the training. My favourite stretch is alongside Victoria Park though, so I guess I’m a park fan too.
C: Jog or sprint?
L: Jog, without a doubt. With two days to go, I’m still quite unsure of what my actual marathon pace is. It won’t be quicker than 9 minute miles though. My limited race experience reveals that I go a lot faster in a competition than in a training run, without really trying (does not having to stop to cross roads make that much difference?). I must make sure I keep my pace steady in the early miles on Sunday.
C: Sports drink or water?
L: I’m a purist – so water. I’ve experimented with various sports drinks and gels and haven’t got on well with them. So I’m relying on water and jelly beans to get me round.
C: More of the same or never again?
L: As much as I’ve loved it, I’m not sure about another marathon. It may well depend on my time on Sunday. If (very big if) I manage to break the magic 4-hour mark, then I think I’ll be satisfied. But if not, I may be tempted to don the trainers again and try to better my time. Either way, I’ll definitely run more after the marathon and try to maintain this general sense of well-being.
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 376
Number of banners lovely friends have designed to wave at me from the sidelines: three
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 405
Jelly Babies eaten: lots and lots
Fancy popping down to watch Team Hact run? Then feel free to join the Hact cheerleading squad at mile 18 – right by South Quay DLR. And don’t forget to check in next week to see how the runners got on.
The final strait
‘You must be mad’ and ‘Why?’ have been two fairly common responses over the last four months when I’ve told people I’m running the London marathon.
I feel quite mad right now. With a niggling cold, a hole in my trainer and exhausted to the core after 371 miles since New Year’s Day, I’ve rarely felt less like a marathon runner. But I know that with six days still to go the cold will clear, the adrenaline will kick in and the amazing crowd support and huge sense of achievement upon crossing the line will, hopefully, reconfirm sanity.
That sense of achievement also goes a long way to explaining ‘why’. But it’s not the only reason.
One of my first competitive (or should that be ‘organised’ – the competitive element was, for me, limited) road running experiences was the Hydro Active Women’s 5km race in Hyde Park in 2006. I plodded round in around half an hour – a fairly unremarkable achievement by marathon standards. My mum though, being treated for ovarian cancer at the time – a disease which killed her just nine months later – did her own Jane Tomlinson impression, finishing the race in under an hour.
Don’t worry, I’m not about to launch into some slush-fest about how the memory of her inspiring, adversity-beating example will keep me going at 23 miles. But there is one thing I’ll remember from that day which I think applies this Sunday.
Mum and I were running for the ovarian cancer charity Ovacome. As we lined up for the start we were surrounded by several hundred pink-clad women raising funds for various breast cancer charities. Strange as it may seem, this made mum angry. She was cross that so many people were running in aid of what she saw as a ‘glamorised’ disease, when other forms of cancer – without the celebrity sufferers, or almost ‘sexy’ image – got nowhere near as much attention.
In reality, her argument doesn’t make much sense. As the UK’s most common strain of the disease, claiming more than 12,000 lives a year according to Cancer Research UK, breast cancer is both a devastating illness and an utterly worthy cause. And in the grip of it I have no doubt that it is not remotely ‘glamorous’ or ‘sexy’. Perhaps her own cancer battle clouded mum’s judgement to some extent that day, but nevertheless I was struck by her passionate defence of, in charity terms, the little guy.
Campaigning for said little guy is, hopefully, is what I’m doing by running for Hact on Sunday. It provides essential but ultimately background support for what is not an immediately emotive sector. Its cause does not resonate with potential sponsors in the same way that, say, a breast cancer charity’s does.
I discussed this hurdle with the trust’s chief executive Heather Petch when I met her back in February. Hact’s is not a glamorous cause, she agreed, part of the problem being that its work is ‘developmental and a bit third-tier’. But knowing that people were prepared to run ‘miles and miles and miles’ to raise Hact’s profile was ‘inspirational’, she added, and would make a huge difference.
So there’s the other reason ‘why’. I could have chosen to run London for Ovacome, but in various ways I’ve raised a lot for that cause over the years. Picking a new, unsung but hugely deserving charity seemed like something mum would approve of.
