A Beginner’s Guide to Running Terms (What They ACTUALLY Mean) - ADIDAS

NOTE: I'm lucky enough to have been approached by ADIDAS who have invited me to be a part of their Blogger Community. This means I get to link up with other like-minded bloggers (which I take to mean other snack-obsessed runners) and they give me some ADIDAS vouchers to write my blogs … which I do anyway! Sounds like an absolute win to me!

I'm doing nothing different except adding some links to ADIDAS kit! Win win!

So you’ve decided to become a runner. Congratulations! You are now part of a noble, unhinged community who willingly spend hundreds of pounds on shoes that promise to make us slightly quicker at parkrun and who think “relaxing” means voluntarily running up a hill. Hills. Plural.

This post is fuelled by crème eggs, sarcasm, and the fact I’m currently wearing head-to-toe Adidas tracksuits (If I can’t run fast, at least I can look like I know what I’m doing.)

But before you lace up and trot off, you need to know the language. Running has its own dictionary, and like all good dictionaries, it’s mainly full of words that sound either ridiculous, misleading or like medical conditions you’d rather not discuss with your GP.

Don’t worry though … I’ve put together a handy guide to running terms, complete with their REAL meanings.

Oh Yes. Having a grand old time trying to run up hills ... *CRIES*

PB (Personal Best)

Official definition: Your fastest ever time over a certain distance.

Actual meaning: The time you’ll spend the rest of your life trying (and failing) to beat. Despite new (and ever more expensive) shoes, new (and more complicated) training plans and trying new (and ever weirder) fuels & recipes … it'll remain elusive. However, a PB is definitely more achievable if you’re wearing shiny new kit. (Cough Adidas ladies black trainers cough). It's not worked yet. But I'm no quitter … goes off to buy 67^th pair of trainers.


Fartlek

Official definition: A Swedish training method meaning “speed play.”

Actual meaning: A word that makes non-runners think you’ve joined a Dad Joke comedy club. Also, running fast until you regret it, then jogging slowly until guilt forces you to speed up again. Repeat until death. Or vomit. Or brown shorts. 


Negative Split

Official definition: Running the second half of a race faster than the first.

Actual meaning: Something your coach suggests with a straight face, as if you’re not already sweating like you've eaten your child's easter eggs and they've asked for help looking for them, by halfway through the race. Go faster? Now? HOW?

Yes. That's me at London Marathon this year getting beaten by a penguin,

Carb-Loading

Official definition: Eating extra carbohydrates before a big race to fuel your body.

Actual meaning: Pasta. So much pasta. Pasta for breakfast, pasta for lunch, pasta until your family stage an intervention and beg you to eat a vegetable. Luckily, Adidas leggings and mens tracksuits stretch far enough to accommodate your new spaghetti baby belly. 


Bonk / Hitting the Wall

Official definition: When your glycogen stores run out mid-race, leaving you exhausted.

Actual meaning: The precise moment you discover your legs are ornamental and your brain is made of soup. Minestrone soup to be precise. And you wish you were on the sofa instead with a cold beer with your slippers on and your man hoodie.


Tempo Run

Official definition: A comfortably hard effort.

Actual meaning: An oxymoron. Like describing my race photos as “pretty ugly”.

It's perfectly NORMAL to run up mountains on holiday. *cough*

Taper

Official definition: The period of reduced training before a race. 

Actual meaning: A time when you run less, eat more, and panic constantly that you’ve forgotten how to run. Symptoms include Googling “Can I lose fitness in 72 hours?” at 2am. And when fuelling sensibly involves me wondering how many crème eggs I can justify as “sensible”.

Time to dig out your walking boots and get some miles in around that marathon expo. Walking doesn't count as mileage right? Want some more kit while you're tapering? Get your hiking boots here!


Shakeout Run

Official definition: A short jog to loosen your legs before a race.

Actual meaning: A public catwalk where you parade your carefully chosen race kit while pretending not to be terrified. (Top tip: new Adidas running tops look even faster than they feel.)


Ultra

Official definition: Any race longer than a marathon.

Actual meaning: A marathon, but with more snacks. Usually entered after two glasses of wine and the phrase, “How hard can it be?” And encouragement from online friends who will join you in thinking “What the hell have I just done?” the next morning.



Garmin (or any GPS watch)

Official definition: A device that tracks pace, distance and time.

