I want to tell you ...

I want to tell you all about my parkrun sub-20 attempt ... And about Endure 24 where I ran day and night as part of a team relay ...

But ...

I'm sunning myself in Cyprus so you'll just have to wait until I get home. What a meanie. 

(Just to rub it in)

Sub-20 5k plan: Weeks 3 & 4

Week 3

Mon: rest

Tues: 12 x 400m in 95 seconds, starting every 2 minutes - extra 400m rest in 3 minutes after 6

Wed: 7 miles in 8 min miles

Thurs: 6 miles of alternate one mile at Marathon pace (ie approx 7:45), 10k pace (6:45), HM pace (7:15) with one minute easy between each pace change

Fri: 5 miles easy as feel

Sat: 10 short hill efforts (less than a minute) plus 6 accelerating 200m strides

Sun: slow 90 minutes

Week 4

Mon: rest

Tues: 8 x 200m start every minute, 1600m in sub 6:30, 8 x 200m start every minute

Wed: 8 miles at 8s

Thurs: 7 miles at 8 min miles but for minute of each mile up to 10k pace before back to 8 min miles

Fri: 5 miles easy as feel

Sat: parkun 5km

Sun: slow 100 minutes

I Can't Count .... Failed Speed Session

Goal: 8 x 200m then 1 mile at sub 6:30 then another 8 x 200m

Well that was a complete cock up.

It all started so well too. I trotted up and down the path and did a nice little warm up run, then measured the 200m* from a big blue signpost and drew a line on the path with a stone as my finish line. See – all organised. Feeling smug, I jogged back carefully to my blue signpost – my starting line – and took a deep breath and set off.

I’d estimated that my speed would have to be just slightly less effort than a flat out sprint, so started off feeling like a smaller, more feminine version of Usain Bolt (although I quite sure I looked Insane rather than Usain with my mad eyes fixed on my finish line and arms waving like mad) however the distance seemed a lot further than I’d expected. I got about two-thirds of the way and I still had much further to go.

My legs started going on strike and refused to maintain the speed and I started slowing down coming up to the finish like. Well that was a LOT harder than I’d expected. Checked my Garmin. 57 seconds. Really?! I was supposed to be starting these intervals every minute, I was completely whacked and I was expected to have THREE SECONDS recovery?

I’d obviously been hopelessly slow. There was no way I could set off at that pace again with 3 seconds recovery. I wasn’t sure I could do that distance at that pace again with 3 MINUTES recovery. Definitely not another 15 repeats with a fast mile in the middle.

I just couldn’t do it.

I decided to cut this session short and find a hill to run up instead. I set off up Hardingstone Hill and while puffing and panting my way up the top, it struck me. I suddenly twigged why I couldn’t do the 200s ... because they weren’t 200s ...

I’d measured the distance out on my Garmin but I’d set it in miles so I’d measured 0.2 miles* not 200 metres for the interval. Ah. Whoops. Instead of running 200m, I’d run 320m. No wonder a) it took me bloody ages. B) why I couldn’t maintain the pace and c) why my legs were most definitely telling me they weren’t doing another 15 repeats at that pace over that distance.

Oh well. I carried on running up the hill. The run wasn’t a disaster. It was just going to be a different session to the one I’d originally planned. With less intervals. And more hills.

Garmin Info Here:

Sulking at Having to Go Out in the Rain

Goal: 2 x 6 sets of 400m at 6:22 min/mile starting every 2 mins (approx 25 secs recovery)

I was having a sulk. It was Tuesday (which means intervals day) and it was raining. I had been told quite firmly that intervals on a treadmill is cheating (bah!) so it meant I was going to have to drag myself outside into the drizzle, dressed only in a vest and shorts and with the probability of getting my sparkly new trainers wet. And possibly muddy. Sulk, sulk.

The little piece of cycle lane I used

Besides my legs were tired. From ... um .. my rest day. I briefly considered going to the pub for a coke, packet of peanuts and a sit down but this would only be delaying the intervals. Sulk, sulk.

I cheered up as soon as I started running. I TRIED to stay sulky and grumpy but it was no good. Running cheers me up. It’s like watching a loud radio-blaring chav dressed entirely in white sports gear stall his car at the traffic lights. It shouldn’t make me smile, but it does.

So the intervals were fine ... and in fact I actually managed to do them a bit quicker than I’d planned to so a double-win. I ran a there-and-back route for each 800m and you can tell that one way is slightly downhill as the splits are in the teens one way and noughties the other.

Session:

Goal: 400m at 6:22 min/mile starting every 2 mins (25 secs recovery)

Actual: 400m x 12 starting every 2 minutes.