Leonie with her mum in 2006
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 371
Pasta-based meals planned for this carb-loading week: at least six
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 398
What that number should be if I hadn’t skipped Sunday’s run due to another bout of lurgy: 406
DAYS TO GO: SIX!!
Mind games
You dream of many moments during marathon training. Hitting a hot shower after a wintry pre-breakfast run. Reaching your fundraising target. Bedtime. These are the bread and butter of the distance runner’s motivation. Collectively they are the bargaining chips - (mmmm, chips) - we use to keep us going amid the desolation of mile 16 of a 20-miler, or to resist the temptation to knock the alarm on the head and roll over until the ‘normal’ world wakes.
For the darkest moments of the last 14 weeks I have relied on two monster moments. Crossing the finishing line. (Obviously). And, until recently, reaching the magic taper.
Non-runners - and indeed runners who are sensible enough to avoid entering marathons - may need some explanation here. I’m not talking about any kind of wax-coated wick, nor some form of fancy economic footwork guaranteed to fix housing benefit (if only). In marathon-speak, the taper is the three weeks before race day. Your longest training run behind you, you start cutting the length of your runs. Week by week you mileage shrinks, allowing your muscles to repair and store up energy for the big day.
It was the promise of the taper and nothing else that got me out the door for a 22 mile slog - the longest training run I’ve ever done – on Easter Saturday. It was thinking ‘I never have to run this far again’, that kept me going. (OK, so there’s the marathon itself, but the mind-game rules allow you to discount this on account of it being a ‘race’). Somehow the mantra worked. Three and a half hours later I was done.
Many marathoners complain of ‘taper madness’ – a reluctance to rest up for fear of losing fitness, or simply because their bodies have become addicted to the mileage. I felt some of that during my last taper three years ago. Not so this time. At the moment the chance to put my feet up a bit, fully persuaded that it is doing more harm than good, is brilliant news. Sunday’s 12 miler felt like a real slog – sitting on the sofa eating cake was obviously the perfect remedy. I had legs of cement during this morning’s four miles. The gentle slope of London’s Millennium Bridge provided a particular challenge.
Not long to go now though. Last night a few members of Team Hact met to pick up our race shirts, each nattily emblazoned with our names. Homes for Haringey boss Paul Bridge immediately donned his for a practice run home. Meanwhile Hanover’s Bruce Moore continued to shame the rest of us with tales of 21 miles before work, a 56-mile race in the diary for the week after London, and plans to have run four marathons before the year is out.
But there was a shred of comfort for us mere mortals amid the telling of Bruce’s heroic endeavours. He let slip what gets him laced-up and out the door: the promise of a post-marathon Burger King whopper – and possibly even two.
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 360
Outfit combinations currently under consideration: at least five (although none are in any way fancy dress, sorry to disappoint).
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 390
Number of runs wearing shorts: three – ditching the vile running ‘tights’ definitely the most exciting development of the week.
PS massive thanks to everyone who’s helped us finally break the £2,000 barrier. For everyone else, there’s less than two weeks now to help us reach our £3,000 goal. All contributions very gratefully received!
It's (very likely it will have) been emotional
Leonie knocking a massive 11 minutes off her last run to bag a 1:52:23 PB
I’d like to apologise to my friends and family – for the emotional wreck I’m inevitably going to be on race day.
It began last weekend when Caroline and I ran our ‘official’ pre-London half marathon in Fleet. From about mile five I found myself pacing with a 70-year-old (I know this detail because someone shouted from the crowds: ‘That’s Bill, he’s 70!’). And yes, I know, keeping up with a pensioner is nothing to write home about, but this was no ordinary old man. Not only did he have a full head of (dyed) blue hair, he had speed (8.5-minute miles) and was, to put it mildly, a chatter.
‘Hello petal,’ he’d quip, as we passed a man running for Marie Curie wearing the cancer care charity’s sunflower emblem on his head. ‘Ooo, look, a buzzard,’ as a large bird of prey hovered above us. And ‘thanks marshal’ to each and every volunteer who lined the route. ‘Keep going old chap, like the hair,’ they’d reply – he was clearly well-known around these Hampshire parts.
