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Day 114 – Nothing More To Do

Tuesday’s run was prescribed as eight miles mostly easy with a couple of quick bits thrown in. Ultimately that’s more or less what happened. A club run with a mix of runners who’d just run a marathon, those who were competing at the weekend and so were tapering and a few who were just there for the ride.

Most of the run was very casual, the left thigh nagged and ached but it wasn’t unbearable. We spent some time in the middle of the run deciding exactly what route to take. In the end we decided to just turn and retrace our steps back along the canal path. This suited me fine as I’m finding downhill sections the hardest to handle at the moment.

Easy paced all the way back along the canal path I allowed myself around 1km  of fast paced running once back on the main path. It felt easy and pretty quick, albeit with continued nagging ache in the thigh. Once home I stretched extensively and again the following morning, putting in some minute long stretches. These seemed to be doing something to the left thigh, at times I thought my phone was vibrating in my pocket; instead it was my  leg in a weird spasm.

I’d debated whether to run on the Wednesday; at the last moment I headed out and did just over four miles. The outward leg was mostly uphill to Gonerby, then coming down, once past the steep downhill, I ran around a mile and a third at marathon HR, which was coming in at near dead on six minutes per mile.

So aerobically I am ready to race on Sunday. The leg – well I am relying on three days rest, a productive massage this morning, and more stretching and massage building up to Sunday. I don’t really like this position of not knowing if I’m going to even make it on Sunday. I think I will; I think it will be painful; whether it will be quick – that I just don’t know.

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Day 109 – That Was Unexpected

I took the day off on the Friday, an attempt to allow the legs to recover. I spent a fair amount of the day doing a TFL stretch I found and single leg squats, which hurt the left thigh on each of the 150 or so odd times I did them.

Things were looking as gloomy as they have been in recent days until, in the evening, I just stumbled upon a sore spot on the inner thigh, down low near the knee. A little more prodding produced the exact upper thigh pain I’ve been suffering in recent weeks. This was exciting. A real development. I massaged the spot for a while, not as expertly as a professional but enough to generate a reaction. Lo and behold the pain I got when climbing stairs or single leg squats had all but disappeared!

Since the morning I’d half a mind to go out and run the Newark parkrun as a way of putting in a few solid miles in amongst an eight mile run. Now I really wanted to go – to see if the discovery had made any difference. I was up early, and in Newark for 8:30. A two mile warm up saw the legs a little stiff for the first mile but much less in the way of thigh pain than before. I stretched again before the start of parkrun, still expecting nothing more than three miles at hopefully sub six minutes per mile.

Before the off, there was a minute’s silence to honour the memory of Steve Worland, who tragically collapsed and died at last week’s Bristol parkrun. It’s always hard to refocus when the relative pointlessness of running against the clock is brought to light by someone who paid the ultimate price for doing something he clearly enjoyed, but the pleasure that it can bring to the tens of thousands up and down the question show that the benefits still outweigh the inherent risks. It was with that thought that I lined up, determined to enjoy the run, no matter what.

I made a measured start, and was delighted that there wasn’t a sniff of pain or discomfort in the left thigh, Hallelujah! I may have applied a temporary patch, to hopefully be fixed either by the physiotherapist on Monday or my masseur next Thursday, but it was great to be running 95% uninhibited by pain or restricted movement. Despite this I was only seventh after the opening few hundred meters. Not panicking, I soon passed a bunch of runners to sit second, only to be soon passed by another runner leaving me third.

I settled in this position allowing the two in front to ease ahead a bit, but the gap was never more than around five seconds. I passed through the first mile in 5:32, the second lap in 5:36, not helped much by having to weave incessantly to lap back markers. Approaching the end of the second of three laps, it was inescapably evident that I was slowly hauling in the pair ahead of me, who were seemingly inseparable. On the start of the final lap I caught them and without hesitation passed them to take the lead. One runner, Adam, who has come home first at numerous Newark parkruns, went with me and sat on my shoulder. I was enjoying this, I was running pretty quickly and it was feeling easy.