Splits Set 1: 6:04, 6:13, 6:03, 6:19, 6:05, 6:14

3 minutes rest

Splits Set 2: 5:59, 6:27, 6:06, 6:17, 6:08, 6:05

Cool down ... very slowly

Time: 32:09

Distance: 3.74miles

Garmin Info Here:

Hills, Haunted Towers and Happy with Cider

Goal: 75 minutes slow run

I’d already run 5.8 miles in the morning with a build up run so I decided that I would take this one steady and just enjoy the running. But ... I still wanted it to be an interesting run! I decided on Ham Hill which is an old quarry, now greenly grassed and populated by a multitude of rabbits and host to a decent pub. It also boasted amazing views as it was just so damn hilly.

It was a beautiful evening, the sky was still as blue as forget-me-nots and the air was still and warm. I decided to use a pub as an incentive to lure my parents along. The promise of Somerset cider and a warm evening to sit outside the pub and enjoy it while not having to run appealed to them.

We parked outside the Prince of Wales pub at Ham Hill, near Montacute and I left the parents enjoying a pint of Thatchers apiece. I also understood there was to be ice cream later if I didn’t get back from the run too late. Incentives all round.

I took the excuse of having relieved my daughterly duties to dash off down some interesting looking trails displaying a multitude of different signs showing the ways to various monuments, villages and trails. Down the wooden steps into the wood. Got to the first crossroads and all signs had disappeared. Never mind. Which way looks the most interesting?

Look right and the choice was a wide rutted dirt track, straight ahead; a small footpath down to a stile and a field or left and a winding track leading up into the trees. A quick run in a circle (yes really – like an overexcited labrador let off the lead looking for a widdle) as I decided which looked the most interesting. Up the hill! Bark!

The path grew wider and opened out onto a wide flat grassy green with a standing stone and a wooden signpost, arms pointing directions to villages. I didn’t want to run to a village – there were steep hills all around – much more fun! I had a look over the gate but all that was there was a field. A very standard field. I didn’t want a field. I wanted hills and interesting paths and new trails.  This wasn’t MY way. I dashed back down the path and spotted a hidden footpath on the right. 

I followed the trail under the trees, over roots and through tunnels of leaves, which brushed against my shoulders and face as I ran. The path twisted and turned and doubled back on itself as though it was trying to throw me off its back. It was treacherous to run, but great fun. It was how trail running SHOULD be. The path would wind around tree roots and up steep, steep hills. I tried to run them but it was like trying to run up a wall. The wood smelled earthy and green and the evening sunlight was slanting in between the branches, making puddles of golden light on the trail.

I followed a trail which was part animal track, part imagination and it led down the side of the hill, twisting and turning like a snake and I had its tail. Part running, part falling, I made it to the bottom of the hill breathless and laughing.

There at the bottom was a path. A small, narrow path clearly marked between the high borders of wild garlic, the white spherical flowers like tiny moons perfuming the woods. In the dim light under the trees with the heady smell of the flowers, the wood was dreamlike and felt enchanted. I almost expected hoofbeats and a white stag to leap across in front of me. The path ran next to the ruins of a drystone wall which grew lower and lower until the trail ran along the top of it. I followed the path between the flowers and with my feet on the remains of ancient stones in the gloom of the woods.

All of a sudden, I came out of the flowers and back onto a lane and into the golden sunshine and dusty hedgerows of an English evening – the enchantment broken.

The lane wound downwards between high hedges and banks green and verdant with flowers. I turned a corner following the twist of the track as it turned left and then I stopped. Over the top of a wooden 5-bar gate I spotted a thickly wooded hill crowned by an ancient stone tower... and a track leading up to it.

Too much to resist. I climbed over the dusty wooden stile and ran over the field through the long grass to the small gate I could see at the other side. The field was steep and it was hard work running through the grass towards the tower. I could feel my heart beating with the effort.

I reached the gate and passed through. Running onwards and upwards, the small path twisted and wound steeply around the tor on which the tower stood. I ran up and on both sides I could see the garlic flowers and the dim violet of bluebells on the steep slopes in between the shady trees. It was beautiful and lonely, but the silence wasn’t peaceful.

No one else was there but the feeling was of being watched. The path felt haunted and half-imagined whispers followed me up to the grass on the top of the hill. The faded stone of the tower stretched behind me as I looked out at the view and the patchwork of fields and villages and woods laid out below me like a quilt. It was lovely, but the tower was at my back and I could feel the empty doorway like a hungry mouth behind me.

