How Far Can Too Far Go?

How Far Can Too Far Go?

Welcome back!

Well, this isn't exactly going to plan. I was confident about jumping straight back into full-on marathon training, but in fact the truth is it's been a lot harder than I'd hoped. After two tentative runs to see how my knee was coming along, I went out on the Sunday with every intention of doing some longer miles.

Just my bad luck, then, I suppose, that the weather had turned from biblical to apocalyptic. It was lashing it down with rain, which is hardly ideal, but I can deal with that. The problem was the wind, which was absolutely howling, with gusts of up to 120 km/h. Call me a slacker, but it was just impossible to run. For the first time in my entire life, I wished I had a treadmill at home. So there was nothing for it but to head back in and get on the bike. I did think of waiting until lunchtime and getting out then, but there was no let-up in the storm, so I did the only thing possible and went out to a bar to drink beer and watch Arsenal v Leicester. If I'd hoped this would cheer me up, well, I was wrong! 

The next week was little better, running-wise, at least, as I received the welcome visit of my brother and his two little boys. We had a great few days together and I wouldn't have missed it for anything, but between preparations (cooking, cleaning etc.) and the visit itself, I didn't get much running done: only two easy 6-7 milers, in which I at least felt comfortable again.

One morning we went up to the area of the famous Angliru, and played around in the snow. Does that count as hillwork? I'd like to think so. 

We then took a trip to Galicia where we went to the coast before spending the day and night in the beautiful walled city of Lugo. We spent the day eating and drinking stupendously, before taking in some Spanish Segunda División football, bathed in warm sunshine.

The clan had to be back at the airport for 9:30 on the Sunday morning, so it meant an early start and not much sleep. Having breakfasted in Departures after a nerve-wracking, fog-bound journey, I got home around 11 and pooled all my resources of motivation to not go straight back to bed, but instead haul myself out for a run. I dragged myself round Oviedo for just over 11 miles and felt pretty satisfied with that, given the circumstances.

While stretching after the run, though, I noticed a pain behind my (good, but lately not so good) right knee. It hadn't bothered me while running so I put it out of my mind. I was more concerned about a palpable loss of fitness and the paltry number of miles I've been able to do, hardly in keeping with a training campaign for a marathon. And while I talk about miles, well, that's how far I am away from where I should be at this stage. 

This has now turned into a full-blown salvage operation. All the evidence seems to suggest that I'm going to have a complete disaster in Brighton, with so little time to pull things round.  

I think, to be honest, if I didn't have the flights booked and it wasn't in Brighton, my (other) brother's home town, I would have given this up as a bad job. But I think I may as well do as much I can do and see what happens. I curse my blog, too, for holding me so accountable - but in any case I can't, and won't, give up now.

Two short-ish runs on Tuesday and Wednesday went by uneventfully, but the niggle behind my knee was still there and clearly was only going to get worse, so I booked in for a session this morning at Jaime's physio practice. He would sort me out, for sure, although I went in some dread, remembering the agony he had put me through in times past.

I expected to be treated by the great man himself, so was surprised and not displeased to be greeted by a a tall, slim, raven-haired beauty by the name of Lucía. She ushered me in and soon got to work. If I'd imagined a gentle, soothing massage I was promptly disabused of the notion, as she yanked my poor legs this way and that and contorted me into impossible positions, like she was playing with one of those bendy Pink Panthers, or something. She then concentrated on my hips and abductors before moving onto my lumbar region, and, er, arse, which she kneaded and prodded into submission. In short, however, it's the first time in a good few weeks that I can honestly say that I've had a good workout!

I decided to book another session for a week today, as I clearly need all the help I can get. In the meantime, I'll be out tomorrow early before embarking on a go-as far-as-I-can session on Sunday. If I can get to about 14-15 miles, I'll be happy, try to recover well and just push on from there. As I said before, this is turning into a car-crash of a training campaign, but  I have no option but to bag all the miles I can and pray that in 8 weeks I will have done enough to get round Brighton in one piece. I don't even want to think about target times, I think it's gone beyond that, now.

Now it's just about how far I can go. How far, in fact, can too far go? That's the question.

Thanks for reading and please join me again next time. It's fun, this, isn't it?

Rip It Up

Rip It Up

Hello again!

You may or may not have noticed that I haven't posted with my customary frequency recently; in fact almost two weeks have gone by since my last missive. How have you been coping in the meantime?

So, to catch up, I have to tell you that I took the physio's advice and did nothing from the Tuesday until the following Monday, save the knee exercises I'd been prescribed. These went more or less well, but there was still quite a bit of discomfort present, so when I popped in to give the physio an upate he ordered me to continue resting and come back on the Wednesday for another session, with a view to possibly go out running again on the Thursday.