Actual meaning: A small wrist tyrant that decides your self-worth. Finishing a run feeling amazing? Wrong. Garmin says your “training status” is “detraining.” Now cry. At least my Adidas womens hoodie never judges me. It just quietly soaks up the sweat and pretends everything’s fine.

And there you have it: the secret codebook of running. You’re welcome. Next time someone brags about their negative splits or invites you to a fartlek session, you’ll know exactly what they mean (or at least how much to laugh in their face).

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go “carb-load.” Which is a fancy way of saying I’ve just cooked an entire family-sized lasagne… for me. And yes, I’ll be eating it while wearing my Adidas waterproof trainers because fuelling is serious business.

RunMotion App: Shouty Coach or Nice Coach?

How do you tell a decent running app from one that’s not so good? There are so many available nowadays that it can be difficult to tell which one will help you achieve your goals and which ones won’t be a good investment of your time … or money.

When I got an email from RunMotion offering me a test of their app, I decided to give it a go. I had nothing to lose. The gym was closed, the country was in the middle of a pandemic, all of my events had been cancelled and anything that helped me to build up some run miles was going to be a bonus.

I’d lost pretty much all of my running motivation so accepting to test an app would mean I would HAVE to run, right?

Sorted. I gratefully accepted the invitation and downloaded the app.

TEXT MESSAGES

I was expecting the usual questionnaire on opening the app and setting it up … you know, the stuff that I HAVE to put in to get the useful stuff out at the other end … 

… but I didn’t expect the format.

RunMotion is set up so everything is in a text message format so it feels as though I’m actually having a conversation rather than mindlessly filling in boxes. And it feels much more personal.

COACH SHOUTY

Something I also liked was that I had the choice of 3 different types of coaches:

Positive Coach ‘I’ll give my best to help you reach your goals’

Philosopher Coach ‘Know yourself’ is the beginning of all wisdom’

Authoritarian Coach ‘I’m not here to waste my time’

Clearly I chose the authoritarian coach. I know myself well enough to know that if I get the option, I’ll sit around and not do much running so I need a coach – even a virtual one – that’ll tell me to get off my arse and start putting the work in. 

Even better if there’s an option that tells me to ‘Put The Cake Down’.

MUD OR ROAD

I also chose which days I could run and how many days a week I could run which is fairly in running apps, but what was different was that I could also set the type of terrain I was running on. As everyone knows there’s quite a difference between road running and trail running. Usually mud.  Lots of it. 

GOAL SETTING

Goal setting was simple. The app simply asked me ‘Why do you run’ and gave me a range of options e.g. set a PB, run for fun, running as cross training or do well in a timed test. It was nice to be able to be specific and also to have the option to run for pleasure. So many apps are end goal focused that it’s nice to have an option to NOT have that. Particularly in a year where I’m a little peeved about having all of my events cancelled from under me.

VERY peeved.

BEING CONTRARY

As a result I didn’t have an event to train for this year, but because I’m contrary I decided to put in ‘Wellness and Pleasure’ but also ‘Finisher of a Race’,

However, the app was clearly waiting for me to be a pain as it asked whether I was in lockdown and whether I’d like to prepare for a virtual race in 2021. Huh, slick. 

It even offered me a list of races …

Ok. I’m impressed.

ANY PROBLEMS?

The app is based in the French Alps and as a result the default setting is in kilometres. I tend to work in minute/miles for my running and I couldn’t find out how to change from km to miles. I asked the team and they confirmed that this option is coming shortly. However, currently it works in kilometres. 

I once did something that the app didn’t expect and it directed me to an error page with a message ‘Oups that shouldn’t be there’ text on the screen. The app does display some dubious English on occasion. But that kind of makes me like it even more. It gives the app even more character. 

If you google the app, the main website you are directed to is in French. This was a bit offputting initially as my French language skills are still around GCSE level (I can ask the way to the football stadium and get a beer but that’s about it) but there is an English version if you look a couple of search results down: Run Motion Website

SUMMARY

I found the RunMotion app very professional and easy to use. I particularly liked the text message style mentoring and goal setting as it felt informal and quite an easy way to decide on my options and what I wanted to get out of the app. 

 What I like is the simplicity. It’s easy to use and easy to change. Yet it feels personal. 

