Evil Plans, 'Poo Face' & Mars Bars ...

I’m ill. Am rubbish at being ill and hugely envious of all those well enough to be doing their training. And there are LOADS of you. Marathon training, triathlon training … everyone seems to be all healthy and doing great training. You evil, unsympathetic GITS. 

So as a way to make myself feel better, while actually being a bit sick (cough, cough) I devised some ways to enjoy myself. Which don’t involve much exertion and which make me feel better about you lot training and being all healthy.

EVIL PLAN 1

Hide in a bush and when a runner comes past bark REALLY loudly and with extra growly bits. Extra points for getting the runner to do ‘poo face’ and getting them to sprint to the end of the road extremely fast out of fear. Then shout “Surprise Speed Session!” They’ll be really happy* about their impromptu speed interval. 

EVIL PLAN 2

Hide in different bush and bang two massive cymbals together when a cyclist comes past. MORE points if you can get them to fall off / cycle into wall / do ‘poo face’. Then say in a patronising voice, “Cycling is SO dangerous.” Then tut. 

EVIL PLAN 3

Do lots of pretend coughing next to runners tapering for races. Try to do ‘hacking up a lung’ noises. Tapering runners LOVE this. 

EVIL PLAN 4

Draw lots of contagious-looking spots on face and turn up to parkrun to ‘support’. Try and hug the winners.

EVIL PLAN 5

Dress up as police officer and make a speed camera out of cardboard and stand on cycling time trial route. Don’t forget to make some 5MPH signs too. Shout “You’re nicked …” when they come past.

What would you think if you saw one of THESE in the swimming pool? Source

EVIL PLAN 6

Drop some melty-looking unwrapped Mars bars into the swimming pool … and wait for the screaming to start. Then blame old person /  spotty youth / small child and tut at their incontinence. For extra kudos for hook the mars bars out and eat them. Warning: spectators WILL vomit.

EVIL PLAN 7

Go to track session and throw trainers at the athletes and shout “Ha ha ha ha ha! Attacked by the very things that you love!!” Note: May need fast getaway car as can’t run away very fast when ill. Note 2: Use OLD trainers as runners may keep trainers. Runners hoard them you know. 

Ok. I’m off now. Got to practise my coughing and buy some Mars bars …

*may not be EXTREMELY happy … 

Dear Running, I'm Breaking Up With You ...

Dear Running ... It’s Not You, It’s Me ...

Running I’m not breaking up with you. We’re just ON a break. It’s not you ... it’s me.

Well actually it’s Plantar Fasciitis ...

We were so happy, you and I, Running. We’d spend hours together, in the sunshine, in the rain, in the mud and occasionally in the snow. We had our ups and downs (in Yorkshire and Beacon Hill were the main ones) but we were happy. I fed you trainers, you gave me the ability to eat inhuman amounts of food. It was a good partnership.

But I noticed things weren’t the same. We’d go out together and SHE would be there. Plantar Fasciitis – getting between us. Making our time together not quite so much fun. We started to spend less time on the road, we even switched to trails and hidden footpaths but she’d still find us.

I guess I could always hop, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be you. It wouldn’t be Running.

I know people have mentioned Triathlon, but I’d never do that to you, Running. There IS no-one else. I know you saw a cycle helmet the other day and a carelessly discarded pair of goggles, but they weren’t mine (cough, avoids eye contact) they must have been my roommates’ ...

Anyway, let’s not apportion blame. Plantar Fasciitis did this to us. Not me, not triathlon.

I’m sure I’ll see you around. I mean, I’ve got races booked, ultra marathons even ... but I think it’sjust best we have a break for a bit.

(Slams door, footsteps and muffled sobbing is heard)

Hilly Hundred Race Report: Ant Arse & Never Leave Your Banana Unattended

“This is MY distance!” I thought as I charged up the hill.

I was running leg 8 of the Hilly Hundred team relay and I had 10 miles to run from Moreton-in-Marsh to a village called Paxford - where my teammate was waiting for me to hand the baton over – and I was LOVING it. The sun was shining, I had hills to run and my starting point had been the pub! Plus I was also pretty sure there would be a pub at the end too. Most good English villages had a decent pub, right?

I knew the area a little bit – it was all very English, neat hedges and banks full of Cow Parsley and dandelions, fields lying like patchwork squares over the rolling hills and dusty lanes winding through them, all under a sky as blue as forget-me-nots.

And I was running through the middle of it all enthusiastically with my grey relay baton clasped firmly in my sweaty hand.

The route was a hilly one – I’d seen the total elevation map on a t-shirt for the entire 100 miles and it looked like a heart rate monitor reading. But I wasn’t fazed, I LIKED running hills. I enjoyed it all - the hard push up the hill, the views at the top and the exhilaration of running down the other side and seeing the good numbers on the Garmin. There was satisfaction in that.