I didn’t want to but as I had climbed the hill, it seemed silly not to climb the steps inside the tower and look at the views from the barred and crumbling windows. I climbed the stone steps, my hand on the iron rail and my feet making small noises in my running shoes. The stairway was alternately light and dark as the windows lit the steps and then the light faded as I climbed higher.

I reached the top which was a circular room with square barred windows. Black graffiti decorated the walls and the crumbling stones were pitted from the weather. The views were amazing but I wanted to get down as soon as I could. The tower had a nasty feel about it, like a smell or a smoke that coiled around the room. I took some photos and fled down the stairs.

I ran down the path, ignoring the bluebells and flowers, down through the fields and into the lane my feet crunching on the gravel. I followed the lane down, winding past houses tucked away and hedges growing less wild and now trimmed and passing vegetable gardens. And onto the normality of a road with a white stripe down the centre.

My feet kept running and followed the pavement past a school and a playground, now quiet on a Sunday evening. Past the church, tower high and glowing golden and a row of yellow hamstone houses.

I ran along the pavement, but runs aren’t for pavements and roads. Where were my trails and my hills? I spotted a lane and a restricted byeway sign. I passed some vegetable gardens and the bark of a dog and the lane grew smaller and more dusty as I wound my way up the hill. I followed it upwards and found my way barred by a gate. I climbed the gate and found myself in a field of cows peaceful in the evening sunshine.

Of the footpath there was no sign so I followed the small line of trees up to the right with a view out across Montacute and spotted a gate. Through the gate and onto a steeply winding dusty path which grew so steep, it turned into stone steps. Up and up and up. When I turned around to face the view behind me, it was like being at the top of the world.

The War Memorial was at my back, a stone finger pointing at the sky. A memory written in stone. We will remember you and we will set a stone here so the children and the children’s children will know of you.

Running on and into the quarry, between the humped hills and sheer stone walls, past the circle of standing stones – remember not to pass between them – and onto the gravel path leading back to the pub where a cold cider was waiting for me.

Garmin info here:   

The Snake Who Wasn't Breakfast: 5 Mile Build Up Run

Goal: 5 miles with middle 3 at 7:30 min/mile, 7 min/mile. 6:30 min mile.

A perfect morning. I’d slept through my alarm that I set for 7am, finally waking at 10am. But today it didn’t matter. It was the bank holiday weekend, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and I was sure whenever I ran today it would be a good run.

After a lazy breakfast and shower I pulled on my running gear and headed into Yeovil for my run. When I think of trail running, I don’t think of Yeovil. But maybe I should. There’s a disused railway line – flat, smooth paths and reclaimed as a trail with a thought for the wildlife – and it’s PERFECT for running. This morning with the blue skies overhead and with tall trees and lush green banks all around the lazy hum of bees to keep me company it would be perfect. It was also too early for the local chavs to be out, although I didn’t really have to worry about them wanting to run with me. They don’t tend to like running, sticking instead to their tried and tested daily circuit exercises of ‘speed-smoking roll ups’, the chav triathlon of ‘cider- drinking, vomit-hugely and pass-out-in-resulting-vomit-puddle’ and ‘distance expectorating’.

I parked near the start of the trail and while I waited for my Garmin to pick up a signal, I saw a raven behaving strangely. It was flapping around something it had dropped but didn’t want to pick up with me nearby so I went to investigate. A shape on the ground was sinuously moving away from me. My first thought was a grass snake, but it was too small and had no real markings except behind its head. A slow worm. These look like snakes but are actually tail-less lizards – you can tell as these have eyelids like a lizard, snakes don’t. It didn’t seem particularly afraid of me so I bent down to have a proper look at it. The very end of its tail was missing – maybe it had been breakfast for the raven - but it didn’t seem particularly distressed as it moved away towards the safety of the grassy bank.

Being a bit superstitious (aren’t all runners with our lucky race tops and special socks?) I might have taken a raven dropping a snake as a symbol of something. I wasn’t sure quite what it could be a symbol OF though. Everything I thought of didn’t sound quite right.

”Today snakes can expect a lucky escape” sounded too much like a horoscope in a tabloid and “The Guardian of The Tower lets slip the Tempter” sounded like the start of a new Stephen King Gunslinger book. In the end, I decided that it was just a warning for everyone around that runners will steal your breakfast if they’re close enough.   

I ran onto the trail and stood at the start of the path looking down towards my route, the distinctive Wyndham Hill to my right with its crown of trees. This is the start of my run. And I breathe deeply wondering what today and this run will bring.

