4 x 2miles. DNF.

The fucking storm is back. It was was positively biblical this morning. I woke up from one of those once in a lifetime sleeps that is so gloriously comfortable, it makes you question whether life is worth living and perhaps you might be better off with ending it all now, to save another 30 years of fucking bullshit. I realised that dying on a Wednesday would be pretty pathetic and so I may as well go for my run. I put my shit on. I walked down the shitting stairs and put my shitting shoes on. I opened the shitty front door and out into the shitty shitty wind and rain.

I began to commute to the run, in the form of a run and by way of a warm up. The pace was no more than around 5:20min/km, but the weather wasn’t having any of it. As I reached the top of Northam Bridge (and bear in mind this was only some 300m into my run), my pace had dropped to 6:00min/km. I looked at the thrashing water of the Itchen River underneath and once again contemplated ending it all. Dying on a Wednesday isn’t cool, I reminded myself.

By the time I got to the start of my loop I had felt enough of the almighty’s wrath to realise today was going to be a difficult run. The plan had been to run 4 x 2 miles at a 4:30min/km pace, but I quickly realised this would be near impossible in the circumstances and therefore decided to drop to 4:40. Like the bottler I am, I rounded the split down to 3000m also.

Here is the workout.

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The loop is essentially a quadrilateral that begins at the NE corner of St Mary’s Stadium. You then proceed in an anticlockwise direction. For the most part it is flat but for a gentle ascent at the northern most border. In all it creates a useable 2km loop that is for a good part, run-a-ble. Given its position, it is in no danger of winning beauty spot of the year and the circulating drivers, hurry into the docks without notice or care. I cannot imagine your safety is at the top of their agenda.

As I expected, the run began and immediately I began to struggle. No more than 500m into the run I had already begun to entertain thoughts of abandoning the whole thing. You have to understand the circumstances. It was dark. The rain was torrential, the wind equally so. The noise of the traffic was in equal parts distracting and irritating. The ground was uneven at places and along certain corners and craters, huge puddles filled like lakes in a jungle. I was not having fun and this was only the first rep.

In as much as 2 mile intervals are beneficial, they’re also a right fucking pain in the arse. Particularly when you have 4 to do. So you start. You begin to struggle and you realise, you’ve still got well over a mile till your first break and even then it’s only 25% of the workout. 25%. TWENTY FIVE PERCENT. You still have another 3 circuits to do, I swear to Jah, they are fucking miserable.

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All in all, I performed as poorly as I expected. By the time I got to fourth rep, I had had enough. Soaked to the bone, I just wanted to go home. I completed 1km of the 3 and stopped my watch.

Although this run will be chalked up as a bad run, I’m still relatively happy with myself. I am hoping that the commitment to push on days when you struggle like today will come in handy during the race. I know Brighton is a there and back course and so I am aware of how possible it might be for a solid 10km headwind accompaniment. I really hope that’s not the case but I’d be foolish to not anticipate it.

West London Walkabout

My leg had been acting up over the last day or so and so obviously I went for another run this morning. I figured, my odds had to be in – what could possibly go wrong? I am on day 3 of a 4 day weekend, the weather throughout has been outrageously majestic, I managed to ineptly assemble a surprisingly satisfactory video tribute to my home town (see prior post you heathen, Arsenal had crawled to another painstaking win against some other sorry bag of wankers in Shepherd’s Bush and had I ended the day by going out to the pub with two of my best friends from my childhood, to sup on whatever fizzy bullshit the vendor had arbitrarily stocked behind the counter, recounting tales of all the erratic ventures of our childhood. To share with you one interesting anecdote – on one occasion, Neil, one of our best friends from childhood turned 18 and did the only honourable thing to do in this situation and threw a stupidly big house party. Amongst nocturnal house egging trips, Police cautions, romantic fumblings and vomit we had a bit of fun. Neil spent the greater portion of the evening too inebriated to speak, topless with firm Irish nipples to the world. At one point I convinced him to throw himself into our band’s drum kit. For the life of me, I cannot recall whether he did. That man however, is about to have his first child, ladies and gentleman. He will rear life. The man who I spent the whole night awake with at a festival, so he wouldn’t aspirate on his own vomit as he slept face first in the ground, will be a father. Such is life.

Which brings me to this morning. I decided to broach the giddy heights of a 10K and do my loop of Gunnersbury Park. From Ealing, through Walpole Park, down the A406, around Gunnersbury and back makes for a nice 10K if you’re interested. It is fairly flat with an elevation of 24m and a suitably fast course, if you can manage. At the moment, with my geriatric fitness, this is very much not the goal. Simply making it is.

Right at from the start my knee announced itself, the complete and absolute prick. It decided to accompany me through the entirety of my run, waxing and waning at points, always present. I chose to ignore it for the most part, but can I assure you, it is the most detracting of injuries. It doesn’t quite hurt to cause pain and it is not apprehending to the extent that I cannot function. It beguiles me and I, who on occasion forget where I am, do not need these kind of perplexments. I just made that word up.