I was on the mass start at 1pm on what was to be one of the hottest days of the year so far. I don’t run well in heat, but there wasn’t much I could do about it so had slathered on the sun cream, whipped out my cheap sunglasses and gone with the short shorts. If I was going to have to run in ridiculous (for England) temperatures then at the very least I was going to get a tan out of it. (For ‘tan’ read ‘more freckles’)

I had Googled the elevation of my relay leg and was pleasantly surprised. I’d been expecting a few more hills, but it looked as though there was about a 2 mile climb which started at 1.5 miles and was at its height at 5 miles, then it was all downhill to the end. Like a pyramid but with running instead of sand and camels. Sounded pretty good to me and it meant as soon as I got to the top of the first hill I could push on knowing there wouldn’t be any nasty hills hiding further along the route.

The elevation profile I'd found on Google ...

My tummy had been roiling in the car on the way there. I get so nervous before races and even more so when I think there’s a team depending on me to try and run my best. I don’t know why I get so anxious – if things go wrong, they go wrong. I wouldn’t put pressure on anyone else, but can’t seem to help doing it to myself.

I arrived at the start which was ‘The Swan’. It had a beer garden and a comfortable bench. Things were looking up already.

Photo Credit

There were a few runners from other clubs waiting for the mass start at 1pm so we all got chatting about the usual ... what races have you done recently (are you faster than me?), what club are you in (are you competition?) and who are you here with (if you’re faster than me and I push you in the hedge will anyone see?).

There was an air of competitiveness, but it was friendly and there was a nice sense of camaraderie. It seemed as though a lot of people did their 10 mile relay legs and then followed their team members in cars or on bikes or in their cars offering support and water. It was an unmarshaled course so there were no water stations or marshals giving directions. Apparently there were small arrows on some of the signposts but a few had been tampered with so it was a case of use your map and get yourself to the end. Or try to keep someone in front in sight and hope like hell they knew where THEY were going. I was going for the latter tactic.

As it was so hot, I was running with my ultra vest and 1.5 litres of water. I’d brought some gels and planned to try and approach this race like I would a half marathon. I’d never raced 10 miles before so it would be a PB even if I came dragging in at the back of the pack having lost all the other runners and my map. And probably my sanity and love of hills.

I finished my coffee and regretfully gave up my sunny spot to start pinning my number, checking my shoelaces and studying the map. Vinny and Tony from my running club arrived and it was nice to see 2 other Northbrook Sunburst vests. I was pretty sure they knew the way and thanks to Tony’s height I was relying on being able to see him over the top of the hedges to give me a clue as to which direction I should be going.

Looking overenthusiastic. And gurning for some reason.

Apparently we were running to the highest point in Warwickshire. Oh. But apparently it was worth it because of the amazing views across the yellow rapeseed flowers. Oh good. Couldn’t I go and look at some flowers on a flat bit instead?

The race briefing went something like this. “You can’t get lost. Just aim for the hilliest bits. GO!”

The man from the Godiva Harriers set off at a blistering pace, through the centre of Moreton-in Marsh, pedestrians and market stalls flashing past. I attempted to keep up but when I checked my Garmin and saw I was running at about my 400m pace, I decided that this was possibly my worst idea since my I-know-let’s-all-see-how-many-99p-burgers-we-can-eat plan. That ended in vomiting and wanting to crawl into a hedge and die too. I let him go (like I had any other option) but bellowed after him; “I hope you know where you’re going as we’re all following YOU!” and gave him a big grin. No pressure there then Mr Speedy Legs!

We turned off the main street of Moreton-in-Marsh and into a peaceful country lane. I slowed my pace down a bit – I had to remember I had 10 miles to run today. It was a pleasant temperature under the trees with the sun dappling the stones of the lane. After slowing, I was expecting a flood of runners to come past but the only set of footsteps behind me belonged to Northbrook Tony who comfortably overtook me, chasing the Godiva runner who I could just see in the distance.

No-one else was around now, just the two figures in front and me and the pat-pat-pat of my footsteps in the quiet lane.

Up the hill, a gentle slope, but we then cut right as per the map and onto a short downhill. Huh. I hadn’t expected this but assumed it was too small to show on the elevation profile, left turn again into a small lane which stretched upwards. Ah ok ... so this must be The Hill. After which it would all be downhill to a glorious finish. And hopefully a cold pint.

My map of the relay leg route

It was peaceful and still, the hot sun on my shoulders – almost as though I was running alone although thanks to the height of my Northbrook team mate I could occasionally see his head bob along above the top of a distant hedge.

It was glorious running along in the sunshine, the dusty road under my feet – eyes set to the horizon and the relay baton clutched in my hand. I couldn’t help smiling. This was a brilliant race, winding lanes, hills and a nice long distance you can get your teeth into. Yep. 10 miles is definitely my distance, I told myself.

Although, I couldn’t help noticing that despite having climbed a monster hill, the hedges were high and there was no sign of the amazing view promised. Or even any yellow rapeseed flowers. Consoling myself with the thought that maybe the person who had mentioned these drove a Land Rover or double-decker bus or something that could see over the hedges to the views, I had a brief moment of self-doubt. What if my downloaded elevation map was wrong? That there might be another hill? Nah. I dismissed the thought. I’d done my homework, downhill to the finish and the pint.