I’ve used the app for it ‘speed and explosiveness’ plan and it was easy to follow. I put the session into the training calendar I use and synched my runs from my Garmin which again was very easy to set up. In a year that has been a bit chaotic and unstructured, it has been nice not to have to think about what sessions I need to plan as it has been done for me.

The app gives you 2 weeks free to trial it and then it’s £5 a month for premium version. I liked it the app so much that I recommended my husband download it and follow a plan. He’s currently asked it to train him for the 40 mile ultra he has scheduled in April. But he’s still struggling with trying to get it to add in cake stops during his run ... Maybe that’s some feedback I’ll pass back to the developers.

ABOUT RUNMOTION

      The app is designed to be useful for all abilities from runners, from beginners to seasoned athletes and for a range of terrains from mountains to treadmills!

      Over 12OK users mainly from France at present but the app is moving into the UK, USA, Belgian and Swiss markets … 

      The app is connected to Strava and a range of different GPS watches including Garmin, Polar and Suunto.

    • Positive reviews from multiple sources: "RunMotion innovates in the way it approaches the world of running and deserves to be discovered" - Runner's World."The possibility for all runner profiles to receive personalized and practical coaching in order to progress. Tested and approved!" - Nature Trail.

If you'd like to try the app, go here RunMotion or search 'RunMotion' in the Play Store or the App Store or google. You get 2 weeks free trial.

p.s. Let me know what you think!

10 Reasons I HATE Running ...

1. You get a beautiful tan in summer ... but in the shape of your running kit. White sock marks are SEXY, right? Hello? Anyone ...?

2. You earn the calories to drink gallons of cocktails ... but can’t drink them as you have a 6am run the next morning. It's hard work being a dedicated fun runner. Sulk.   

Socks that cost as much as 2 bottles of vodka ...

3. Your legs have never looked better ... your feet have never looked worse.

After 87 miles at TR24 in the heat. Cankles are sexy ... right? 

4. You FEEL great post-lunchtime run  ... you LOOK terrible. Hastily brushed shower hair is horrific. As is bright-red-shower-face. Both are my standard post-lunch look. So why is MY desk in the corner behind that big board? 

5. You’re in the best shape of your life from all the running ... but your race photos STILL look horrendous. 

Sprint finish ... yes I KNOW I look like a dying goldfish. I was trying hard. 

6. You get to find secret trails and amazing views from the top of hills ... but you’re too busy checking the pace on your Garmin or trying not to vomit from having made yourself run up the hill.

Hills in the heat. Hate hills, hate heat, Sulk. *vomits*

7. You get to buy new shoes. Lots of new shoes ... But they’ll ALL have laces, rubber soles and smell like a dying kipper.

8. You have enough technology on your wrist to power a small spaceship ... but all you use it for is to beat yourself up about why you didn’t run up that hill a bit faster. Stupid hills.

Get outside and enjoy nature. Source

9. You’re saving money from not going out and not drinking ... and spending it all on trainers and socks that you'll have to replace within 3 months. 

10. You know the exact pace you have to run to get a sub-20 5k ... but you still can’t bloody do it. 

Stupid running.

Huff.

(Goes and puts trainers on and goes for a run in a sulk)

10 Reasons to Start Running You Never Considered ... Zombie Attacks & Moving Picnics ...

1. Zombie Apocalypse.
When the zombie apocalypse comes you’ll be glad you dragged your arse out for all those runs. You may not have any toenails, but you’re not going to be a snack for the groaning undead. Cardio, cardio, cardio. Oh and double-tap. Remember to practise your intervals though. They’ll eat the slow ones first.

Source

2. Party Preparation.
Should there be a last minute 80s party, you’ve already got all the lycra and neon you’ll ever need. And we know you listen to the Fame soundtrack while you’re running. Don’t deny it.

3. Concentration.
Running makes you really, really focused. Nothing focuses the mind more than the thought of a really cold pint at the end of a really hot marathon.

4. It hurts less when you stub your toe.
There are less toenails to actually knock off and quite frankly your toes have lost all sensitivity by the time you actually get around to kicking the doorframe. Likewise standing on Lego will never hurt quite the same again.

5. Stat Attack
You know how boring spreadsheets are? Well when they show your run in great details including cadence, heart rates and teeny tiny hills you won’t be able to get enough information. Trust me. AND you’ll be able to prove it was all the fault of that energy gel you had at 8.67 miles that you started feeling nauseous and had to stop running. And definitely not the bottle of wine the night before. Cough.