Caroline racing to finish in 1:43:11
I’m happy to report that I managed to lose Bill on a particularly long stretch of uphill around mile nine, but the inspiring efforts of this super-fit, super-friendly 70-year-old were the first of several things to bring a lump to the throat this week.
Another was the arrival in the post of my official race number – 39,820, if you’re interested – and swathes of information about what to expect on race day. I can’t get enough of these details and sup them up greedily. Reading about the finish procedure on the tube to work I rather embarrassingly welled up imagining my exhausted but hopefully proud self being reunited with my nearest and dearest after 26 miles.
With four weeks to go a friend’s 30th birthday this weekend marked my last alcoholic drink until 25 April. And Easter has the longest training run – 21 miles – in store, followed by a three-week wind down. It’s all becoming quite real, but if I can’t hold it together now, just thinking about marathon day, the race itself is likely to be a tear-fest. The friends and relatives would be wise to pack the tissues.
The Home Run girls show off the silverware
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 297
Minutes taken off Great North Run half marathon time in Fleet last weekend: 11 – not too shabby, that.
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 318
Number of Princesses spotted on long run: one (Beatrice, or possibly the other one, chained to seven others in preparation for her marathon debut as a ‘caterpillar’)
Number of cycling bodyguards in tow: two (why?)
Click here to sponsor Caroline and Leonie’s run in aid of HACT, the Housing Action Trust
Hungover (permanently)
There’s a definite trend about this blog. Leonie posts on exciting sightings, thrill-seeking snow sports and culinary adventure. I just tend to moan.
Really, I don’t mean to be bringing everyone down. The thing is, I’m just. So. Tired.
SO. Tired.
Sure, my mileage is peaking at the moment. I did my second 20-miler last weekend (10 minutes slower than the last), and have been suffering for it since. It’s not so much aching legs, as you might expect. More waking up every morning feeling as though I was out boozing in a big way the night before. If only. Virtually tee-total and yet permanently hungover. How does that work?
The thing is, I don’t remember being this puny during my training for the Paris marathon three years ago. Perhaps being three years older is the problem. I certainly seem to be picking up more viruses and skipping more workouts than I probably should as a result.
Who knows? Either way, I am going to attempt some cheery thoughts to banish the get up-run-work-get home-eat-sleep-repeat-repeat-repeat blues (you have permission to get your violin out at this point). Here goes:
- Leonie’s fab feature on the HACT team’s recent training efforts is published in today’s Inside Housing (for instant gratification check out the online version). Surely that will push our fundraising total beyond the £907 mark it’s been stuck stubbornly on for what seems like weeks now.
- You can also see us training with the other HACT runners on the above video.
- Only one more long run to go! (22 miles over Easter Weekend. Bring on the eggs.)
- A taster of race-day atmosphere to come on Sunday when Leonie and I run the Fleet half-marathon in Hampshire.
- Only five weeks til the big day – and no more marathons ever again. (All readers are required to take collective responsibility to ensure that this stipulation is adhered to).
Time to pop some pills. Happy weekends all. And do feel free to sponsor us for a fantastic cause – it will provide a much-needed spring in my step.