I went through the third mile in 5:25 and 5k in 17:12 on the Garmin. This course is very long, so I knew there was around another 300 meters to go to the finish of this 5(.3)km timed run. Adam sat on my shoulder until the last 80 meters when he put on a sprint finish. I let him go, not interested in chasing a small glory at the risk of damaging the thigh which had behaved impeccably. I came home second in a time of 17:52 which I was quick to realise was a course PB by 24 seconds! From barely being able to run at the start of the week to a virtual 5km pb!

The three mile warm down was not altogether perfect. The left hip was quite sore, although this loosened off as the run concluded. I’ll be interested to see how tomorrow’s run goes. Something tells me it could be quite a sore affair, although I am now, thanks to today’s run, confident that I will be on the start line at Rotterdam in reasonable shape.

Split Summary
===
1) 1m – 5:32(5:32/m) 167/173bpm 93cal
2) 1m – 5:36(5:36/m) 176/180bpm 101cal
3) 1m – 5:25(5:25/m) 180/183bpm 102cal
4) 0.25m – 1:18(5:06/m) 181/182bpm 24cal

 

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Day 103–Room For Optimism?

As soon as my day was done working on the Malaysian Grand Prix, I changed out of my work clothes and into my summer running gear for a make or break long run. With the temperature in the high teens and the weak sun trying to shine, I was determined to test the body to see if it is even worth persisting with the dream of making it to Rotterdam two weeks from now.

The opening miles were not promising. For better or worse I decided to abandon the prescribed two minutes walking, two minutes jogging, two minutes running for fear of going delusional if I were to keep that up for the best part of two hours. Whilst the actual pace was not that bad the effort to try and ignore the nagging, consistent pain in the thigh was starting to get the better of me.

At four miles I was actually ready to call it a day and head home. I stopped and, in desperation, did a deep hip flexor stretch for thirty seconds on the left leg. I resumed running and, to my surprise, found that much of the pain in the thigh had disappeared. Were tight hip flexors to blame for all the discomfort?

I decided to revert to plan A and go for it. The long run was back on. I headed to the canal and ran the four and a half miles out to Woolsthorpe. Every ten minutes or so I would stop and repeat the 30 second hip flexor stretch. The pain continued to stay at bay and the legs were running freely, shown in the pace which, before long, was coming down reasonably close to marathon pace. I was beginning to enjoy running again, relishing the pleasantly warm conditions and scenic surroundings on a tranquil Mother’s Day.

At Woolsthorpe, I returned and even though there was the merest headwind the pace, if anything, picked up Any discomfort was coming in the side of the hips and was of the sort that was easily bearable. Only in the final couple of miles did things begin to ache, but I think I was rapidly tiring, being short on sleep and low on energy reserves.

The run over the legs soon stiffened over the course of the evening, but I was at least happy to see that it was possible to run. A lot can happen in two weeks, but I was a lot more optimistic than I was a few days ago. There is now the prospect of taper hell to endure. In some ways being injured makes it easier as I don’t feel as guilty about reducing the mileage. The body is enjoying the rest, for once.

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Coventry’s half marathon–Sunday 23rd March 2014

I was like a bear with a sore head for the day or two leading up to Coventry’s half marathon (Which for the remainder, where applicable, will be referred to as the Coventry Half Marathon, dropping the possessive apostrophe – which, bizarrely, was the theme for the finishing medal – and resurrecting the redundant capitalisation). My left leg is not a happy bunny, it has been prodded more often than a fussy five year old’s unloved dinner, and is not responding well to massage and stretching. As with most of my injuries  – I’m sure the origins lie somewhere in the back, and until the sweet spot is found, a cascade of soreness and tight bits proliferate. Three weeks or so ago I was looking at a near sure-fire HM PB; now I was unsure of whether I’d even finish. Miserable doesn’t even begin to describe my mental state. It’s ridiculous but the life of a running addict can literally swing from boom to despair on the tweak of a tendon.

Back when I was a Coventry resident, the Half Marathon was less than a mile from home. I revelled in being able to leave home around 10 minutes before the off, jog to the race start and be off racing minutes after arriving. Now living in Grantham and with the race kicking off at an ungodly 9am, it meant an early start and rushed preparations in order to get out of the house in time. This led to the biggest mistake of the day when I failed to notice the kids’ car seats were in the back of the car I was taking, which wasn’t much use for the wife who was set to drive them to a party in the other vehicle. The error only dawned on me as I hit the M69; luckily for me the venue for the birthday bash was within walking distance.