I’ve got 5 miles to do this morning and the middle 3 are to be build-up miles. I can start at any pace but mile 2 is to be run at 7:30 min/miles, mile 3 at 7:00 and mile 4 at 6:30. I can wheeze and puff like a 60-a-day smoker and run at a 15 min/mile for mile 5 if I like. So long as the middle 3 miles are right.

I trot down through the trees, using the first mile as a warm up and just enjoying being out and moving in the morning sunshine. It’s really warm already and is vest top weather. I can finally believe it‘s going to be June next week. There are lots of Dads out today, all with little girls. Maybe Saturday morning is Mum’s lie in morning or grocery shopping. Or maybe Mum is out for a run and will be running past them later waving cheerily as her daughter looks on and longs for the day that she has long legs and can run as fast as Mummy.

I notice that my breathing isn’t as easy as it should be and realise I forgot my hayfever tablet. Bother. A silly thing to do and one that could make a difference to my run this morning. I try to ignore that and just concentrate on how nice it is to run on this path in the morning and listen to the river running by on my left and the birds in the trees. Today is a perfect running day.

The trail is so tree covered, the Garmin signal and pace are jumping around so I reset it after the first mile so I can get an average pace over the next 2 miles. It’s no good checking the watch and being told I’m doing a pace worthy of Mo Farah one moment and then the speed of Gordon Brown the next. My math isn’t good enough on the run to work out what the average is likely to be. My brain turns to porridge while I’m running.

It’s a lot easier with the average pace. My only problem with this is that I worry that I’m going to slow down towards the end so speed up in the hope of keeping some ‘in the bank’. It just means I do the interval too fast and get puffed out. This showed up in lap 3 which was the 6:30 min/mile. I struggled to keep my breathing easy. I don’t know whether this was actually down to hayfever or just me knowing that I’d forgotten the tablet and was expecting it to be hard. I paused near one of the gates I had to weave through and gave myself a few steady breaths (read: pant like a Labrador) before carrying on.

I pushed on through and finally finished by a quiet pool and a bridge crossing a quiet stream surrounded by weeping willow trees. A girl passed me with a black Labrador and gave me a sympathetic smile. I wheezed at her and attempted a smile which probably looked like a grimace but which seemed to reassure her I wasn’t dying even though I was making all the right noises for it.

After I recovered slightly, I realised that I’d finished my mile by an interesting uphill trail ... Seemed silly not to run up the hill. That’s what hills are for, after all. And who knows what interesting things might be at the top.

I ran up it. And up it. And up it. I’m sure it wasn’t as mountainous as it felt but it DID feel positively Himalayan. I got a pause for breath as a family straggled by the Dad being towed by the daughter and the Mother by a little boy. I got a “Why is she so puffed out from running these TINY hills” look. I pretended they cheered me on instead and passed them by and found a choice of trails. Uphill? Or downhill? Up of course. I followed the smooth dirt trail and it wound between tall trees and gave views into little hidden valleys. In the sunshine, it felt warm and exotic and didn’t feel quite like England.

The trail wound downhill and I ran down enjoying the feel of my feet on the smooth path. At the bottom it looped down further and narrowed and I found a cloudy blue pool like a cataracted eye. The stones around the edge were wet and puddled and there was a spring filling a small basin with water. I stopped and looked over the edge of the bridge and my reflection stared back at me, but the water was opaque and I couldn't see the bottom of the pool. It felt like a secret and magical place and one that I’d never find again, except by chance.

I left the pool and ran on, following the trail through a stone archway and back onto a gravel path and back to the world of traffic noise, ice cream vans and children playing in the garishly coloured playground.  

Goal: 5 miles with middle 3 at 7:30 min/mile, 7 min/mile. 6:30 min mile.

Actual: 5.79 miles with middle 3 at 7:12 min/mile, 6:42 min/mile, 6:25 min/mile

Garmin info here:

Miles 1 and  2:

Miles 3, 4 and 5 (after avg pace reset):  

How Long Does Speed Training Take to Work?

Goal: 8 miles at 7:30 min/miles (8 miles in 1 hour)

I read somewhere recently that it takes between 10 days and 2 weeks for speed training (intervals and such) to have an effect on your overall speed. I can’t remember where I heard this but I can remember being surprised that it happened so quickly. I always assumed that building up your speed took months of slogging and practising paces and running round the track in fast loops like a hamster on a wheel. I wasn’t quite sure how you knew when you’d reached the right speed. Maybe they’d bring people with pompoms out or something.

However, I now think the interval training takes effect long before that. I think it starts immediately after a successful session – if not during. That moment when you think, “Bloody hell! I just managed to run a 6 minute mile pace!” And because you’ve done it once, you know you can do it again. So you do.