6. Open Season at Buffet Bar
People won’t judge when you go back for 4ths and 5ths at the buffet. They’ll just assume you ran a marathon the day before.

7. Recovery, Recovery
You can pass off drinking gallons of chocolate milkshake as ‘recovery fuel’.

8. Moving Picnic.
Ultra marathons have CAKE stops. And no-one judges you for eating an entire pizza en-route. And you walk up the hills. Basically they’re a massive buffet with a bit of jogging thrown in.

9. Maths Mastermind
Your maths becomes amazing. You know exactly what pace you have to do to hit that personal best and be able to calculate kilometres per hour into minute miles in seconds. It’s like being an idiot savant. Unable to add up the groceries in the trolley but with the ability to tell anyone your 5k pace when asked.

10. MI5? Pah ...
You can talk a whole new language with other runners. Negative splits? Yasso 800s? Kenyan Hills? It’s like being a secret agent. But one dressed entirely in neon lycra.
 

Go Push a Cyclist in the Hedge

You know those people who say in a cocky tone; “You never forget how to ride a bike”? Can you go and push them off their bikes for me, please? Preferably into a spiky hedge. With bees in it.

My helmet is strapped firmly to my head, my bell is within reach on the handlebars - or it would be if I dared take a hand off the handlebars – and I am wearing lycra. I heard a saying recently that was used to describe someone on a bike. It was “All of the gear ... no idea”. That pretty much sums me up.

Or maybe the slightly longer but possibly more accurate; “What the hell am I doing on a bike I can’t ride one of these.”

I’m lucky, my hometown of Rugby has a brilliant cycle network which meant I could try out my cycling skills – or lack thereof – with very little riding on the roads. I’d be able to pedal along safely on the specially designated path sharing it with pedestrians (lucky, lucky them) but without having to compete with the cars and lorries for my much-needed wobble space. Luckily there weren’t many pedestrians around (maybe they saw me coming) and the small amount of road cycling went smoothly and was incident - and mainly wobble -free.

I’d chosen Cycle Route 41 - which was familiar to me as a marathon training route - and while I enjoy running through mud, cycling through mud was a revelation. I’d forgotten the ‘whizzzz’ noise of tyres through puddles and the joy of trying to keep up speed through extremely sticky mud without putting a foot down in the muck. I’d forgotten the fun of cycling the trails, of ducking low branches and of the breeze that you don’t get when you run. I’d even forgotten the Cyclist’s Badge – the stripe of mud up your arse which identifies you immediately as being a cyclist – and worse - one unable to resist a muddy puddle.

I’d promised to be back within an hour, but the temptation was too much and after finding myself a little further away from home than expected, I decided to make my way home along the Oxford Canal Path where I could admire the pretty narrowboats while pedalling along.

It was lucky I did really. (If I completely ignore the fact that the puncture happened BECAUSE I was on the canal path and passing newly clipped hedges.) If I hadn’t been on the canal path, what were the chances of getting a puncture RIGHT OUTSIDE THE PUB?

Pretty low, right? See – a stroke of luck. It happening outside a convenient pub, I mean. Not the puncture. Terrible how these things happen. Tut tut. Must have a cider to steady my nerves.

Nope. Definitely NOT at the pub. 

Luckily I was far enough away from home and it took my husband quite a while to shepherd the 5 year old into her car seat. Long enough for me to finish my pint and resume my position complete with stricken look and helpless posture next to my bike with the conveniently flat tyre. And hide the pointy stick.

You Lookin' at ME?

Not really. I’m not the desperate for a pint. Cough.

Trying to get a bike into the back of a Ford Fiesta while keeping one of the back seats up for a child seat was like those strange metal puzzles you get in Christmas crackers. You know there’s a way to do it, but there aren’t any instructions and you have to resist the urge to resort to brute force. There was also the ‘big box of crap’ which seems to reside in the boot of every car to navigate around.

Finally after a lot of (muffled) swearing, a lot of shoving and clanking and giggles we got a pushbike, a child seat, a 5 year old, 2 adults and a cardboard box of crap into a small family car.

It was like oily, muddy magic. But in a Fiesta.  

Cycling Problems: So Where Do I Carry The Wine?