Over the top and into a blissful downhill. Lovely! This is more like it. But I can’t help noticing that I’m running down into a valley shaped a bit like a bowl. How exactly do I get out of this valley without going up a hill? My downloaded elevation map PROMISED me no more hills! Bloody map. Bloody Google.

I got to the bottom of the dip and followed the hedges round and yet again the lane stretched upwards. I huffed a sigh and urged my legs onwards passing a horse and rider and a cyclist. Eventually. We were all going uphill, my speed wasn’t up to much and I didn’t want a race photo with a hoofprint on the forehead.

This was the hill that just kept on giving. Every time I rounded a corner, there was more UP in front of me. Stupid up. Where’s the down?

Slogging my way up this transplanted-and-transported-to-Warwickshire-Alp I spotted some yellow flowers through a gateway. Right. This HAS to be the highest hill. Please. Let this be the highest hill. Let this be the LAST hill ...

I used my tried-and-tested tactic to get myself up the hill. My legs were going on strike and my head was telling me to walk. I picked a landmark and ran to that. Told my head and legs that I just needed to run to the landmark. Just to the next shadow, just to next telegraph pole, just to that piece of cow parsley. And kept picking landmarks. And then I was at the top.

And looking at the next hill. Bloody hills.

My pre-hills-of-doom race plan had been to just get up the hills steadily and then make up time by relaxing and running faster on the down hills but I hadn’t counted on my legs being replaced by what felt like wooden pirate peg legs. They were still moving but they were refusing to move any faster. In fact they wanted to stop. Nope. No stopping. Faster run, faster pint.

Cars were leapfrogging me, overtaking me in the lanes then stopping in a gateway or at a junction and pouring out water ready to give to their runner. They were supporting their own teams but all acknowledged me and encouraged me and several asked if I wanted water. It was great that despite it being different clubs competing we all wanted everyone to do well. However, it was also a reminder that if I DID stop or took a walk break, there was someone just behind me who would overtake me.

The cars were annoying as the lanes were so narrow, but the drivers were courteous and passed me as safely as they could. It also kept me running. And guessing. “That car overtook me much quicker than last time – their runner must be gaining on me.” Push, legs, push!

No-one had overtaken me since Northbrook Tony in the first mile and every time I slowed to climb a hill or didn’t push hard enough down a hill, I expected someone to come tearing past me. Running down a hill at about mile 4, I heard footsteps behind me but I didn’t dare look behind. I couldn’t go any faster and sustain the effort on these hills. My gradient map was obviously wrong and I have no idea what’s coming up. If someone is catching up I don't want to see. I just couldn’t push it any more. I was hurting. How can it only be mile 5?

Somewhere during the run, I seemed to have picked myself up a mantra. It appeared to be stuck on repeat and went “Just one more hill? (sees another hill over horizon) Bother. Just one more hill? (sees yet another hill over horizon) Bother....”

It wasn’t just the hills that were causing me problems now. The heat was intensifying. I was trying to run in the shade from the trees, but the problem with starting at 1pm was that there weren’t a lot of shadows I could run in. I was glad I was wearing my trusty Poundland sunglasses. Cheap AND cheerful plus if I sat on them and squished them (the usual demise of my sunglasses) then I could get some more for the price of a car park ticket. Also they made everything LOOK cooler, although this was confusing my body and eyes and they were arguing about who was getting the correct info. I let them carry on. So long as my eyes and body were bickering, they weren’t telling my legs to stop running hills.

And there was always another bloody hill.

My plan of keeping a steady effort up the hill and hoofing it down the other side was being replaced by plan B which was ‘everything is too much effort but don’t stop’. I was plodding and boiling hot, I didn’t seem to be able to get enough water out of the water bladder and I was feeling like hell. I was trying not to get to plan C which was ‘collapse in road and hope someone will find you and carry you to the finish line’.

I remembered an article I’d read on Runners World about ‘Head Vs Body’ and how a lot of running suffering is actually our head telling us we can’t do it and briefly I had a spurt of energy. Very brief. Which dried up at the start of the next hill. Nope. It’s definitely my body telling me to slow the hell down.

Can I stop or will team be disqualified? Please let me stop! What if I fall over? Or lose the baton? All of this was going through my head, but I was still running. I wanted to stop, but wouldn’t slow down to walk as then I’d be overtaken by the runners I was sure were behind me. How’s that for fuzzy logic? Although I did notice that while I was having this internal dialogue I was actually running better as the voices were distracting me.

So ... if a car hits me I can stop?

It felt like an endless Groundhog Day of uphills and downhills. Just more and more miles of lanes and hedges and hot, hot sun and more hills. More bloody hills.

I passed a race supporter’s car, who had been leapfrogging me, for the umpteenth time. “Nearly there!” he shouted. I was suspicious. What is ‘nearly there’ to a supporter? Another mile? Another 2? I’m pretty sure I’ve shouted “Nearly there” to a marathoner at mile 15. Maybe this is karma.