It was a bit like this for my run this evening. It was down on my training plan as 8 miles at 7:30 min/miles. This sounded fast. However this week I didn’t overthink it. I’d done 7 miles at this pace last week – I knew it was possible. And because I knew it was possible, it was a much easier run.

Last week I’d felt as though I was fighting the whole way to keep the pace at 7:30 and pushing every step of the way. This week, it felt more flowing, more comfortable, more possible.

I even hit the heady heights of a sub-7 minute mile briefly, but that was because I was listening to Running With The Kenyans again and got a bit carried away with one of the race reports. Maybe I should listen to race reports during my own races as they always make me run a bit quicker. Maybe I’ll never run with the Kenyans in real life, but in my head I’m matching them step for step.

Distance: 8 miles

Time: 58:39

Average Pace: 7:19 min/mile

Garmin Info here:

Goal: Horrendous Sounding Speed Session

Goal: Horrendous Sounding Speed Session

6 x 90 seconds at 5k pace (6:19 min/miles) with 30 secs recovery

6 x 60 seconds at mile pace (6:01 min/miles) with 1 min recovery straight into 1 mile at 10k pace (6:26 min/mile)

This was a lot better than I expected and I found it a lot easier than last week’s training. I’d like to claim credit and say it’s because I’m getting used to speed sessions or that I’m getting fitter but I think it’s purely because the faster intervals were shorter and had nice generous recovery periods.

In fact, I’d go so far as to so I enjoyed this one.

Is that a sign I wasn’t running hard enough? I hope not as I really want to get that sub-20 min 5k this summer. Also please, please don’t tell Marathon Coach Steve this …otherwise I am quite positive that the next session will be fiendishly difficult. You’ll find me draped over the treadmill crying and swearing off trainers for life.

Actual: 6 x 90 seconds at 5k pace (6:19 min/miles) with 30 secs recovery then 6 x 60 seconds at mile pace (6:01 min/miles) with 1 min recovery straight into 1 mile at 10k pace (6:26 min/mile)

Sub 20 min 5k plan: Built for Speed

This is the schedule Coach Steve has given me to speed up my 5k and 10ks and ultimately the marathon. I'm (very) relieved to say that Week 1 is complete!!

Sub 20 5k plan:

Week 1

Tues: 5 x 4 minutes at 10k pace with 1 min recovery (aim for approx 6:30-6:45 miling)  then 5 x 2 minutes at 5k pace (aim for approx 6:20-6:30 miling with 1 min recovery
Wed: steady 7 miles in 7 min 30 miles
Thurs: 5 miles with middle 3 miles at sub-7 min miles
Fri: rest
Sat: parkrun 5km or hills
Sun: slow hour

Week 2

Monday: 5M easy or rest
Tues: 6 x 90 seconds at 5k pace with 30 secs recovery then 6 x 60 seconds at mile pace with 1 min recovery. straight into 1M at 10k pace
Wed: steady 8 miles in 7 min 30 miles
Thurs: 5 miles with 3 miles build up run miles of 7:30, 7:00, 6:30
Fri: rest
Sat: parkrun 5km or hills
Sun: slow 75 mins

Stupid Mornings ... Where's the Coffee?

Goal: An hours slow run.

I hate morning running. It should be lovely! The day is dawning, it’s all peaceful and nice and no-one is around! The morning is fresh and new and I’m greeting it with a burst of energetic enthusiasm as a thank you!

No. It’s not like this. It’s leg dragging, lung burning hell. Dreary and hateful and it feels like I’m running a 5 minute mile when in fact I’m running a 10 min/mile. Mornings are for sleeping and for putting the coffee in the cup and the kettle on and blearily reaching for the porridge. Not this energetic nonsense.

As you can see from the Garmin info I really wasn’t feeling the running love this morning. But it’s done. Can I go back to bed now?

See - even the cows are lying down!

Goal: 1 hours slow run

Actual: Almost an hours very slow run.

Garmin Info here:

Squashed Bottles, Deer & Running Like a Kenyan

Goal: Parkrun 5km or hills.

This session caused me two problems. Number 1: I couldn’t get to the parkrun and back in time to get to the wedding I was attending later in the morning so parkrun was out. Number 2: I was staying in Kempsford - quite possibly the flattest place I’ve ever been in. As hilly as a pancake but with hedges and church spires so trying to get the hill session done might be a challenge. I briefly considered asking the vicar whether I could thunder up and down the church tower steps, but didn’t think this would be a goer.