I wheeled the bike out of the garage. It didn’t look very happy. If a bike could look grumpy, then it did.

It had had a long rest since I’d last used it around 5 years ago and it hadn’t been very impressed with the addition of a child seat then. It had been miffed about the basket, but had calmed down when I said it was for carrying wine, but putting a child seat onto what the bike thought of as a Serious Mountain Bike (it put on its serious face when it said this) was akin to painting a Model-T red. The bike does have a very high opinion of itself.

I propped it against the wall of the house and assessed the size of the job.

There were two flat tyres, the seat and frame were covered in cobwebs and dust and looked like a Halloween prop, orange rust had flowered on the once-shiny bits, the bright yellow baby seat had dulled and it made a strange squeaking noise. Basically, if Miss Havisham had owned a bike it would have looked like this.

Ironically, the basket on the front was the best bit. And this was the part that was to be removed. After deciding I was going to have a try at triathlon to give my Plantar Fasciitis plagued foot a rest, I had been told that I would have to remove my bike basket.

“But how would I carry my wine?” I’d asked, a bit perplexed.

This had worried me a bit until I remembered that I still had the child seat on the bike. Relieved I reasoned that the baby on the back could carry the wine during the triathlon.

Needing a bike rack, two new tubes and two tyres, I’d been advised to visit the local bike shop to support local businesses. Obviously sensing a lost cause, they told me to go to Halfords.

I did. 2 tyres, 2 tubes and a bike rack later I was back home wondering where £120 had gone.

Sulking somewhat I removed the basket and the child seat. I have to admit I had visions of being awesome and overtaking everyone on a bike with a basket full of wine and a child seat full of ... well, wine too ... but quite frankly I’m going to need all the help I can get on a bike. If taking off the basket and child seat and leaving the wine until AFTER the triathlon is going to help then I’m all for it. All for everything apart from the lack of wine, that is.

But I was putting my foot down on one thing. The bell was STAYING.

After a lot of fairy liquid, legions of unhappy, homeless spiders and a bit of squabbling with 5year old about who got the yellow sponge, we ended up with a bright, shiny, rust-free bike.

And my bike looked rather clean too.

However, I was still left with the problem of 2 flat tyres.

How exactly do you fix a tyre?

I remembered that the bike had to be upside down. Turned bike upside down. It promptly fell over again nearly flattening 5 year old. Removed child from vicinity of bike, straightened handlebars and tried again. Ok. The child has been dusted off and the bike is now upside down. What now?

A vague memory stirred about needing sandpaper and plasters and a bowl of soapy water but I wasn’t sure that this would work on bikes more recent than the 1950s. Besides I had been given 2 new tubes by the enthusiastic young man in Halfords. Who had assumed I knew what to do with them. I didn't like to disappoint his confidence in me and had accepted them with good grace. And confusion.

Pulling them out of the packets, they looked just like 2 deflated rubber rings. Toying briefly with the idea of putting the bike back into the garage and making balloon animals out of the tubes, (“A toy poodle!”) I turned to the No-Hoper’s last resort: YouTube.

Searching for “How to fix a puncture”, I soon found a helpful video and despite a brief moment of panic where I caught my finger between tyre and wheel rim, I was soon looking at my bike.

Clean, shiny and standing on two new tyres.

A working bike! I dinged the bell in satisfaction.

Now how do I actually go about actually riding one of these things?

Leamington Parkrun: Lessons from a 4 Year old

Leamington parkrun on the 21^st December was to be the Christmas parkrun. This meant an excuse to bring out my red and white outfit and run around the 3 mile course dressed as Santa Claus. However, this year my 4 year old wanted to join in. Dressed in her finest Miss Christmas outfit, she was determined to teach us something about running.

Here is what I learned from running with a 4 year old:

• Corners are more fun if you aeroplane around them. Arms out and “Mrowwwww” noises are compulsory.
• Fartleks are started by shouting “Run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm a gingerbread man!”
• If you don't stop dead at the end of each interval, causing taller people to have to leapfrog you, you're doing running wrong.
• Mud on trainers is a necessity as is mud on clothes. You should stop to inspect this at regular intervals. If you can keep up a running commentary in it so much the better. Adults LOVE this.
• As soon as your legs feel a bit wibbly from all the running, insist on being carried. 
• Leaves are interesting. Don't forget to stop and inspect the green ones. Especially if your parkrun is on trails. LOTS of leaves to stop and inspect.
• Puddles are damp pools of enjoyment and should be stared into before tiptoeing through the dead centre.