Leonie’s run rate: 255
Hopes of smashing previous half marathon time (2hrs 3mins) in this weekend’s race: high – watch this space to find out whether I manage it
Caroline’s run rate: Miles since 1 Jan: 273
Painkillers popped: pushing the limits of the recommended dose
Seen and heard
London: pulsating, 24-hour city full of contrast. And covering 40 miles of it on foot each week – at unsociable hours and along unusual routes – is, I have found, a very good way to discover its delights. Here are my five favourite things seen (or heard) in London while training for the marathon:
1. Speed skating buggy man
Not as exciting as it might first sound, mainly because the speed skating bit is in my head. Maybe it would be better to call my first choice a general ‘park life’ scene – strangers cooing over cute puppies, kids trying out their brand new bikes and couples enjoying a coffee in the winter sun. Such a scene is summed up by buggy man, who jogs while pushing a stroller, thereby ticking the childcare and exercise boxes all at once. Perhaps it’s an overdose of the BBC’s Winter Olympics coverage, but as I circle Hackney’s Victoria Park in the opposite direction to buggy man I imagine we are engaged in a speed skating-type duel, each time we pass revealing who has gained ground on the other. Then again, perhaps it’s a lack of oxygen to the brain as I hit 18 miles causing such odd imaginations…
2. Progress on the Olympic site
Call me a hopeless patriot, but I’m hugely proud that London is going to host the Olympic Games 2012. Each time I pass the site – on my current favourite route taking in Limehouse docks and back home via Hackney Marshes – visible progress has been made. As I suppose you’d expect with just two years to go. Still, it’s all rather inspiring.
3. London Zoo waking up
As the canal path exits Camden and hits Regent’s Park, it bisects London Zoo, with the aviary on one side of the water and the giraffe and antelope enclosures on the other (all bound by big fences to stop the animals getting out and the public getting in for free). Taking this route at 8am is, for me, a magical experience. From peacock to hippopotamus, as the zoo-residents wake up they call to one another, transforming this oh so inner-city north London spot into a cacophony of jungle-like sound.
4. Penny farthing rider
Attentive readers will have heard mention of this before – but it bears repeating: a man, cycling along the canal towpath, on a penny farthing. The best thing about this sighting was that very few people batted an eyelid. The man in question was accompanying a friend, on a normal bicycle, and they were chatting away as if popping to the shops like any old Saturday. Perhaps they were. It can’t have been too convenient when he reached the numerous low bridges along the way, though.
5. Barack Obama
I’ve cheated a bit here. I didn’t see Obama while training for the marathon – it was back last year when the newly elected US President was on his first visit to Britain. And OK, it wasn’t actually me who saw him at all, it was Caroline, who was jogging along the Embankment when his motorcade whizzed past her. But that counts, doesn’t it? She is co-author of this blog and my general marathon buddy, after all. And yes, all right, we’re not totally sure it was Obama in the car – could have been a dummy motorcade, or his wife Michelle. Even so, a pretty cool spot.
Leonie’s run rate:
Miles since 1 Jan: 235
Anxiety dreams about the marathon so far: two, and counting (both times I was late for the start)
Caroline’s run rate:
Miles since 1 Jan: 263
Exceedingly annoying leaks in water bottle, discovered about three miles into long run: one
Help make all those miles count - click here now to sponsor Leonie and Caroline who are raising money for HACT
Hitting the buffers
It was all going so well. I’d managed a clear month of running every training run on my schedule. I was ticking off each completed plod with an all-too-smug sense of satisfaction. I ran 20 miles in the rain and wind the weekend before last – and felt brilliant. No post-long-run stupor, no aching quads or shaken torso the next day.
I followed this happy state of affairs up with a week of 6am runs. Sure I felt slightly broken by the end of the working week; but with just 10 miles scheduled during a weekend away in the New Forest figured I had the week’s training sewn up.
If only. On Saturday morning I woke laden with fatigue and with a nagging sore throat. My husband and I had grand plans to run the 10 miles before tucking into our B&B breakfast. Determined yet foolhardy, we headed out into a frosted Hampshire landscape. I figured it would get easier, repeating the runner’s maxim that the first 10 minutes running are often the worst.
It wasn’t to be. Two miles in and I was bent double, trying not to puke. Clearly my body was trying to tell me something. We turned back, watched by the grazing wild ponies we’d passed just moments before.
That was two days ago, and I’m still decidedly off colour: throat scratching, body aching - you get the picture. I was therefore delighted to read about something called the ‘mini taper’, a pocket-sized version of the reduced mileage – or taper – that comes in the final weeks before the race.
According to marathon guru Hal Higdon, backing off from training from time to time is not only likely to be necessary as you train for the 26-odd mile slog, but may even be desirable. High mileage tears your body apart. Rest lets it come back stronger.