I came round the corner and onto a main road. Just keep pushing, keep running. I passed a turning on the right. Was I meant to turn there? I was lost, there was no-one to follow. Just keep running. The Bad Runner voices started in again; “You’ve gone the wrong way!”, “You’ll have to backtrack a mile!”, “You’ll never make another mile – look at you. You’re done in!” My legs kept going.

A car slowed near me – it was my family. “Well done!” Shouted 4yo from the back.

“I think I’ve gone wrong.” I shouted to The Mr. “I feel like I’m running through treacle and hell and I might be running in the wrong direction.“ I kept running and the car screeched off and reappeared a few minutes later. “You’re nearly there! There’s a turning on the left!” The car disappeared again.

Left? Their left? My left? Which is left? My brain wasn’t working any more. I was so close, I just had to keep going. Just keep going. Legs don’t fail me now.

A turning! That’s a turning! Is that left? I have NO idea.

Veering across the road. Is that Liz from Northbrook? Can I stop? No. I’m told to keep going.

Left foot, right foot, left foot ... please let me stop ... runner coming the other way ... won’t take the baton.

“I’m not on your team” and they run on.

Someone please take the baton, I can’t stop until then, why won’t they take it? Left foot, right foot, a club vest I recognise, the baton is taken. Left foot ... and down.

Feeling RUBBISH!!

I rouse myself to find:

1. 4 year old has eaten my recovery banana.
2. Ants are eating my arse.

Yep. I finished my relay leg, crashed out on the bank for some recovery time during which 4yo finds my banana and eats it. Ants then discover I am sitting on their house (Hill? Nest?) and are exacting revenge by snacking on my arse.

Apparently I did some amazing dancing.

What did I learn?

• Ants are evil.
• Hills are evil.
• 10 miles is NOT my distance. At least not if there are massive hills.
• Don’t try and chase people quicker than you.
• Don’t give your relay baton away to an opposing team. You’ll be standing there looking confused when you could be sitting down.
• 4 year olds snaffle your recovery food given half a chance.
• Don’t trust downloaded elevation maps.
• I was running in the hottest place in the country on the hottest day of the year. 

The actual elevation profile. Damn you Google!!

Garmin info here. 

I was 10^th overall for my relay leg (3^rd on 1pm start) and 1^st lady.

27 Running Rules: No Mucus on Fellow Runners & Winking Using your Arse

Running is easy, right? Right leg, left leg ... and repeat! NO! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!! There are a set of rules – unwritten until now – that require careful adherence. Should you flout these rules, you will get leg-humped by a Rottweiler on your next run while being get chafed under the armpits by your new cotton t-shirt and having to fling your boobs over your shoulder. Read on ....

The Running Rules:

1. No Mucus on Fellow Runners!

Absolutely no snot rockets without checking that your mucus isn’t going to land on someone first. I can’t do these. And I am deeply envious of all those who can. But I still don’t want your bogies in my face. Check there isn’t someone running behind you before you expectorate. Otherwise bad things happen. Usually to the person behind you.

2 Poo Rule.

This is pretty self explanatory ... I hope. There isn’t much worse than getting to a crucial part of a race and needing to ‘go’. Unless it is actually ‘going’. Sort this out before the race starts. And just to be safe. Go twice.

3. Thou Shalt Not Break Thy Fellow Runner’s nose.

Absolutely no elbowing in races. I don’t care if you think you should be in front. Go around. This isn’t a triathlon!

4. Bottom Burps.

Farting is fine. Just ignore it. Or have an ‘inside giggle’ in your head. Yes, I still have the maturity of a 6 year old, yes I think farting is still pretty funny. But we all do it. And even more so when we run. Just think of it as being gas powered. Your very own Methane Motor. It’s almost like sponsorship by British Gas.

5. Don’t be a sad clown.

Don’t run with a full face of makeup. It’ll melt in the heat, run in your sweat and you’ll look the melty one off Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. It’s not a good look and the race photographers will capture it and it will be on the internet FOREVER.

Source

6. Strap the Girls Down.

Use a decent sports bra. You won’t regret investing in a decent bra. Or don’t. When you can swing your girls over your shoulder you’ll wish you had.

7. Budgeting for Blisters.

Don’t use cheap socks - life is too short for avoidable blisters. You forget how much they hurt until you get one at mile 3 and still have to finish the race. It’s the small miseries that can ruin an otherwise good day. And it really hurts to peel your sock off of a dried blister.

8. Toenails are for Wimps.

You WILL lose a toenail. I thought I was the exception to this rule. Now they’re falling like bodypart confetti. Keep the superglue handy. Or paint your skin where toenails should be. It fools no-one but it makes you feel better about your leprous feet.

9. Always Carry Loo Roll

It’s like some bizarre running initiation rite. At some point, you’ll realise that you crossed the line and that weeing in hedges while out for a run is now seen as normal. Just don’t stretch it to your neighbours rose bushes. They get funny about this. And call Neighbourhood Watch meetings and everything. Spoilsports.