I finally managed to track down a hill but it was a 3 mile run away. So the total 5km I was SUPPOSED to do on the schedule wasn’t going to go quite to plan. I could drive to the hill, but that isn’t really in the spirit of this whole running game, is it?

It started off as quite a grey and dull morning, but by the time I got a mile or so into it the sun was out and it was beautiful. Pretty much what you think of when you think of Gloucestershire actually. Dusty village lanes, green hedgerows and church spires rising in the distance. Also massive fields of that yellow stuff that wants to get up my nose but I was smug knowing I’d taken one of my hayfever tablets that day and could sniff yellow flowers to my heart’s content. Although I decided just to stick to the running this morning. It’s easy to get distracted when you know you’re supposed to be running up and down hills.

It was a lovely run and I listened to Running With The Kenyans audiobook as I went. There’s nothing like a bit of inspiration as you run and I found myself trying to even out my form as I ran. The chap in the book describes the perfect form as pretty much the same way Sam Murphy had told us we needed to do it. A straighter back – leaning forward slightly and lifting our knees and kicking out behind. The author of the book describes it well as “trying to ride an invisible unicycle”. It’s a quicker cadence and a more rounded running motion. It’s tiring trying to keep it up but if I remember to make sure I practise every time I go for a run, then hopefully I’ll be a bit more Kenyan-like (if only in my mind) and a bit less Dorset-Lass-Going-For-A-Clump-Around-The-Countryside-In-Her-Wellies.

I finally got to the hill. It’s deceiving. It starts with a nice gentle slope and then suddenly goes mad and turns into something positively towering with overhanging trees and bits of shade and narrow bits just for extra ‘Making Getting Killed By a Car Here Easier’.  I decided that it was probably too long for a sustained hard effort and it would get irritating having to leap out the way of the cars that were occasionally driving up. I stopped at a gateway and a squashed plastic bottle was my start marker and the darker line on the road up above made by the overhanging trees was to be my finish line.

I sprinted up the hill hard as I could to the dark line and then ambled back down again at a slow jog for a recovery. As soon as I reached my plastic bottle I did a U-turn and sprinted like a maniac for the dark line again. Rinse and repeat 5 times. I’d like to have done another set of these maybe with a minute break in between sets to give me time to celebrate a successful set (read as: fall over / throw up / pass out) but due to my warm up and cool down distance of 3 miles I was a bit pushed for time. I ambled to the top of the hill and turned around and ambled home again.

It was gorgeous running back and the sun was really bright and warm. As I ran on the lane, I startled a herd of deer in the field of yellow rapeseed next to me and they ran alongside me briefly, their heads and backs moving above the bright yellow of the plants like inverted rocking horses. I ran on feeling lucky to have seen them.

Those little dots in the distance really ARE deer! Honest!

Goal: 5km parkrun or hills

Actual: 6.67 miles including 5 hill repeats         

Garmin Info here:

Mad Girl Running: 5 miles with middle 3 at sub-7 min/miles

Goal: 5 miles with middle 3 miles at a sub 7 minute mile

My session tonight was 5 miles with the middle 3 at sub-7. Sub 7? Really?!! I’m not entirely sure my legs DO sub-7 minute miles. They have in the past but there’s usually a really good incentive involved like an ice cream van at the end of the road, a parkrun in which I REALLY have to pass the person in fairy fancy dress just in front of me or it’s the sprint finish at the end of a race and there’s a man trying to beat me because I’m a GIRL. Grrrrr. See. Really GOOD reasons.

However, I’m also a wimp. There was no way I could face emailing Marathon Coach Steve with an email along the lines of “... I was too scared to try.” He’d give me a withering look (visible even through an email) and tell me to just do it. It’s a LOT more scary than it sounds, honest.

So the drive home from work was me trying to figure out where I could run 3 consecutive sub-7 miles. My usual routes have kerbs and places where I have to cross multiple roads or are hilly and potholey. Not good. I remembered vaguely that I’d seen a park on my way home from work – in fact one I run past on my 9 mile route. I couldn’t remember much about it apart from it was flat and only about a mile away from home. But did it have a path around it or was it just a playing field? And would I have to avoid low hanging play equipment and the legs of over enthusiastic toddlers swinging from it as I ran?

When I got home I googled the park – I bloody LOVE the Google maps satellite option – and there stretched out around the edge a path. And even better when I measured it, it was exactly 1 kilometre a lap.

It was fate. Or maybe a runner had designed it. Either way the Running Gods had smiled. It was perfect.