I parked up around two miles from the start to allow the warm up to be the run into race HQ. Trialling my new running rucksack for the first time, this was pleasingly comfortable. The left leg, in particular the thigh, was less so. But at least it was bearable. The pain was forgotten briefly as I passed my old home, looking exactly as I left it save for two To Let signs in the miniscule front garden, which were infinitely more aesthetically pleasing than the (presumably broken) Nescafe vending machine that took pride of place in the garden a few doors down. The house that always gave trouble had truly excelled itself with the most bizarre piece of house furniture they’ve ever left outside.

I reached race HQ just 35 minutes before the start, which is around an hour less than I usually allow. It was hence a fairly rushed affair changing, stretching, pit stopping, dropping baggage etc.. It was a shame that I bumped into some fellow Kenilworth Runners literally as we were about to head to the start line. Never the chattiest at the best of times before a race, there was little in the way of meaningful conversation other than the most basic of pleasantries. My mind was focused on the impending doom I felt certain was going to strike me somewhere down the road during the race. That was a great shame as I was really looking forward to meeting old friends again, and time and circumstances sadly conspired against us.

I got to the start line just four minutes before the scheduled depart. I spotted fellow Kenilworth Runner Connor Carson, who is the club’s leading runner based on WMA age grades. He talked down his expectations for the race; I should have known better for he ended up finishing with a one second PB and an agonising six seconds away from breaking 75 minutes. Still, another 84%+ WMA performance is something to be pretty proud of, one that I’d be willing to a fair few creature comforts for.

The first mile was a fairly quick affair, although the 5:36 opening mile my Garmin clocked up I reckon was a touch enthusiastic on its behalf as the mile marker came around 15 seconds further up the road. That opening mile saw me hang on to Connor’s coat tails and even pass him at one point, but that seemed to inspire him and he soon eased himself away into the distance.  I settled into as best a rhythm I could, trying my best to ignore the persistent ache in the upper thigh and a myriad of other weird pains in the left leg.

At around three miles I was in a group of four which I considered sticking with to take advantage of sheltering from the headwind. They weren’t however quite running fast enough so I pressed on. As we passed through Allesley and continued a protracted drag uphill, there was some impressive crowd support which spurred me on a little. The legs felt a touch heavy, no doubt from the heavy mileage, but I was moving reasonably swiftly. In the distance was the unmistakeable frame of local legend Garry Payne, who in his heyday won more road races than I’ve probably entered. Fifty seven years young, the man can still knock out a swift half marathon (He won the Coventry Half as recently as 2011), and I was particularly pleased to catch him, run with him for a mile or two before easing away at eight miles (I was even more chuffed when he came to congratulate me on my run at the end of the race – that was definitely a highlight).

Miles 5-8 were tough. Exposed and into a headwind as we tackled the greenbelt land near Corley, we climbed to the highest point of the race at eight miles. Thankfully I knew once we turned right onto the main road back into Coventry it was going to be as near as dammit all gently downhill to the finish, with the added bonus of being aided most of the way by a strong tail wind. With Garry dispatched it was now a lonely race, with just a couple of Godiva runners to try and chase down in the distance. All I had to spur me on was trying to reduce my average pace which, after the opening mile, had slowly slid to just outside six minutes per mile.

The average pace over the next five miles came down, but not by as much as I would have liked. The left thigh ached just enough for me not to be able to run flat out. This is shown in my heart rate which was pretty much on my marathon threshold and should have been a fair few beats higher during the closing stages of a half marathon. I battled on as best I could whilst not wanting to risk everything by overdoing it. The long downhill stretch was rudely interrupted by a slight rise at 11 miles then another in the final mile. At least the crowds were cheering in the final miles to will us to the finish, and the PA at the end was plenty loud enough to hear my name called out to the crowd as I came home in 14th position.

I knew I was outside my PB; 1:17:32 should be a pleasing result given the circumstances, but I left Coventry a little disappointed. Twisting my thoughts full circle I was then enthused that I should be disappointed with a 1:17, showing that my standards have risen in recent times. But ultimately I felt a bit flat.