10. Canine Crazy Beasts.

Dogs are mental crazy beasts. They may be usually well-trained and well-behaved animals – you may even own one yourself and love Spot with all your heart. But they see a runner and turn crazy. It’s like they forget you are 3 times their size and wearing running shoes. Maybe it’s the combination of neon and Deep Heat, but they can’t resist chasing a runner. Avoid them if you can ... and their owners who will be calling “Oh he’s just playing!” as their uncontrolled canine mauls you to death and trots off with your severed arm.

My elbow after tripping over a Canine Crazy Beast.  It was karma … story here 

11. Bin bags are the Biz

Get comfortable with looking like a bag lady. Everyone wears bin bags at the start of races. Its de rigueur you know. And when else can you walk around dressed like the inside of a wheelie bin? Embrace Trash Chic.

12. Neon not Ninja.

Runners need to be seen especially when running on the road. There are enough drivers who are completely oblivious to other road users – and this isn’t even counting the ones doing their makeup, checking Twitter or having a good scratch. For the purposes of being seen, neon is good. Runners dressed in black and camouflage like some bizarre running ninja don’t last long. It’s Darwinism but with cars and trainers.

13. Counselling with other Runners.

Don’t scare the normal people! You’ll discover that your significant other doesn’t want to hear about your sweat rash, PBs or rusty safety pins. Luckily, it’s perfectly fine to discuss negative splits, poo and manky toenails with other runners. We GET this.

14. Walking During Races is OK.

Don’t feel bad if you have to walk in a race. We’ve ALL been there. Just walk to one side. The rest of us are on for a PB you know.

15. Selfie Sin.

Do NOT stop in front of me in a race to take a selfie. I WILL cut you. Well... maybe make a cutting remark. If I can think of one by the end of the race. Just don’t, ok?

16. Perfecting the Zombie Runner Look

Race photographers are not your friends. They do NOT exist to capture your moment of glory crossing the race finishing line. They take photos for their own amusement and revel in every photo of a runner with an expression of pain, with poo running down his leg, crying at the humiliation. Get used to it. Your pictures will look crap. Except for 1 photo in every 150. Make sure you BUY this one as you’ll have to wait approximately another 25 races for another decent one. If by some fluke all your race pics look good ... you weren’t running hard enough. Or you’re this guy.

Ridiculously photogenic guy (photo by Will King. Source) 

17. Trainer Timing.

There is about a 50 mile slot when your new trainers will be worn in and comfortable enough for the marathon and after which they will butcher and eat your feet. You have to try and time it so your race falls in this period of time. Good luck with that. You can always superglue your toenails back on.

18. Blistering, Suppurating Pus.

Blisters are a fact of running-life. You will never be free from blisters. You will get the combinations of sock and trainer exactly right but every now and then one will pop up. Learn to deal with them and when to get help. Clear pus isn’t much to worry about but if it’s cloudy get yourself to the local chemist or doctor and be prepared to share your manky runner’s feet.

19. Trim those Toenails.

Unless you like the ends of your trainers covered in blood and your toes looking as though they’ve survived a slasher movie, then cut your toenails before a race. 2 days seems to be the magic time as if you cut them too short, there’s time for them to heal. Also paint your toenails violet. It stops you worrying about black toenails as you won’t be able to see what colour they’ve turned and when they fall off, it will be like a mini flaky parma-violet present.

20. Hairy Horror.

Long flowing hair looks cool in running magazine pictures. It doesn’t work in real life much as they’d like you to believe it. Think plastered-to-forehead, sweaty, hot and rat tails. Not good. Tie it up.

21. Technology is Your Friend ... until race day.

How reliable your Garmin has been up until race day will be a direct correlation to how unreliable it will be ON race day. Well-behaved GPS device? Be wary. It’s been luring you into a false sense of security. And if it has the opportunity, it will go wrong on race day. Learn what combinations of buttons make it ‘reset’. Preferably BEFORE the race day.

22. Bottoms up.

You will get holes in the back of your running shorts. Check for these BEFORE running. You don’t want to be winking at the person running behind you. Using your arse.

23. Run Junkie.

Marathons are addictive and you’re unlikely to stop at one. No idea why. They’re often painful, horrendous and miserable. See race pictures for proof. However, your first 26.2 will set off some sort of chain reaction which involves long periods of having no toenails and no social life.

24. NOT being able to eat all the food.

The cruellest running rule is that you will probably put on weight during marathon training. It’s unfair and just one more Sods Law to chalk up next to ‘manky feet’, ‘teetotalism’ and ‘addiction to energy gels’. Yes - you SHOULD be able to eat all the food. No – you can’t stop it. Put the crème eggs down.

25. Injured Soldier.

Injuries will happen. Whether you go down the dramatic route and fall down a mineshaft while out for a 35 mile training run or simply get a tight ITB from the weight of all your race medals, this WILL happen. Get yourself to a physio ASAP. Don’t run on it no matter how tempting. This almost NEVER works.

26. But it’s only ...

Your first short race after a marathon will probably be a PB. No-one knows why but it is probably something to do with your legs screaming “It’s only 6 miles! We don’t have to run another 20.2 after this!!! Wooo hooooooooo!!!”