That’s the theory, anyway. And it’s what I’ll be telling myself as I slump on the sofa slurping chicken soup tonight.
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 206
Moment of realisation that no matter how much training I do, a marathon is really going to hurt, a lot: about mile 15 of this weekend’s 18-miler.
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 233
New BFF: Hal Higdon
Click here to help Leonie and Caroline raise money for Hact
Only in next week’s Inside Housing – housing chiefs don the Lycra as the Home Run girls train with their fellow Hact team members
Bananarama
I’m not a fussy about food. Seafood - love it. Juice with bits in (a persistent offender with picky eaters) - yes please. Offal - why not? You get the idea. But when it comes to bananas it’s a different story. There is a very small window of opportunity in which I will eat one. The perfect banana should be just the right amount of unripe. Once the skin has lost its green tinge, I won’t touch it.
From experience, I know that this edible state lasts for a maximum of two days. It’s frustrating because at 7am when I’m contemplating the run to work, a high-energy, stodge-free – and yet gorgeously green - banana would make a perfect pre-training snack. So I merrily buy them by the bunch-load, soon to realise that there are only so many a girl can eat in 48 hours.
Luckily, one weekend when the banana glut was particularly extreme, a helpful friend revealed that among his many talents was an off-the-top-of-head flair for baking banana bread. Genius. And edible for at least a week. (Although the slab of butter and mound of sugar that went in make it less appropriate for a pre-run snack).
With just nine weeks to go though, and as the 5-mile route to work becomes more tiring, rather than the walk in the park I’d anticipated at this stage, the banana saga has made me think more carefully about what I eat. As my fellow Hact runner and fundraiser Gary Lashko, of Carr-Gomm, says: ‘I haven’t got a clue about nutrition. At some point I think I shall need to eat more sensibly…’
I hear you Gary. The basics are well-known – carbs good, Atkins bad. But after that I’m floundering. The sweet people at Hact have helped with their regular nutrition tips – I can get my potassium fix from apricots, cherries and tomatoes apparently, leaving the fickle bananas on the supermarket shelf.
But perhaps what I really need is a personal chef, slaving over a beautifully balanced meal when I get home from a long run, and on hand to dish out nutrition-packed snacks throughout the day. Bread baking friend, with his own job to hold down, is unfortunately unavailable for the role, so as second best I’ve turned to marathon veteran Hal Higdon and his thoughts on healthy eating in his Ultimate Training and Racing Guide.
Runners burn approximately 100 calories a mile, he says. And while a chocolate fix would quickly restore those calories, a better recovery meal would have a carbs to protein ratio of 4 to 1. A tuna sandwich and a piece of fruit, perhaps. All good advice, but his observation which rings most true is this: runners need far more calories than those who don’t exercise and this, often, is why we do it. Our common cry is ‘I love to eat’. Now there’s a nutrition tip I can chew on.
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 140
Number of times I’ve missed dinner this week due to socialising: a shameful two (in a row). Must do better.
Caroline’s run rate:
Miles since 1 Jan: 170
Number of times I’ve used running as an excuse to avoid household chores this week: probably about 170
Click here to sponsor Leonie and Caroline and support the fantastic work of housing charity Hact
All in a good cause
Why run for Hact? That was the question put to me this weekend by the charity’s fund raising guru Laura Conrad. Here is my answer:
I have come across and written about Hact’s work many times during my four years at Inside Housing. What sticks in my mind is the huge scope of work the charity undertakes, the massive difference it can make to individuals’ lives and the quality of the research it carries out on behalf of vulnerable people whose situations might otherwise go ignored both by government and other voluntary groups. What stands out the most though are the people who use Hact’s services; often their stories are at once heartbreaking and inspirational and Hact’s existence has enabled them to begin to fulfil their considerable talents, hopes and dreams. The most amazing thing is how unsung Hact’s work seems to be. This is a charity which makes a significant difference, yet I’d bet most members of the public have never heard of it. As well as raising a good wodge of cash for Hact, I hope Hact’s marathon runners will help raise the profile of a very worthy cause.