Fearing my leg would stiffen and knowing I had a run back to the car and a journey in it to survive, I had my first second ever post race massage (I’ve just remembered I had one after my first ever half marathon, when I couldn’t walk for a week afterwards). God bless the numerous and very enthusiastic students of Coventry University, who gave their services for free, but I received, without a shadow of doubt, the most ineffective massage ever.  I was requested on several occasions to let them know if the pain of the massage became unbearable; at times I had to turn my head and see if they were actually touching my legs – for they felt nothing.

I jogged back to the car, running more slowly than on my warm up on a longer route, retracing parts of Coventry I ran most often as a resident. The leg didn’t feel too bad considering, I had to consume a Snickers on the way though, suffering from a bit of hunger knock as the cyclists call it. Back at the car I no doubt bemused the residents of a part of Hipswell Highway as I changed outside their house out of lycra and into regular clothes. From there it was onto Warwick and a chance to catch up with some more club mates, some of whom had taken part in the Warwick Half Marathon. I would have spent more time with them had I gone to the right pub in the first instance though…. Time flew by and before I knew it my two hours of gratis parking on the expensive streets of Warwick was up and my time to head home had come.

It was fun racing back in Coventry but the race there left me with no regret over leaving. The warm down especially had me wondering how I was able to train efficiently when I was stopping every mile or so to cross a road or be dodging errant pedestrians. There’s now less than three weeks until marathon day. A cure for the leg woes is urgently required….

Split Summary
===
1) 1m – 5:36(5:36/m) 151/164bpm 79cal
2) 1m – 5:49(5:49/m) 166/172bpm 95cal
3) 1m – 5:55(5:55/m) 167/171bpm 97cal
4) 1m – 5:55(5:55/m) 168/172bpm 97cal
5) 1m – 6:09(6:09/m) 168/171bpm 101cal
6) 1m – 6:13(6:13/m) 167/171bpm 102cal
7) 1m – 6:16(6:16/m) 168/171bpm 104cal
8) 1m – 6:18(6:18/m) 166/169bpm 104cal
9) 1m – 5:46(5:46/m) 165/167bpm 93cal
10) 1m – 5:41(5:41/m) 166/167bpm 92cal
11) 1m – 5:40(5:40/m) 165/167bpm 91cal
12) 1m – 5:41(5:41/m) 165/171bpm 90cal
13) 1m – 5:43(5:43/m) 165/169bpm 90cal
14) 0.18m – 51(4:46/m) 168/171bpm 13cal

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Day 56–On The Bike

With any thought of running in the foreseeable future supressed as much as possible to the back of the mind – to avoid rampant depression and extreme likelihood of injuring myself further should I succumb to temptation and don the trainers – I made a late decision to go out on a bike ride. The sun was shining and the wind had mercifully dropped after a week or more of very strong winds.

I should have gone out on the racing bike, but that is currently out of reach due to a huge number of empty boxes and other junk blocking access to the bike bag which contains bike, helmet, gloves cycling shoes etc.. Fortunately I had a back up in cheap hybrid bike I brought in September principally as a means to get around town quickly – it’s far quicker than being in the car at most times of day here in Grantham. I had to improvise somewhat with the clothing as I’ve long ago discarded most of my winter cycling gear – the most disturbing prospects of cycling was doing so with a skateboard helmet and a pair of trainers with not even toe clips to help drive the power efficiently. Hardly the most professional set up.

It was surprising then that I managed to complete 25 miles at an average of 17mph – not a million miles away from what I might do on a racing bike. I struggled on the drags and the hills (usually my strong point on a bike but not today) but was otherwise reasonably fast and enjoyed doing some exercise. I do enjoy cycling – as a kid I preferred it much more to running. I just live in perennial fear of puncturing or crashing which is the main reason I don’t cycle more, that and the time it takes up putting in a decent ride.

Unfortunately the ride was not pain free. I remember when I cycled into town at the beginning of January the groin and hip was painful – something I’ve never experienced on a bike. I was fine today for the first fifty minutes or so, but then there was a puling sensation from the groin down to the knee along the inner thigh. I think until I see someone there is little point in risking further injury.