And last but not least

27. Play the odds.

You don’t have to abide by all of these rules ... guidelines ... but it is worth keeping one or two in mind – especially before a race. A lot of running is about your training, your talent and your mindset, but you have to play the odds too ... For instance don’t go to an all-you-can –eat chilli night before a race, always carry loo roll when you run and don’t forget to wave at other runners. They might be the ones to pull you out of the ditch when you trip over your own shoelaces.

We run for all sorts of reasons; fitness, medals, PBs, run streak or simply for enjoyment. One reason is not better than any other and you might not agree with the other runner’s mindset but it’s their running and their reasons. A mile is a mile. 15 minute/miles or 5 minute/miles. And besides ... we all like a bit of bling or a hideous race photo for the mantelpiece.

What have I missed out? Any other rules (cough, guidelines!) that should be in this list?

This post is dedicated to Rach and Bear. Rach – who specifically asked what the Run Rules were for her first race and Bear who insists he’s not a runner. Although we all know he is.

Full of the Joys of Spring ...

I was full of the joys of sunny Spring days and was off out for a nice muddy lunch time run.

I’d run 22 miles the day before which had been hard. And hungover. But I had a 5 mile run in the training schedule for Saturday which I couldn’t do. So I’d decided to run this lunchtime and had been expecting heavy, sore unresponsive legs.

But rather than the wooden legs and feet of clay, I felt light and bouncy! My body was eager to run!

I ran the roads of Brackmills hopping the kerbs and sprinting the underpasses and into Delapre Woods, jumping the ditches and leaping over tree roots with a big grin on my face. I probably looked completely ridiculous. But I felt AMAZING!

A perfect run, most miles sub-8 despite the mud and having to stop to push an overenthusiastic terrier off my leg. I sprinted the last couple of hundred metres on the pavements back to work, arms out, aeroplane-ing around office workers on their lunch breaks, smiling at everyone. I ran down the grassy slope outside the office, caught my foot in the paving slab at the bottom ...

And faceplanted into the office flower beds. 

UltraMarathon Fear - Don't Forget the Monster Repellant

I may have mentioned this a couple of times but I've got a BIG run coming up … ok, ok. I get it. You know about the 50 miler. Well it's JUST sinking in for me. I've suddenly realised that I've got to run the equivalent of Coventry and back 2 and a half times. And that knackered I-want-to-lie-down-and-be-fed-creme-eggs feeling I get after a marathon? I've got to NOT STOP when I get that feeling … instead I have to RUN ANOTHER FRICKING MARATHON.

Breathe.

And breathe.

I may be slightly overreacting. Oh God. I'm really not.

OK. Let's break it down. What am I actually scared of?

The cut off times. What if I'm running too slow and don't make it to the checkpoints in time and I get disqualified?

Right let's be sensible. If I'm running at the pace I've chosen then I should have plenty of time. I'm not going to be near the front but unless something goes dramatically wrong (stuck in bog, stuck in loo, eaten by hiker) then I shouldn't be last either. I'm sure that if the paths are SO bad that I'm slower than the 10 min/miles then doing a 50 miler in such conditions will not be the best choice for my first. There will be other ultras.

What if my ITB plays up. It does sometimes.

If it does, it does. It will be one of those things. I can call it a day or push on depending on how bad it is. It will be a call I'll have to make on the day. If I keep up the exercises and stretches I'm doing now then I'm injury proofing myself for the future.

What if I need to poo and there are no pubs?

Suck it up, buttercup. There will be hedges. Don't forget loo roll.

What if I'm running too slow for my running buddies?

They'll either tell me to get a shift on or run ahead. You can only control your own race.

We're meant to be in pairs after 3pm. What if I'm too slow or no one wants to run with me ?

Well then it will be like being picked last in PE. You'll just have to run with the teacher.

What if I DNF?

You won't be the first to DNF ever. And you probably won't be the only one in the race. You can console yourself in the pub while eating the remains of the chocolate covered coffee beans.

What if I get lost

Don't get lost. (Note to self: attach self to another runner using a combination of liquorice whips and half chewed food)

What if I cry?

Hide tears by stuffing more chocolate covered coffee beans in mouth.

What if I forget to get checkpoint stamp thing stamped? Don't know much about this but apparently there is something to be stamped.

Get EVERYTHING stamped. Including backs of hands just to make sure correct items stamped. Don't want to be disqualified on a technicality.

What if I'm last?

I'll just have completed a 50 MILE RACE. I think I'll be ecstatic no matter what happens. Unless the pub near the finish has run out of cider. That would be BAD.

OK. Now I've written them down and broken them down a bit, I feel a lot better. Things could go wrong but they're mostly manageable things. However, this is my first proper ultra. Maybe there are things to be scared about that I don't even know about!

I decided to check and asked Twitter. Big mistake.