For those of you asking ‘why should I donate to Hact (by clicking here)?’ my answer is simple: see above for details.
(You might also like to check out Bouncing Back, which tells the story of Nadine Tunasi who took part in Hact’s Reach In project which helps refugees get into work. Since the article was published Nadine has landed a job with Labour MP Jeremy Corbyn.)
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 101
Number of men seen riding penny farthing along canal tow path while out running: 1
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 126
Appetite increase: massive
Piste off
This week I took my training to the slopes. Five things I’ve learned from the snow:
1. A month of marathon training beforehand really helps with those long red runs and the uphill trek back to the chalet.
2. My boyfriend Sam can bounce, which is handy when you’re a beginner snowboarder.
3. Definitely the right decision not to pack the trainers. A foot of snow at resort level on the day we arrived scuppered any potential runs.
4. -18 degrees is really quite cold.
5. Trying to organise a group of 14 to all ski together isn’t really doable, especially when certain people like to take the questionable off-piste route.
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 82.4
Snow miles this week: estimates from the group range downwards from 100… More realistically maybe 50, including one 14km beast
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 91
Time spent fretting I’m getting another cold: more than is healthy
Fading fast
Last week I listened to Haile Gebrselassie being interviewed ahead of his attempt to break his own world record at the Dubai Marathon. For a recreational runner it was both awe inspiring and terrifying to hear the Ethiopian running legend describe what it takes to compete at his level.
In the event he ran 2:06:09, just over two minutes slower than the 2:03:58 needed to smash his record set in Berlin in 2008. He said later he’d been bothered by a back injury, apparently picked up while watching TV the night before the race. If that explanation is true, let’s face it: you’d be pretty gutted.
In fact regardless of the cause you’d be gutted. I would imagine failing to break a world record smarts more than most other missed goals (a comparison I’m unlikely ever to qualify to make). But that’s the thing about marathon running: you always face the fact that you’re competing with yourself.
In 2007 I ran the Paris Marathon. It was April, and the mercury was rising with unseasonal alacrity. As the temperature soared to 27 degrees and fellow racers began keeling over, my hopes of finishing on target – and runner’s superstition prevents me from revealing what that was – faded fast. In the event I finished in around 4 hours and 4 minutes. Thrilled though I was to have completed my first marathon, those four-minutes-and-one-second grated. How much better it would have been to be able to say I’d run a sub-four marathon.
This week has brought a sharp reminder of the need to constantly reassess goals and manage expectations. The lurgy struck. After a successful 14 miler last Saturday, I have not run a jot. My trainers sit unlaced, my running log unfilled. Meanwhile my chest continues to rattle, my limbs to ache. It is incredibly frustrating.
Experience tells me that running too soon will set me back even further. But if not this evening, then I feel I will cave tomorrow and lace up regardless. At this rate I’m more likely to be empathising with the protagonists on the other big marathon story of recent weeks – the Chinese runners disqualified from the Xiamen Marathon for completing part of the route by car.
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 79.4
Mild panic attacks about fundraising efforts so far: 3 and a half.
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 69
Miles missed thanks to lurgy: 14
Hopes of running run tonight: fading fast
Hopes of running weekend’s scheduled 16-miler: dashed
Retail therapy
I succumbed to the London Marathon shop this week. Could probably have popped to any department store and spent half as much on a second set of gear – necessary to avoid washing machine burnout when you’re running this much – but that didn’t have quite the same lure.
Perhaps it’s the specialist shop’s huge digital countdown to the main event (3 months, 2 days, 23 hours, 35 minutes and 29 seconds as I write) over the door that adds an appealing sense of occasion and persuades gullible runners to part with their cash.
But it turns out there’s more than shiny trainers and breathable thermals on offer. The shop assistant, with two marathons to his name, had a top tip: ‘enjoy it’. Nice advice, but not all that practical. As a marathon novice, in order to ‘enjoy it’ on the day I feel I need some serious training pointers beforehand: how far and how often should I be running, what should I be eating, where are the best routes, and so on?