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The weather was good, as you can see above and ideal for rapid movements on a Sunday morning. I ran 9.35K in 51:22 min. I decided to avoid the full 10K, because I’m nice to my leg like that. These are my splits.

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Nothing particularly interesting to report. I was trying so hard to keep the workout anaerobic and improve my fitness in the long run (INTENTIONAL USE OF PUN) but as you can see from my heart rate, my heart was having none of that shit.

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You can see that I hadn’t even been running for 5 minutes and my heart was up at 160bpm. That is simply astounding – I know I have said this repeatedly but HOW CAN 2 MONTHS FUCK A BROTHER UP LIKE THIS? The world is a racist place.

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Run, come save me.

Now Playing: On and On – Ghosts

I don’t know. I think Monday is becoming the start of my running week. Clearly it is the start of the week – of that much I am sure, but since I’ve come back – I’ve not had a chance to go for a longer Sunday run. I don’t think I’m anywhere ready to confront anything longer than 10K and I’m just about getting up to speed with the 5K, riding comfortably now at about an 8 minute mile.

I had had a particularly disagreeable day at work, following a long weekend and so was really looking forward to my run. The weather was good enough, but noting the strong headwind, I opted to go for the gym instead, where seemingly the entirety of Greater London had congregated. I believe what this phenomenon represents, is the desperate rush to remove the sagging gut before the (INCOMING SARCASM) glorious English summer, where the sun shines all day and it never rains. Ever. I have some big news for some of these people as it happens – mountains couldn’t displace their gravitational field. I am certain that some of these larger folk had a solar system in tow, coke cans in orbit. Fat bastards.

Back to the running. I ran 3.29 miles in 26 minutes 47 seconds. These are my splits.

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Not too bad. When I broke 5 minute/km last time, I felt like I had the sweaty hand of God on my chest. No sign of providence this time, only the odd sight of man wearing dolly shoes. I stared at that bloke for a particularly long while. My time probably would have been better if it wasn’t for…

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Can you see where my shoe lace came undone? What a c**t. Sorry about that. I SAID CUNT.

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My first run in the longest time.

I’m really happy today. I’ll get to why later but for so long, this song has been spinning around in my head. It didn’t make sense particularly; it is about the love between a son and his father, particularly emphasising just how captivated the boy is by his father – overtly a beautiful charming sentiment. I’ve always loved this song, ever since I first heard it and every once in a while when I feel particularly positive about life, I feel its words tumbling from my lips. God knows, I’ve never had the best relationship with my father but I guess I must still love him on some level. You should watch it, just to have an idea of how I’m feeling at the moment.

So this morning having finished what seemed like an incessant weekend of nights, I apprehensively made my way to the gym. You’ll recall that feeling you have when you’re a girl and you’re about to embark on your first sexual encounter and everyone has told you about “the pain” and you’re so worried about “the pain”, that all you do is think about “the pain” and ultimately what results is what is essentially a prolonged (or not) friction tolerance test; not enjoying it whatsoever? Well me neither, but I imagine that’s how it must feel. I really didn’t want that pain again.

When I got to the gym, it was already pretty busy and I was lucky to get onto one treadmill; ensconced between a candidate for the world’s largest man doing his best to test the weight threshold on the machine and a petite brunette girl (bitch), donned head to toe in lycra who casually glared at me for reasons unknown. I made a mental note of this and later during my run, I was careful to shake my head towards her periodically, showering her in some of my man sweat. At one point I draped my sweaty palms across her stupid face causing her to lose balance and fly from the machine into a strategically placed dumbbell behind. No no, I kid, I didn’t actually shake my head towards her.

So I ran, and no pain! I cannot articulate how relieved that made me. My vocabulary is incapable of construing the equal quotients of relief and happiness I feel at present. Of course, there is a degree of apprehension but, no matter, I will take it easy and carry on with those ridiculous ITB exercises and hopefully, I can bore you with some more running stats! For those of you who don’t care, neither do I. Piss off.

So I ran 5k (3.16 miles) in 26 minutes 53 seconds. Average pace was some 8.34 miles/minute which is nowhere near where I have been or want to be but I care not. I’m back! Here are my splits:

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Not brilliant, as I say but it felt good to do all the same. My fitness has simply plummeted to the ground however. This is my heart rate throughout.

Screen shot 2013-04-22 at 20.44.02Look at that! Almost 180bpm with an average of about 178bpm throughout. To put it in perspective, previously I was running at a rate of 140bpm at my shorter faster runs. Absolutely incredible to see how much a few months can reduce overall aerobic capacity.

So anyway, I’m back. Back again. Shady’s back – well he can fuck off. I fucking hate Eminem.