I’d underestimated my faffing about time as usual and by the time I got to the park it was dark. It was gloomy and unlit but there ARE a few positives from light pollution and that’s being able to see in a town at night. Even if it is a rather eerie orange glow.  

Right. The running jacket was secured around my waist – I briefly considered hiding it in a bush but this WAS Rugby ... next time I saw it, it would be being worn by a tramp eating chips – and plugged in the iPod. Power songs – GO!

I probably should have done a warm up lap and then I would have spotted the shin height metal fences in the dark beforehand but the Running Gods were guiding my feet and I – just by chance – navigated the narrow gap between them, breathing a sigh of relief that I wasn’t doing the next 10 metres on my face. Graceful as I’m sure my flight would have been, scrubbing around in the dark looking for my front 2 teeth would surely scupper my chances of a sub-7 minute mile.  

Down the path, past the dark, rather strange Teletubby-house style building, under the height restriction and a swerve around the corner past the gloomy graveyard and through the darkness towards the next corner. Rather sadistically the park designers had put in another shin high fence but it was a graduated one so I had a brief chicane before heading up the next long side of the rectangle. The Garmin lost signal under the trees so I had to guestimate my speed until I was back at the starting point.

It was a fantastic circuit on a smooth tarmac path and the park was deserted. Apart from one couple having a rather wobbly late night walk after a few pints at the pub – who had jumped in a comical way when I passed them – I hadn’t seen a soul. It was perfect for speed work. All those times during marathon training that I’d struggled with time to get to the track and all this time the park was only 2 miles – a perfect warm up distance – away.  

4 laps down and onto the final lap, coming under the trees and focusing with the tunnel vision of the hard panting desperate-for–it-to-be-over glare of the speed session runner on the final corner as my finishing point, a patch of darkness moves slightly and I realise a cyclist without lights is coming the other way. We miss each other narrowly and his frightened grey face flies past my left shoulder as we narrowly miss each other in the dark.

And I finish the speed session.

I’m never sure whether it’s an intense runners high I experience after speed sessions or whether it is a huge feeling of relief that the session is over and completed successfully. I run home smiling the whole way. Drunks coming out of the pub, stop and stare at this ponytailed mad girl running down the street in the dark in a vest top, her running jacket tied around her waist and flapping like a neon pink sail. I wave at them and jump over the puddles and enjoy the run home.

Goal: 5 miles with middle 3 miles at sub-7 min/miles

Actual: 6.71 miles with middle 3 miles at sub-7 min/miles

Garmin Info Here

Dogs, Imaginary Dogs and Deer & Putting Your Child on a Leash: 7 miles at 7:30 min/mile

Goal: 7 miles at 7:30

I don't know why, but the thought of any pace at below an 8 minute mile scares me. It just sounds so darn quick. It doesn’t matter what I try and tell myself, it sounds uncomfortable and just a bit too ... wind tearingly, vomit-inducingly, hair-staright-out-behind ... fast!

On the schedule for this evening was 7 miles at a 7:30 min/mile. Humph. I’d better find a route where there aren’t too many gates to climb, roads to cross or ploughed fields then. I’d hate to die under the wheels of one of those moped riders just because I was too determined to maintain my pace to check the road was clear.

I decided to run Central Walk (ahem … Run) which is a disused railway line running through the centre of Rugby, It’s usually peaceful and fairly quiet apart from the dog walkers and cyclists. Personally, I reckon they’re the SAME dog walkers and cyclists every day, rotating like on the Truman Show. They take it in turns to maintain traffic on the route. REALLY, they’re undercover naturalists waiting for a (non-looping) dog walker not to scoop the poop or a cyclist not to stick the path, then they’ll STRIKE. The offender will get a stiff talking to about eroding paths and the dangers of dog poo and get sent on their way with a warning and a leaflet about Natural Beauty on Rugby Byeways.That’s why it’s poo free and the cyclists tend to have a scared look and stick to the paths. You realise I said NATURALISTS don’t you, not NATURISTS. They’re all fully clothed. I know you were thinking it. 

I’d meant to run straight from work. This never happens. I get in the door and get distracted by what's in the fridge. I got distracted this time by a large packet of chocolate buttons and by the time I’d polished those off, I decided I may as well have tea now as well.

I set off about 8pm, leaving the sound of a wailing toddler who really didn’t want to go to bed and the sound of a huffy Daddy who really DID. Outside the door, there was silence apart from the birdsong. Bliss.

A trot around the block and then onto the paths leading along the canal. A few ducks swam peacefully, looking peaceful and completely unlike the Hovis Muggers I knew them to be. First rustle of a plastic bag containing bread and those things lose control and go bread barmy. Don’t trust ducks.