Answers ranged from

• 'monsters' @theiron_bear
• 'spiders' @smithy71 and @neily_wilko
• 'Needing a poo and having no toilet roll. That's my biggest fear' @philippadavey
• 'wanting to go further once you've finished' @teamb_o_b
• 'the urge to sign up for more and further distances once you've finished. Ultras are mega.' @carl_ara
• 'absolutely nothing' @ben_wittenberg
• 'loneliness in the dark, buddy up if you can' @ultraboyruns
• 'feet getting too wet and blisters. Take towel and dry socks to change into if need be.' @ayearforhope
• 'you should be scared of being scared. Relax. Chill. Treat it as a jog and you'll nail it.' @louisbedwell
• 'your alarm not going off. Forgetting your running fuel' @libeeloo67
• 'nothing. Be excited, is ace! (oh, apart from if you have to swim through river water) Floods. Take your cossie.' @TheLozzatron
• 'Lions n tigers n especially bears! I'd love to help but my longest run currently a 10^th of that distance!! Food related issues?' @rach_2_oh
• 'Starting too fast. Other than that, nothing. Relentless forward progress.' and 'just keep in mind the old saying … the 'wall' of the marathon is childs play compared to the death grip of the ultra.' @methill 
• 'Scared it will be over too quickly. That you will want more. At some point it will beeping hurt but feel good at the same time.' @supersubfigo

So it looks as though my fears are unfounded.

So long as I remember food, loo roll, spider spray, alarm clock, to go slow, to want more, my swimsuit, my blister plasters, crème eggs and monster repellant it will be child's play.

I may need a bigger running pack though. Now where did I put that suitcase on wheels?

Physio update: Apparently I'm Not a Normal Marathon Runner

Physio update!

I went to see a physio in Northampton yesterday. My pride was slightly dented when he failed to hide a smirk when I told him that I’d damaged myself falling into a ditch. Apparently this isn’t a ‘normal’ marathon runner’s injury. (Sulk) Marathon runners wear lycra, carry loo roll and the blokes stick Vaseline on their nipples. What’s he trying to say? ;)

But it’s all good news. He thinks I jarred the joints in my lower back and the muscles around it when I fell over, but the problem is muscular not a joint problem. He’s given me a bit of an MOT and I’ve got a full range of movement and there’s no nerve irritation. He spent a while giving me a sports massage and easing the back and it feels huge amounts better.

I’m going to jump back into the schedule and do the 5 mile fartlek or hills session and then the 20 mile long run on Sunday. I’d like to do the same route as last Sunday … but I’m going to drive it first to check for flooding and to check where I got lost. I don’t want an action replay of last week. And I promise … no jumping ditches. Well. No falling over anyway.

Week 7, Day 3: Painkillers, Physio & Audiobooks

Week 7, Day 3

Goal: 10 miles in 8:30 – 9 min/miles

Actual: Postponed

A quick visit to the doctors and out again clutching a handful of painkillers and a physio referral. I then spent all of yesterday flat on my back resting and plugged into an audiobook to stave off boredom. I managed to get through the rest of the  Mogworld story and noticed that I need to paint the bedroom ceiling.  

And today my back feels a lot better! I’m off to see my physio tonight to get checked over but everything is looking good for more running!

I’ll let you know what the physio says and hopefully should be back on the road ... or trails shortly! (Although I will be avoiding bank hopping – and subsequent ditch falls in the future!)

Week 7, Day 2: Can You Smell Chicken?

Week 7, Day 2

Goal: 4 x 2km in approx 8:30 – 9 minutes starting every 11 mins

Actual: Postponed

She's chickened out ...!!

Because of my fall – gracefully into the ditch full of water – on my long run on Sunday I’ve got a sore back today. I’m 99% positive I’ve only jarred it so I’ve got a trip to visit the doctor tomorrow but I don’t want to run while I’ve got shooting pains down my legs!

I’m pretty positive a day flat on my back tomorrow will bring me back to 100% but I don’t want to run while it’s achy and cause something worse due to me overcorrecting somewhere else or jarring it even more so I’m going to postpone tonight’s run and start again later in the week.

Besides … I’m sure a days rest will make me legs realise what they’re missing and I’ll be raring to go by Thursday! 

Week 6, Day 7: 18 miles of Wees, Floods, Mud, Falls and Getting Lost

Goal: 18 miles at 9 min/mile

Actual: 18 miles at 8:46 min/mile

I’d been looking forward to this long run. I’d spent some time researching a good route and had decided on a part of Cycle Route 50 going from Walcote, heading towards Daventry and cutting onto the Grand Union Canal Path at about mile 16 … and conveniently finishing near a pub. Just by chance of course.

It had rained heavily the night before and washed away all traces of the snow but the morning was bright and cool. The path was slightly wet underfoot but the sun was shining and I was looking forward to the chance of a nice, rural long run on a new route through the lanes with no distractions.

I always pop to the loo before I head out for a long run so I wasn’t impressed when I needed a loo stop before I’d completed the first 2 miles. Typically, it was the usual English lane in Winter. Sparse hedges, flat fields and no convenient toilets. For miles.

I ran on for another mile or so but unfortunately no pubs, public loos or moments of epiphany occurred so I carried on until I found a bushy hedge. Sigh. I don’t care what anyone says about blisters, black toenails, or chafing. The need to carry loo roll on long runs is the REAL curse of the long distance runner.  