AND finally and most importantly ...

• Coming dead last is an honourable position and as added bonus there are all the more people to cheer you across the finish line!

Picture taken by Amar Chehal

Putting Poor WolfRunner through her Paces ...

I got a call from WolfRunner. She needed to run 12 miles as training for her half marathon and wanted a running buddy. Preferably one who didn’t talk all the time, didn’t get lost and could run 12 miles.

However, she couldn’t find anyone.  So she decided that she could run with earplugs and rely on GPS and she gritted her teeth and gave me a call.

This run was 2 weeks before her very first half marathon and was to be her longest run – ever! - so we decided that rather than running this at a  particular pace it was more important to get the mileage in and get her used to being on her feet for over 2 hours.

I had a nice route that I used to run last summer before the paths got too overgrown and thought that this might be a good one. It’s round about 12 miles and as we’re still about 2 months away from thistle and stinging nettle season we might get away without too many stings or prickles. Last time I’d tried to run this route in the height of summer I ended up with bright red legs – so stung from nettles and scratched by thistles it looked as though I was wearing a thick pair of red stockings. Ouch.

It’s nice to have company on the run and WolfRunner is always a sight to behold in the brightest running gear she can find. I feel positively out-neoned. In fact I get neon-envy.  And today she had new pink and purple sparkly trainers. Trainer envy too.  She also promised that the irritating computer woman was no more (see here). Deal.

As we were running up the first section which is a nice smooth disused railway track, I tell WolfRunner that the later parts of the run might be a tad overgrown. No problems, she said with casual confidence. I’ve done The Wolf Run. Somehow she even managed to enunciate the capitals.

With perfect comic timing we turn the corner and find our way barred by a 5ft pile of trees and branches. I turn to Wolf Runner who shrugs and starts climbing. Good girl. She didn’t even complain about her new trainers.

We made it over the pile of branches to find that our footpath was in the process of being changed and that a bridge had been unburied. Quite a feat of Victorian engineering had been lying underground and now rose about 30 feet in the air, red brick arches curving above the trees.  Previously it had been a mound of earth with a footpath zigzagging it’s way to the road at the top. Wow.

We stayed well clear as the construction (de-construction?) work had plainly been left half finished and we re-found our footpath on the other side of a new rather murky looking pond.  Hmmm ... a bit of a jump and some careful stepping got us back onto the path. This was already rather more cross-country than I’d promised WolfRunner …

I couldn’t remember which bridge to take the footpath from but a lucky chance meant that I’d picked the right one and we ran through a field with horses fenced off on either side looking on curiously as two brightly coloured people ran past them. We turned right into a field with a footpath sign nailed to the gatepost.

Checked with WolfRunner that she wasn’t scared of horses. No? Good. I warned her that the horses in this field were a bit ... friendly and that if they saw you they would try and play with you in a bouncy, ‘running over you’ way.  And maybe eat you.

She asked me whether I was scared that I couldn’t outrun the horses. I reassured her that I didn’t need to outrun them. I just had to outrun HER and hope she distracted the horses enough to give me time to get to the next gate.

We got to the next field un-galloped on and without any horse drool on us. Luckily they didn’t spot us until we had already crossed the river (see – told you it was cross country) and my howl of pain as WolfRunner jumped it to land on my foot alerted them to the fact there were interlopers in their field.  By the time they started galloping towards us we had already sprinted through the gate. WolfRunner wanted to stop and admire them, but I warned her that horses did in fact like to eat humans and My Little Ponies were a marketing ploy BY the horses to get little girls to trust them.

The next field was fun to run in. It had long grass and tussocks but it was more like trail running – the fun kind. The only thing you had to watch out for were the long creeping lengths of brambles which were hidden under the grass like tripwires. Also the occasional rabbit hole.  The run through the field was like a more rural version of an Indiana Jones adventure but without cool hat, darts and golden idol. And instead of pits of spikes it was rabbit holes tangled in brambles. 

She's still smiling!!