Under the canal bridge and over the cobbles, dodging a walker coming into the tunnel from the other side and hopping over the half a tree some chav has thoughtfully broken off and left as obstacle training for me. Bless their hearts. Don’t let anyone tell you that chavs don’t care.

Following the cycle path with fields on either side and over the river. The mountain bike someone had left in the river seems to have disappeared. No doubt, it’s been dragged home by someone who has cleaned the duckweed off and sprayed it with oil and has popped it on ebay. Good luck with THAT one, Mr Buyer.

Over the road with a pause to check I’m not about to get mown down by a mad moped rider, a pensioner or a cyclist on a bike dripping with duckweed. Nope and over the road, past the post office with a stuffed Postman Pat toy looking out of the window. 3 year old always says “Look there’s Postman Pat” when we passed the post office. I always used to mollify her with ”Yes dear. That’s right, it’s the POST OFFICE.” Thinking I had a child prodigy until one day I spotted the toy. Under the railway bridge, echoing with traffic and grey with traffic fumes and dust. This is my 1 mile point.

Past the bus stop – no teenagers today with outstretched legs to trip over – past the corner shop and up the tiny residential street. I squeeze myself as small as possible to make way for dog walkers and people going in and out of the takeaway. It sounds silly but I try to be a running ambassador. And besides any one of these people could be a runner too. A hand patting you on the back for encouragement as they pass you in a race, a friend sharing a water bottle or a conversation in the portaloo queue.

The tower blocks stretch up high at the end of the road, windows already lighting up in the dusk. I turn right onto a path of cinder blocks and through a tunnel of trees and all of a sudden all of the town sound is muted, then as I travel further down the path, blocked out. No car horns, traffic or train noises. As deeply and quickly as though a velvet hood has been dropped over my head.

The next 4 or 5 miles are all on trail – a mixture of cinder paths, dirt and gravel. Lovely. Much more fun to run on than pavements or roads and much kinder on the joints. Not so kind on the trainers, mind, when I get home from running here, they’re decorated with a lovely mixture of brown water and mud. It’s worth it.

I passed a few cyclists who greeted me with nods or smiles and a few dog walkers with well-behaved charges who DIDN’T greet me with drool or jumping up. Exactly as it should be. What is it with dog owners who excuse their ill-trained pet’s behaviour as “He wants to play”? Who cares if he wants to play?! He’s NOT ALLOWED to play with ME!! Mind you, I’ve never had a problem with dogs except for the odd overenthusiastic lick and muddy pawprints on clothes but I seem to one of the rarities. Most runners I’ve spoken to have been chased and quite a few I know even bitten. I love dogs, but only well-trained ones. You wouldn’t let your kids bite people, would you? Or poo in the street? Well if you do, please keep them on a leash. Yes, the kids.

I reach the end of the path and turn around. A man is holding a lead and peering into hedges calling a dog’s name. There’s no sign of the dog and the man looks a bit shifty. I’m sure he’s quite normal but the way he’s acting makes me wonder whether he’s taking his imaginary pooch for a walk. Well. At least he wouldn’t have to pick up poo I suppose. 

Back down the path. It’s very slightly downhill on the way back but the way back on any route always seems much easier than the way there. No idea why. I guess it’s knowing you’re on the home straight. This time, the path is entirely deserted and I have it to myself. The birds are singing and dusk is falling. It’s peaceful and lovely running here on my own. I always find running with other people harder. Maybe it’s the sheer volume of inane chatter I manage to produce. It must be quite tiring for them to listen to. Although it’s an incentive for them to speed up and escape the noise – the run is over quicker and they’ve got a new PB into the bargain. Win.

As I come down towards the end of the path, there’s a movement on the verge to my right. I stop and 2 deer are looking at me. They’re timid, but not scared and they’re small. Much smaller than the deer I’m used to seeing. They’re about the size of Alsation dogs and a deeper brown. They move away from me steadily but not fearfully and move into the bushes at the top of the verge. It’s amazing that I’m standing on this path in the centre of a town – although it feels secluded and peaceful – and I’ve come face to face with 2 deer. It’s lovely. 

Sorry ... not a great pic. In fact it looks like a kangaroo. But it was a deer. Promise!

A few minutes later my path ends and I’m back onto the pavements and on the home stretch. It’s been a nice run and quicker than I usually do this route. But it’s nice to know that I can do this pace if necessary. The deer have been a lovely addition to an already lovely run.

Goal: 7 miles at 7:30 min/miles

Actual: 7 miles at 7:25 min/miles

Garmin info here