To my consternation, an hour before the appointment, he texted me to say he had toothache and was off to see the dentist. Could I come in the following morning? Yes, I could, but I asked him by return if I should go out that day and give the knee a bit of a test. No reply was forthcoming so I did go out, but immediately found running painful and so stopped abruptly. On starting again gently, I noticed it was better, but after a couple of laps round the block I decided that caution was indeed the better part of valour, and again aborted the session.

Back I went to the physio, my spirits low, and was given another bout of electrolysis therapy, and to cut a long story short, orders for another week of doing no running at all. It did feel better, and a few more days' enforced rest would sort it out for once and for all, surely?

At this point I realised that if I didn't want to start dramatically losing my fitness, I'd better get on my bike. Literally. I walk quite a lot as part of my daily routine, and I'm eating sensibly and well, so I haven't put on any weight, but I needed to do something to get my heart rate up for a period of time.

I have an exercise bike at home, of the type used in spinning clases, so clearly it was time to make use of it again. I have it installed in my Personal Fitness Centre, which is lavishly equi - yeah, all right...it's in my spare bedroom. It's not the same as running, of course, but much better than nothing. The trouble is, no matter how interesting the podcasts I listen to while pedalling away furiously, the time passes so slowly that doing more than 30-40 minutes is a real struggle. To make matters worse, my arms ache all the time I'm on it, despite my having adjusted the height of the saddle and the handlebars various times. And what to say of the suffering caused to and by my poor old arse? The less, the better, I think...

"The Beast"

So, as it turns out I've done 5 sessions on the bike and started doing my pseudo-pilates routine again, in the hope that if and when I do get back to running properly at least my body will be prepared for it, after a fashion.

Not being able and/or allowed to go out running does, I must admit rather guiltily, have its compensations. Namely, staying in bed more. This, or at least the sleeping aspect of it, is something I vowed to pay more attention to in 2016, so in that sense, every cloud really does have silver lining. Lying in bed on a Sunday morning with a cup of tea, drifting in and out of consciousness, is a pleasure I haven't been able to indulge in for years, without exaggeration. I just hope I don't get too used to it, that's all...

This past Tuesday I went to see Hector the physio again, and this time he gave me the green light to start running again! Just 5 or 6 kilometres, but it was still fantastic news.

I was too busy on Wednesday, but yesterday I donned my running kit and laced up my trainers, not without a feeling of dread. What if as soon as I broke into a trot my knee flared up again?

I needn't have worried. In fact, I actually felt quite light on my feet as I eased into a gente rhythm and headed off down (up? it's flat) the road. the sense of relief was palpable, but I was careful not to overcook the proverbial goose, and after 25 minutes and 5 kms of pain-free running, I decided to stop and notch it up as a success.

On informing Hector of my progress, he add a timely note of caution and bade me take my recovery slowly and gradually. Yes, this was great news, but I cannot afford any more setbacks of any kind. I still have about 9 weeks to get myself in shape for Brighton, which is far from ideal, but sufficient to at least get to the start line with some confidence of running a decent enough race.

So how to go about it? The first thing is obvious - the Pfitzinger and Douglas plan I was tentatively following has to go out of the window. I have to start afresh and just focus on how much I can realistically do, and what will be the most efficient way of doing it. A three-week taper is out of the question, as is a huge weekly mileage. Instead, I'll have to make sure of getting a good, increasingly long run in every Sunday, bag a medium-long run midweek, and grind out some shorter, faster efforts. As race day approaches I'll do speedwork to sharpen up, but for now the focus must be just to gradually build up a level of consistency, and hopefully my fitness and much-needed weight loss will come along for the ride. I will also try to do many of the miles at around competition pace, which shouldn't in theory be a problem.

Tomorrow I hope to start putting all into practice, but gently, and increasing the kilometres gradually day by day from then on. Having said that, if I feel all right after tomorrow's outing I might see if 9-10 miles are possible on Sunday. In running terms, I need to sort my head out just as much as the rest of my body, so a nod in the direction of some longer miles would give me the confidence that this marathon campaign hasn't entirely come off the rails.

Well, we'll see, said the blind man. Join me next time, and discover whether this is a false dawn or whether, despite having to tear up the training plan and start ad-libbing, I can get myself back on track.

As always, thanks for reading and sticking with me, and if anyone has any advice to offer, now more than ever it really would be much appreciated!

Bye for now!


Rip It Up