WolfRunner doesn’t trust my sense of direction at all. When she asked me if I knew where I was going, I huffed and confirmed that I did in fact know where I was and the running in circles was simply an attempt to ensure that the run mileage was about the 11 – 12 miles she’d specified. (cough, cough)

Winding between the tall hedges and between banks into a dark tunnel, black and cool after the evening sunshine. Out the other side into the light and through a gap in the hedge into a ploughed field where the young plants were 3 inches tall. The farmer had left a small margin at the side of the field to allow for the footpath and we followed this. One foot awkwardly in the ditch and one on the rutted field.  I passed a small bleached skull unearthed by the plough with some remaining pointed teeth attached. Maybe a fox. Or an insanely large rat.

Through the field and into the next with deeper ruts ... and a fallen tree which stretched over the footpath. It was an oak. An old huge oak stretching out towards the centre of the field. I could get my leg onto it but couldn’t get any leverage or purchase with my fingers on the bark. Ok. Time to go around then.  Finally managed to get leg off tree. Not as bendy as I’d thought.

Following the rutted earth along the edge of the field and as we came towards the woods a grouse darted out of them and into our path for a moment, running along absurdly upright like a small brown Jemima Puddleduck.

I have no trouble finding the kissing gate into the field ... but I have never found the gate out of it again. I always end up climbing over the 5 bar wooden gate in the corner praying that I don’t get a splinter or snag my lycra and have to run 6 miles home with a draught  in an embarrassing place.

Made it over the gale, running gear thankfully un-holed and fingers unsplintered and we came out of the large gateway lined with daffodils and Spring flowers and onto a busy road. A large black Mercedes pulled up alongside us, but rather than making an indecent proposal to 2 ladies clad in skintight - albeit neon – lycra, the driver wanted to find out how to get to Coventry. Phew. No need to beat off weirdos armed only with gel packs and ipods today then.

We had a long downhill through a pretty village and WolfRunner got to try her first gel ever. Judging by the expression it wasn’t quite what she had expected. C’mon Buttercup, if you wanted it’s not about the taste but the result! However revolting she found the taste, she was happy with the result when a little while later she seemed to find her turbo button and increased her speed.

Past the last corner of the village and a wooden signpost and back into lanes bordered by hedges, the light was dimming to blue now and dusk had set in. Every field we passed seem to have a token pheasant in it as if someone had set them there in ‘The Perfect English Countryside’ scene. I was expecting a talking scarecrow any minute.

WolfRunner almost  threw a wobbly when I asked her whether I’d mentioned the ford. She looked down at her sparkly new trainers, their bright pinks and purples dimmed slightly from the tree climbing, ploughed fields and gate climbing and hesitated. She sighed and seemed to reach a conclusion. “Ford? No problem”.

The ford was dry and we were able to cross without even our toes getting wet. I was a bit disappointed. I’d promised WolfRunner a proper cross country run. (sigh) Never mind. Maybe I could push her in a puddle later on.

We followed one of the back lanes through the pretty village of Harborough Magna and passed the church and the tiny cottages and came out opposite the pub. We both looked longingly at it, but we wanted to get 12 miles done tonight. Doing 8 miles – stopping for a pint – and then doing the remaining 4 seemed cheating somehow.

A half a mile run on the main road with the occasional hop onto the verge when a car passed and we paused on the brow of the hill to drop down onto the canal path below and run to the Newbold Tunnel. Now this tunnel is an odd one. No-one really minds going through it once. But once you’ve run or walked through it, you don’t want to do it again. It’s very odd. You get an aversion to it. WolfRunner agreed. We ran to the tunnel and up over the hill. We came out on a field and crossed the main road and down the hill into Newbold. 

9 miles into her longest run and WolfRunner is still smiling!

Now decisions ... do we head left at the Crown and jump back onto the canal path? Straight on and get home quickly or do we add a bit on and go right. Poor WolfRunner didn’t get a choice. I’d promised her 12 miles. We turned right and came out on the bypass. Not the most scenic route but the pavements are smooth and easy to run on. 

Now on the home straight. To the roundabout, to Tesco. Up the hill, along the canal path and home? No … not quite. We were half a mile short. WolfRunner looked longingly at the road she knew led to my house and her car but we pushed on and did a lap along the canal path, through the woods, out and through the houses. Down the final hill ... to the corner. Where she stopped dead.

“My watch says 12 miles now.” She said and refused to run another step.

Distance: 12 miles

Time: 2 hours 14 minutes

** Nice one, Wolfrunner! **