Pushed a little further the assistant did admit that he did ‘hardly any’ training for his first marathon and that this had ‘not been a good idea’.
‘The more 20-mile runs you do beforehand, the better,’ he said. Now we’re talking, proper insider-knowledge. ‘Listen to your body, don’t overdo it. And on the day listen to the crowd, they will get you round.’
Listen to your body has been a common piece of advice from the marathon old-timers whose views I’ve canvassed. Currently my body is saying: ‘Whoa, what’s going on? We never used to do this much exercise, not sure I like it.’
Another popular tip has been to increase my mileage by no more than 10 per cent each week. My first properly long run – 12 very soggy but satisfying miles along Regent’s Canal on Saturday – threatened to blow that aim apart this week. But then the body piped up moaning about a troubling left instep, sore hamstrings and general fatigue and the week’s planned mileage quickly dipped.
With a posh new running outfit to show off though, next week there’ll be no excuses. The body will just have to keep schtum.
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 57.8
Number of people I’ve managed to impress with that figure: too few
Cash spent on probably unnecessary running gear in the hope of looking the part: too much
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 Jan: 50
Mantra of the week: ‘In 3 months it will all be over’
Bring on the big melt
Some people claim running is an addiction. I claim that running breeds addictions. Specifically, if this past week is anything to go by, a serious dependency on the weather forecast.
First it was an obsession with the ‘will it won’t it’ snow story. Online, on screen, on the radio. I was logging in, turning on and tuning into wherever the Met Office’s finest were doing their thing.
Then it was a rejigging of the training schedule according to their decree. At one point it was looking like a first week wipe-out as far as running was concerned, with the all important long run looking as likely as a vote of confidence in Gordon Brown.
Thank heavens, then, for the Michael Fish effect. The heavy snowfall forecast for Saturday failed to materialise. I saw my chance and seized it. Twelve miles through an almost deserted central London, gloriously devoid of the usual obstructive knots of tourists. Hyde Park was a picture – The Serpentine Lake a particular treat, iced over and topped with an unbroken layer of white. Okay, so Constitution Hill resembled a bob sleigh luge; but was negotiated slowly but successfully. (That is to say without broken bones).
The rest of the week’s runs have gone to plan so far. Which is more than can be said, unfortunately, for our fundraising efforts to date. They say every little counts, and of course it does. But our £100 tally is looking a little sad next to the great big £3,000 target. Go on, cheer it up. A quick click here and you’re almost there: http://www.justgiving.co.uk/carolineandleonie
Leonie’s run rate
Miles since 1 January: 27.3
Extra distance added when ‘long route’ run was miscalculated and turned out to be nothing of the sort: 0.3 miles
Caroline’s run rate
Miles since 1 January: 32
Horribly painful sports massages to deal with ITB injury: 1
All in a good cause
If your cursor is hovering over the ‘donate now’ button, here’s some information about Hact to persuade you to double click without further ado:
Hact according to… Hact
We improve the wellbeing and living conditions of poor and marginalised people, delivering lasting change with projects that harness the energy and enthusiasm of local people, housing providers and other organisations. We bring in the know-how and new resources to make things happen.
Hact fact
Hact is celebrating its 50th anniversary this year. Sir Parker Morris (of space standard fame) founded the charity in 1960 with the aim of matching improvements in poorer people’s physical living standards with improved opportunities to live fulfilling lives.
The kind of thing your sponsorship would help pay for
Homeshare is part of Hact’s age2age project and is so simple. Homeshare brings together older people with homes, and younger people who have experience of, or are at risk of homelessness. Hact’s aim is to transform the lives of people like Mel and Tony.
Mel is a 28-year-old, friendly and warm person. She works full time and wants to become more settled because her present accommodation is expensive and temporary. She’s a capable cook, and would be willing to help out with most household tasks. We’re trying to find an older person who would be willing to house her at a reduced rent, or even rent free.
Meanwhile Tony is 81 years old and lost his wife recently. The only surviving member of his family lives more than a hundred miles away, and all of his old mates have died. Tony is in good health and wants someone to talk to. He would like someone to move in who could help a little around his home.
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