Frequent loo breaks was unfortunately a recurring theme on this run.

However, the countryside was gorgeous (if you were in front of me) and it was nice being out and about. The sun was shining and it was – apart from the frequent loo breaks – nice to be running in the lanes and paths.

I went through a few small pretty villages and past Stanford Hall. It looked stately and very beautiful set in a lovely estate … although I soon realised that the pool of water in front of it was actually flooding, rather than a picturesque lake, when I came around the next corner and found this.

I stopped and just considered what to do. The water appeared to be about 4 – 5 inches deep and unfortunately was lapping at the wall at the left side so I couldn’t even cheat and run along the bank. As I stood there deciding what to do, it started washing towards me and the water speed increased and it started getting deeper. A river must have just burst its banks … Right. No time to stop and think about it. There were 2 choices. Forwards or back.

Forwards. The water was deeper than I’d expected and while it only made it up to my knees, the running caused extra splashing which meant I was damp to the buff. In theory I could have waded through it I suppose, but if I was going to be up to my knees in dirty river water, I may as well enjoy the experience.

Well, at least if it was REALLY rainy in Paris I’d be prepared …

2 bemused cyclists had stopped to watch my progress and I think I disappointed them slightly as I’d made it through without any further mishap. The damper of the 2 cyclists admitted that he’d just hit a pothole further back and had been catapulted into the flood water and I think they were hoping for something amusing and running-related from me that they could watch safely from a patch of dry land. 

They offered to take a photo of me in the slightly shallower section. As I was already about as wet as it was possible to get without being fully submerged, I thought why not:

The rest of the village was pretty much underwater too, although in the hope of drying out a bit, I managed to clamber onto the banks to avoid a lot of the water.

The bank hopping meant the speed suffered a bit, but I wasn’t really too concerned about the timing at this point as I’d already had to stop the Garmin for the loo stops so the time wouldn’t be a true reflection of a continuous run anyway. Saw a couple of different cyclists coming the opposite direction and one of them called to me: “It’s really deep in the next part! The water was up over my bike chain!” Poor lamb. I hope he didn’t get his toes wet …

The majority of the next village was flooded too and as I passed the local church, it was a stone island in a lake of water, with the tops of gravestones sticking above the water like teeth. I hope the local gravedigger isn’t relying on his wage …

I carried on out of the village and onto a more rural section, rarely passing any houses or farms. It was very peaceful and isolated. There was a lot of water running along the sides of the roads and you could see the road shining and bright in the distance, snaking up the side of the hill.

 

Running up the hill - which had looked a lot worse from a distance than it actually was - I spotted a horseshoe in the newly ploughed earth of the field on my right. I took it to mean that the rest of the run would be good. I could use some luck after the tummy issues and the floods.

I reached the top of the hill and the road narrowed until it was almost just a track with fields stretching out on the right. The sunshine meant that I could see for miles and I could see the water shining in the fields. The road carried on down the other side of the hill and opened out for a nice long downhill lined by trees. The road turned around a corner into a dip … which was completely flooded. 

However, there was a bank on the right of the road and it was a good 6 inches to a foot above the water. It was squishy and slippery but I could climb up it and use it to get past the water. All I needed to do was run along it and jump the drainage ditches. Simple, right?

This plan worked surprisingly well until I got to the last ditch, which was a good 2 metres away. There are a lot of good points to being an eternal optimist. However, thinking I can jump 2 metres from a standing start isn’t one of them. I missed the bank by at least 4 inches with my leading leg and splashed straight into the water which was surprisingly deep.

My face must have had a comical expression of surprise as my momentum kept me going and I smacked into the ditch on the other side landing on my shoulder. Ouch.

Great. I now had an upset tummy, a sore shoulder and hip and I was covered in mud. Plus my shoes which had dried out over the last 6 miles were now squelching again.

Picked myself up and set off again. At least it wasn’t raining.

Followed the lane for another few miles and the route was quite scenic. I passed over a few bridges and over the canal twice and the bright sunshine on the fields made everything very pretty. I could almost forget I was covered in mud with wet feet and had run out of loo roll.

I finally got to the end of the lane and it finished at a busy main road. Odd. Also, there was a definite absence of the cycle route signs I’d been following.

Had a quick check on the GPS … I had somehow wandered about 3 miles off route. There must have been a sign I’d missed. (Sigh) I didn’t fancy retracing my steps back 3 miles, so I set off along the main road towards the next village and I could pick up the cycle route from there.

Ran up the main route hopping onto the bank whenever a car came. After what felt like a never ending hill – but with no floods! - I finally came into sight of the village. There were absolutely no Cycle Route signs to be seen, so using the GPS to stay on track I picked it up again and made it back onto the right path.

Thankfully, the last few miles passed without any further loo stops, falls, mud, floods or getting lost. I had been wondering when the wild dogs would attack or a tree would fall into the road blocking my path but luckily it looked as though I’d used up my bad luck for this run. Lucky really. I’d also used up my water, gels and loo roll.

Garmin Info here: