It is often said that running is a free and easy sport. You just throw on some shoes and head out the door, whereas cycling you need to be kitted up and with a set of wheels, gyms cost to enter and kick-boxing needs a ring and gloves. While that street cred for running might be good, but the idea that it's "free" has never walked into a shoe shop. The retail price for shoes tends to be between $200-$300 and and a pair of shoes lasting between 400 to 800km of running, every four kilometres run costs at least a dollar. That means my average weekly mileage of 80km should be costing me $20. (Well, it would if I hadn't found ways and means for getting cheaper shoes.)
My wife often chides me on the number of running shoes I have "on the go". If you asked me how many pairs, I wouldn't be able to tell you; so let me count now: I ran this morning in my Asics Gel-Cumulus 19; yesterday in my Asics Gel-Pursue 3; Wednesday in my Hoka One One Bondi 6 - that's four pairs in four days! I also have my Brooks Glycerin, New Balance 680v4, New Balance Fresh Foam 1080 and my newest purchase, Asics Gel-Sonoma, for trail running. So that's... seven pairs. Even to some of my running friends, this is a bit excessive. But there is a method to this madness.
Firstly, my feet are special and have history. Flat-footed with in-soles and a belief that my feet destroy shoes, I have rarely given much pity, thought, consideration or kindness to shoes, even when I took up running again in recent years. The reason I believed my feet destroy shoes was that my feet would start bending and wearing shoes in a particular way, and that bending and wearing would in turn change the way my feet were landing intensifying the wear and tear. When I started running again in 2016, I had one pair of shoes and occasionally another when I thought I might need a replacement broken in and ready. 2017 was my first big year of running and it started with a pop with a calf tear, which took a couple of months to completely recover from. Twice in 2016 and 2017, I developed ITB syndrome, both of which could directly be linked back to wearing the same pair of shoes. Then in August 2017 I strained a tendon in my knee and barely made it through to my first marathon at the end of the October that year.
It was around that year I started recording which shoes I was using on which runs so the mileage I was doing in each would be monitored. And it was shortly after that I start building a range of shoes. My philosophy was that my feet would never completely adjust to a single pair of shoes to overwork them, and also my feet would always experience and shoes of an average level of wear. Shoes that are too new blister and take time to adjust, older shoes have lost their cushioning, and different brands have different design principles. Since March this year I've only suffered some arch irritation (which is common for me, plantar fasciitis) and in that period have clocked up 2500km running in 8 months. For comparison, I did 2000km last year in 12 months.
Where I before didn't really respect my shoes, each pair of shoes has a distinct impression, personality and history. The oldest of the pack are my Asic Gel-Pursue 3's. I was intending to retire them at 800km but they're still running really well. If you consider them as almost a third of my running this year you can imagine my desire to hold onto them for as long as possible. But it was the New Balance 680's which I trusted to run my two marathons this year. At first I hated them and had decided they were only for training. But the simplicity of it all suddenly became appealing and I chose them over all others at crunch-time and they got me to my goal. The Brooks are the second oldest and also favourites. I bought them at full price and they got me my best half marathon time. They're one of my normal width shoes so they're snug. I run mostly in wider shoes which seem to blister less. I can take the chiding when my feet are healthy, I'm achieving my goals and my shoes are lasting longer and longer.
Fortunately apart from shoes and entry fees, serious runners do get event t-shirts, free socks galore, carry packs and event hoodies as give-aways or race pack loot. (For some reason they don't often give running shorts.) 2500km up and an investment of about $500-$600 for this hobby. I think it's worth it. It is a cheap and easy sport!
Saturday, November 17, 2018
Sunday, October 28, 2018
The monkey is finally off my back
It's just noon but it feels like most of the day has passed. I'm sitting back on the couch drinking my Earl Grey (with some celebratory sugar added) reflecting on a very busy morning. As I sit, it's only my feet that are still mildly disgruntled with my choice of hobby. One toe in particular would be entitled to issue a grievance. But generally the body is feeling quite good - not like one that has necessarily run 26.2 miles. And it has, and the word "run" is key: While this is my third marathon, the previous two had moments of either intense exhaustion or discomfort that forced me to walk for some time. My discontented feet ran the full distance (excluding drink stops).
It all started as it always does at 3:30am with an early wake-up and breakfast. Then it was off to the CBD to catch the ferry over. As I walked towards the ferry building, I bumped into one other competitor and chatted all the way from the ferry building to the venue. He was a young Brit who has now settled in NZ. He was preparing for his first marathon and thought he'd do his first marathon in preparation. Then it was off to do one of the most important things before a big run: get to the portaloo early before there are queues and get yourself at ease. One new event on this particular marathon was a wheelchair division. They went first because none of the runners would have a show at matching those chairs - they're fast!
And then five minutes later we were off too. The forecast had been a bit iffy and it started to drizzle just before the start gun and that went on for about half an hour. This was a bother to me - my glasses become useless once it is persistent drizzle and I took them off and held them in my hand. One little regret was that though I had a carry pouch, it was pretty full so I chose to hold my glasses. Not long after I felt a "pop" and noticed one of the lenses had come out and was in my palm (luckily). This meant that I'd have to run the rest of the race without glasses. In the end it didn't affect the race but was annoying because I often didn't spot friends as they ran around.
Before any event I have anxiety about how different parts of my body will hold up. My chief running concerns of the last three weeks were my left arch and my right heel. I'd kept my running comparatively light last week and the lead-in to the race but I could still feel the sensation in my heel even before I left home this morning. Though both "woke up" at various points in the race, they disappeared after some time. I felt my toes tingle a little though and thought I might develop blisters.
But it was a race and that was something I always enjoy about running. I actually started from the wrong area. Generally they try to get people to stand with people of similar pace so that there is less dodging and weaving. When I went in there was no direction about pace groups so I just stood doing some warm-ups while more and more people came in. When I finally noticed the pace signs come out and realised I was in the wrong place, there were too many people to move back. That meant that I was surrounded by rather fast runners. After the gun I went at my own pace and let all the runners flow around me. (This is almost the opposite to what happened in the Devonport Half where I was was at the back and had to negotiate through crowds to get to my pace group.) It's funny to be passed and passed. I always wanted to stay with them, which I could, but then I'd be going to fun and would run out of gas. It was so tempting. As it was I was already going faster than intended but it didn't feel unnatural. I felt like I was running easily.
By the time we got to the Bridge I'd gotten with the people who'd be regular companions. There was Red, a young woman, and Benny Buttcrack, a gent with loose pants. Red was a swift runner and at times surged quite far ahead but always tended to drift back to the group after about 15km I passed her and didn't see her again. Benny Buttcrack was never going to be a great person to follow. Does this man not know that running shorts have drawstrings? Either way, his shirt was too short and his pants invariably went with gravity as it was weighed down by sweat. I was with him for most of the last 20km of the race. He looked ungainly but was also a fast mover. He did disappear ahead for sometime before he started to go slower returning from St Helliers and I passed him twice before not seeing him again. I believe he had the last laugh though. I think he was among a bunch of runners that passed me in the last 5km.
It was strange running this route that dismantled me last year. I remember the stages leading to disaster and event the sensations at different locations on the route. St Helliers in particular has left a mark as that was when I massively decelerated and could no longer deny that I was stuffed. This year was eerie as I did the turn at St Helliers (31km mark) tired but still on pace (under 5min/km). I was waiting for "The Wall" to hit but though the next five kilometres after St Helliers I was on track. It was only at Okahu Bay that the fatigue started to show in my split time, 5:22min/km, which ended up being my slowest km in the race. Now was a battle against the clock. My stated goal was "under 3:30" and while I was "ahead" any splits above 4:59min/km would eat into the buffer of time. The next four kilometre splits were all over 5:00. Fortunately, after those I was at the 41km mark and also was studying my time and knew that with just a little more pace, I'd probably scrape in. My calves were crying in fatigue but I pushed and produced a 4:52min/km for the last full kilometre. By the time I was in the finishing shoot I could see the official time hadn't yet got to 3:30 and I jogged through with seconds to spare.
While the body has found some degree of peace on the couch, I'm glad to say my mind has found some peace as well. My target for all three of my marathons has been 3:30 or better. And I went from the start gate to the finishing arch in three hours, twenty nine minutes and forty seven seconds. That might only be thirteen seconds within target, but it's also fourteen minutes faster than my previous best marathon eight weeks ago and finally getting the 3:30 monkey off my back. Why 3:30? Well, technically I should be aiming a little lower. Based on the speed that I can do a 10km race and half marathon, I should be able to do it much faster, 3:11 apparently. But my training runs have shown that I struggle to maintain the pace required for such a time. Whereas 3:30, when I first aimed to run a marathon, worked out at just under 5 minutes per kilometre which is, on the face of it with my fitness, a manageable pace. But the two previous marathons have shown that even with a seemingly conservative target, I struggled.
Why? I had my own theories, including having gone too fast, which might have been the case but hydration was something that with time had been a particular realisation. This run I drank at every stop. I also used "gels" which are high sugar squeezy packs that can charge you up. Perhaps as a result, I didn't have the same "crashes" in the last third of the marathon.
It's time to celebrate. I've been virtually teetotal for the last two weeks so I'm looking forward to imbibing a little this evening. The coming week I can gladly sleep in and just do a couple of very light runs on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. I still have work to do with two other goals: My 5km time at Cornwall Park is 20:20 and I would like to get that under 20 minutes. I have just one formal race to attend, the Omaha Half and ideally there I can replicate this success and get under 1:30, strictly speaking not a strong goal of mine, but one that is quite possible considering recent results. But this week is not a time to think about that.
It all started as it always does at 3:30am with an early wake-up and breakfast. Then it was off to the CBD to catch the ferry over. As I walked towards the ferry building, I bumped into one other competitor and chatted all the way from the ferry building to the venue. He was a young Brit who has now settled in NZ. He was preparing for his first marathon and thought he'd do his first marathon in preparation. Then it was off to do one of the most important things before a big run: get to the portaloo early before there are queues and get yourself at ease. One new event on this particular marathon was a wheelchair division. They went first because none of the runners would have a show at matching those chairs - they're fast!
And then five minutes later we were off too. The forecast had been a bit iffy and it started to drizzle just before the start gun and that went on for about half an hour. This was a bother to me - my glasses become useless once it is persistent drizzle and I took them off and held them in my hand. One little regret was that though I had a carry pouch, it was pretty full so I chose to hold my glasses. Not long after I felt a "pop" and noticed one of the lenses had come out and was in my palm (luckily). This meant that I'd have to run the rest of the race without glasses. In the end it didn't affect the race but was annoying because I often didn't spot friends as they ran around.
Before any event I have anxiety about how different parts of my body will hold up. My chief running concerns of the last three weeks were my left arch and my right heel. I'd kept my running comparatively light last week and the lead-in to the race but I could still feel the sensation in my heel even before I left home this morning. Though both "woke up" at various points in the race, they disappeared after some time. I felt my toes tingle a little though and thought I might develop blisters.
But it was a race and that was something I always enjoy about running. I actually started from the wrong area. Generally they try to get people to stand with people of similar pace so that there is less dodging and weaving. When I went in there was no direction about pace groups so I just stood doing some warm-ups while more and more people came in. When I finally noticed the pace signs come out and realised I was in the wrong place, there were too many people to move back. That meant that I was surrounded by rather fast runners. After the gun I went at my own pace and let all the runners flow around me. (This is almost the opposite to what happened in the Devonport Half where I was was at the back and had to negotiate through crowds to get to my pace group.) It's funny to be passed and passed. I always wanted to stay with them, which I could, but then I'd be going to fun and would run out of gas. It was so tempting. As it was I was already going faster than intended but it didn't feel unnatural. I felt like I was running easily.
By the time we got to the Bridge I'd gotten with the people who'd be regular companions. There was Red, a young woman, and Benny Buttcrack, a gent with loose pants. Red was a swift runner and at times surged quite far ahead but always tended to drift back to the group after about 15km I passed her and didn't see her again. Benny Buttcrack was never going to be a great person to follow. Does this man not know that running shorts have drawstrings? Either way, his shirt was too short and his pants invariably went with gravity as it was weighed down by sweat. I was with him for most of the last 20km of the race. He looked ungainly but was also a fast mover. He did disappear ahead for sometime before he started to go slower returning from St Helliers and I passed him twice before not seeing him again. I believe he had the last laugh though. I think he was among a bunch of runners that passed me in the last 5km.
It was strange running this route that dismantled me last year. I remember the stages leading to disaster and event the sensations at different locations on the route. St Helliers in particular has left a mark as that was when I massively decelerated and could no longer deny that I was stuffed. This year was eerie as I did the turn at St Helliers (31km mark) tired but still on pace (under 5min/km). I was waiting for "The Wall" to hit but though the next five kilometres after St Helliers I was on track. It was only at Okahu Bay that the fatigue started to show in my split time, 5:22min/km, which ended up being my slowest km in the race. Now was a battle against the clock. My stated goal was "under 3:30" and while I was "ahead" any splits above 4:59min/km would eat into the buffer of time. The next four kilometre splits were all over 5:00. Fortunately, after those I was at the 41km mark and also was studying my time and knew that with just a little more pace, I'd probably scrape in. My calves were crying in fatigue but I pushed and produced a 4:52min/km for the last full kilometre. By the time I was in the finishing shoot I could see the official time hadn't yet got to 3:30 and I jogged through with seconds to spare.
While the body has found some degree of peace on the couch, I'm glad to say my mind has found some peace as well. My target for all three of my marathons has been 3:30 or better. And I went from the start gate to the finishing arch in three hours, twenty nine minutes and forty seven seconds. That might only be thirteen seconds within target, but it's also fourteen minutes faster than my previous best marathon eight weeks ago and finally getting the 3:30 monkey off my back. Why 3:30? Well, technically I should be aiming a little lower. Based on the speed that I can do a 10km race and half marathon, I should be able to do it much faster, 3:11 apparently. But my training runs have shown that I struggle to maintain the pace required for such a time. Whereas 3:30, when I first aimed to run a marathon, worked out at just under 5 minutes per kilometre which is, on the face of it with my fitness, a manageable pace. But the two previous marathons have shown that even with a seemingly conservative target, I struggled.
Why? I had my own theories, including having gone too fast, which might have been the case but hydration was something that with time had been a particular realisation. This run I drank at every stop. I also used "gels" which are high sugar squeezy packs that can charge you up. Perhaps as a result, I didn't have the same "crashes" in the last third of the marathon.
It's time to celebrate. I've been virtually teetotal for the last two weeks so I'm looking forward to imbibing a little this evening. The coming week I can gladly sleep in and just do a couple of very light runs on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. I still have work to do with two other goals: My 5km time at Cornwall Park is 20:20 and I would like to get that under 20 minutes. I have just one formal race to attend, the Omaha Half and ideally there I can replicate this success and get under 1:30, strictly speaking not a strong goal of mine, but one that is quite possible considering recent results. But this week is not a time to think about that.
Saturday, October 20, 2018
Packing them in
It truly is perverse the number of running events that are happening on any given week, disturbing traffic, startling blue penguins and increasing the production of medals and technical t-shirts. Every weekend there is something on somewhere attracting hundreds of people, well trained and bristling ready for action. Although there are probably those freak-of-nature amateur athletes who compete every week, it's not healthy to push your body to its competitive limit on such a regular basis. And even if you did, the general thought is that you wouldn't improve much because you wouldn't give your body the appropriate variety of runs to stimulate the body to respond adaptively.
After I had finished the North Shore Marathon on 3 September, all I had in store for myself competitively was the half marathon series, five events around the greater Auckland area, each a couple of months apart. I liked the idea of a series so I could see my progress, and especially whether I could eventually challenge the 1:30 threshold (i.e. doing a half marathon in under 90 minutes). When I entered it in May it still seemed like there was a wall at 1:35 that I wouldn't be able to get passed, but back on 12 August I surprised myself with getting 1:31 at Millwater. I knew if my fitness continued I'd be able to challenge 1:30 sooner than I thought. Then of course the marathon rolled round and I had to recover. Initially I opted against entering the Auckland Marathon (28 October) just so I wouldn't have too many events but then some bait was thrown into the water. Asics offered a chance to "join Team Asics" and get 20% off the entry fee as well as an Asics pack if I was one of the 20 people chosen on 30 September. I put my name down with some trepidation. I was leaving it up to others to decide if I were running. But I liked trying something different and left fate to intervene.
In the meantime, I picked up my training again and got into a good rhythm. One great thing about having just run a marathon is that your body doesn't know if there is another one coming up and prepares just in case you are stupid enough to run again. So you get a fitness boost in the aftermath, even though other parts of your body might be still recovering. Three weeks after the marathon I ran my usual Parkrun at Cornwall Park and immediately smashed my previous record by 50 seconds (this is quite a lot). Parkrun, for the unacquainted, is a free, timed 5km run every Saturday morning all over the world. Auckland has five different ones attracting hundreds every weekend. Previously in the peak of my fitness I'd always struggled to get under 21 minutes at Cornwall Park. After the marathon last year I did 21:22; then in May this year I got 21:14, a month later while feeling unstoppably fit and fast, I regressed to 21:36, then in July I made slight progress to 21:10 in August. Considering one of my stated goals for the year was breaking 20:00 at Cornwall Park, I was clearly "doing it wrong" or just underestimated the challenge of it. And then I ran the marathon and 20 days later ran the Cornwall Park parkrun in 20:20. That's how significant a marathon is in pushing you to a new level. (I ran a parkrun this morning and registered 20:26 to show it wasn't a flash in the pan.) I still have to find a way to clip off another 4 seconds from each kilometre and then it's mission accomplished!
30 September was quick approaching and the decision of whether to run Auckland Marathon was about to come clear, but 30 September was significant for another reason. It was the day of the first event of the half marathon series, the Devonport Half. I'd never run this before and naively thought I'd be able to match my Millwater time. It was considerably hillier and had more people than I'd ever imagined. With the hills, it has a "smack in the face" called Huia Street in the first kilometre which is a short, steep hill, and in the 18th kilometre has a "winding smack to the guts" in climbing Northhead. It's not a simple course. But a bigger factor for me was that because I delayed going to the start area, I began stuck in a huge mass of runners with very little space to move, nowhere near my usual pace group. It took about half the race of first dodging and weaving and then moving up to each cluster of runners and passing them to get to runners I could pace with. It was at the 11th kilometre I bumped into Jonathan, a regular run club runner who is also in the series. I knew his pace (he's second fastest and a great pacer for me). So I kept with him for about a kilometre before pushing onwards and caught another fast bunch. In the end, I finished 1:33:44, which though slower than my expectation I was pretty pleased with. It wasn't the improvement but more of a consolidation. It was my second time under 1:35 but on a difficult course.
The next day was my birthday and so was the news that everyone who wanted to join had been accepted for Team Asics. I gave myself the gift of a marathon and now I'm running in the marathon in just 8 days. With that, and bearing in mind what I said about not competing all the time, in the six months until the end of October, I would have run 2 marathons, 3 half marathons, two 10km races and five 5km races, twelve events, which works out at almost one every two weeks, which can only be regarded as overdoing it. The body has held up remarkably well and I've enjoyed racing. Racing is quite enlivening for the mind and soul.
One side issue is the birthday gift from my wife, a smartwatch, the Fitbit Ionic. Now that I've had it for almost two months, I've observed some interesting things, especially about resting heart rate. When I started using my it my resting heart rate was in the middle of a lower period, as low as 46 beats a minute. But with a lack of sleep and a busy week, it rose. After the marathon, it rose still. When I drank alcohol, it'd rise. When I fell and had wounds, it was higher until they healed. The peak of all these factors coincided with my highest resting heart rate of 58 beats a minute. I've had a good week limiting these factors and now it's back down to 50. I'd like to get it back well into the 40s by the time of my marathon.
Another interesting thing is observing my heart rate during exercise. It is rather random. When I'm exerting myself it can be high or low. When I'm taking it easy it can be high or low. In fact, it sometimes has this "flicking the switch" moment, where my heart rate mid-run increases or decreases by as much as 40 beats a minute. And I don't feel a thing. I haven't had any symptom on the run apart from increasing fatigue which is the same sign any runner should get as they run more. Because my family does have something of a curse in the cardiac department, it might have to be something I get a doctor to look at. It could be just a gremlin in the device but is probably not coincidental.
8 days to this whimsical marathon, I'm going to be watching my heart!
Sunday, September 23, 2018
The dimensions of running
Every runner knows what runs down must run back up again. And what goes up must all come down again. We run in our bodies but our minds also run in their own mental worlds at the same time. Please indulge me a build the layers of perception for the act of running. It occurs to me, well usually after running a long way with my mind desperate for distraction, that there are different dimensions of running, either in the physical actuality of it all or how we perceive it:
The zero dimension is simply running effectively in your head. This is like running on a treadmill. On a treadmill you're going nowhere, often very quickly. You don't have any real perception of going anywhere except when you visualise it. In actual fact, some real terrain runs might incidentally become akin to this as a present preoccupation takes over the mind and sets the body in auto-pilot as it strides a well-worn path. You could be running anywhere for you care as you digest whatever emotional or psychological issue is bothering you.
The first dimension of running is a straight line. Some runs are in fact a straight line but often you can think of a run as merely a linear distance. In fact when asked about a run and we report the distance, usually others interpret it merely as a straight-line distance, even when other factors might be more salient, like the where, for its beauty, or the what, for its significance, or the how, for its degree of difficulty. Even if every run you do were a loop, the runner after the fact might perceive them as lengths of string that he can hang on your belt, or that he could tie together to make a long rope of your mileage to show "how far he's come". A runner's mind is often in a linear mode, one-foot-in-front-of-another, while in action. While there might be turns and bends, the legs are just going in the straight line pointed by the head, which is where the perceiver is in its lofty perch, as if enjoying the run as a movie.
The second dimension of running is in recognising the run as a line on a map. This isn't rocket science I know but we can trace a route on a map but that might not be necessarily what is going on in one's head when they're actually running. I'm sure the original runner from Marathon to Athens was very clear the route he was running. It occurred to me though that many run group runners generally don't know, even if they know all the turns. In a race, often you're not thinking about the map, you're just following the markers. But at the end of the day, it's nice to marvel from a distance of how far you've travelled through space. I remember when I first came back from Taiwan, I walked with my friend Eric from my home in Mt Roskill to West Auckland, to the North Shore, slept outside Devonport Library and then took the ferry back to the Auckland CBD for the final walk home to Mt Roskill again. It really broke the segmented awareness of the map, of my Mt Roskill world, my New Lynn world, my Massey world, my Hobsonville/Greenhithe world etc.
The funny thing about the first and second dimension is that you can't get passed the simple difficulty that you need to go through space and time. There's no quick way to get a long run over and done with. Easy kilometres still really far. It sometimes surprises me after a series of big runs when I feel I could run Everest, a simple kilometre can feel an eternity - one thousand metres~!
The third dimension of running is building the map with the topographical rises and falls. Auckland is a fabulous place to run in that you really do climb over hidden ridges and ranges that an automotive or second dimensional brain does not really register. The map is not flat. And most runs here have a degree of ascent and descent to them. It's fun to perceive a run in the third dimension. When I run up a mountain I like to imagine viewing the mountain from a drone to see myself progressing up and around the foot, waist, shoulders and head of the hill.
As a lover of astronomy I sometimes like to go a bit further to image myself on the bottom of our spherical world falling with gravitation towards the centre of the Earth. In fact, if you watch a science fiction movie with characters in low gravity walking and then go running, you can easily recognise gravity in each lope on our planet. We're pushing ourselves up and it's pulling us down. If running in the morning, I can even visualise the world rotating towards the sun to have it "rise".
The fourth dimension really is pace, momentum, propulsion and acceleration through the three dimensional space. You are a hurtling body. While you're desperately trying to sustain yourself in the air against gravity, you're also pushing your body forward with a huge amount of force. It's only when you have to stop or something stops you that the full energy is transformed into heat and impact. As you course through the depressions and rises of the land, your speed changes and your body tenses and releases, tenses and releases as you go on, perhaps for hours. It's almost alchemy to think that our body can do this: it turns mere bread into explosive heat; it bears a horrible brunt, getting stronger rather than breaking.
And that I guess is the fifth dimension I'd like to think aloud about: the transformative side. I've got a mind that would like to think that it can dispense with the linear aspect of time, embracing a present that is the product of all presents before it. All past runs are pieces to my present puzzle; running itself fills a role in my life that has made me what I am. Running is a piece of the dynamic condition known as "health" (that really is a totality of the wellness of all your cells and their ability to keep your whole organism surviving the course). Running is a piece of my self-actualisation, achieving what I had always imagined of myself since I was a youngster. Just as in the fourth dimension we see the body surging through the ups and downs in the land, our lives follow a similar dynamic course.
All this talk of ups and downs, I might as well get the theorising hat off and mention that I've plummeted into the pavement twice in seven days, bringing the number of falls this year to a rather disturbing three. My wife literally told me before I left yesterday morning to be careful not to fall, to which I promised I'd be fine. My mind and circumstance then conspired to make me into a liar.
Yesterday's fall was quite mundane. It wasn't dark, an overcast but clear morning running along Great North Road in New Lynn. I was keen to relieve myself and had been scanning both sides of the road. This in itself was annoying. I'd been before I left, had been in Kingsland about 3kms into my run and then at the 9km mark again I needed to go. Some runs I'm fine and some runs my body just wants to pee everywhere. Anyhow, while my eyes were checking out the roadsides my right foot struck a black sign base. It was the kind of base that they'd usually slot a sign into but this one was just the base, left outside on the footpath. Presumably they put the sign out every day and then remove it at the end of the day. The base itself is quite heavy so that its sign wouldn't be blown away. When my foot connected with it, it probably didn't move an inch, but my body crumpled into the concrete a metre onward. I was stunned for half a second, which was about the time needed for my nervous system to make its initial reports of damage. Nothing major and after a second half-second I was up and running and made a visual inspection while on the move. This probably confounds non-runners. If you've fallen over, you should take a break and check things out. Well, maybe other runners will think of me a fool, too. Either way, all three falls this year did not stop me for long. On this occasion, my right shoulder had taken the brunt of the impact, with my right knee losing some skin and my palms also losing some, especially the outer edge of my right hand, which had a moderately deep abrasion. It was the only of my many cuts that continued to bleed. I had a hydration vest on so I sucked out some water and washed my hands as I ran. Apart from the bleeding, the dull soreness of my shoulder was the only other nuisance. I ran a further couple of kilometres to a petrol station. They initially said that I couldn't use their bathroom as it was staff-only. Fortunately my bloody hand changed there minds. I held tissue from there almost for the next 18 kilometres until I felt a bit too tired and wound up the run.
The fall the week before was a cracker, though: my own carelessness was a big part of it. I'd already run about 14km, also in relatively good morning light, when I came to a road I had to cross at some stage. It was relatively busy, unexpectedly so in fact. Perhaps there was an event nearby. Or perhaps I'd never run the road that late in the morning. Either way, I could see it'd take patience to cross. At the same time, 14km was the point that I'd decided to take a "gel" (sports nutrition). It was to be a long run and I wanted to get used to taking gels. So I got one out of my waist pouch and was about to rip the top off when I thought I had a break in the traffic. Crossing is a tricky act: You can see oncoming traffic but need to turn your head on the move to see if there is traffic coming form behind you. Now, you might say that it'd be a good time to stop and look behind, but it's second nature to do this on the move now. I've crossed 1000's of roads while running. I thought I had a clear patch so I darted across just after a traffic island. I may have been still trying to zip back up the pouch or had just turned my mind away from the pouch either way, I was distracted and my foot caught something, perhaps just the raised part in the middle of the road and I fell directly in the middle, not directly on either lane but in the section after the island. There was actually a car coming fairly closely from behind who came to a complete halt, perhaps in shock of the running falling into the middle of the tarseal. My gel had been thrown into his lane. Again I had half a second stunned, then half a second of scrambling, scooping up the gel and getting to the other side to do a quick body-check, an OK-gesture to the driver and then running onward. I really felt a fool for a moment, thinking how it could have been a lot worse. Compared to yesterday, the injuries were very light. Perhaps tarseal is a bit nicer in comparison to concrete.
Both runs finished at 28km, not really achieving their purposes. The abrasion on my right hand I'll watch carefully. After my first fall of the year back in April, a similar cut was infected for quite sometime and I should have really seen a doctor. My immune system eventually healed it but it's not something I want to repeat.
Runners fight gravity in many ways and I lots two battles. The war will rage on.
The zero dimension is simply running effectively in your head. This is like running on a treadmill. On a treadmill you're going nowhere, often very quickly. You don't have any real perception of going anywhere except when you visualise it. In actual fact, some real terrain runs might incidentally become akin to this as a present preoccupation takes over the mind and sets the body in auto-pilot as it strides a well-worn path. You could be running anywhere for you care as you digest whatever emotional or psychological issue is bothering you.
The first dimension of running is a straight line. Some runs are in fact a straight line but often you can think of a run as merely a linear distance. In fact when asked about a run and we report the distance, usually others interpret it merely as a straight-line distance, even when other factors might be more salient, like the where, for its beauty, or the what, for its significance, or the how, for its degree of difficulty. Even if every run you do were a loop, the runner after the fact might perceive them as lengths of string that he can hang on your belt, or that he could tie together to make a long rope of your mileage to show "how far he's come". A runner's mind is often in a linear mode, one-foot-in-front-of-another, while in action. While there might be turns and bends, the legs are just going in the straight line pointed by the head, which is where the perceiver is in its lofty perch, as if enjoying the run as a movie.
The second dimension of running is in recognising the run as a line on a map. This isn't rocket science I know but we can trace a route on a map but that might not be necessarily what is going on in one's head when they're actually running. I'm sure the original runner from Marathon to Athens was very clear the route he was running. It occurred to me though that many run group runners generally don't know, even if they know all the turns. In a race, often you're not thinking about the map, you're just following the markers. But at the end of the day, it's nice to marvel from a distance of how far you've travelled through space. I remember when I first came back from Taiwan, I walked with my friend Eric from my home in Mt Roskill to West Auckland, to the North Shore, slept outside Devonport Library and then took the ferry back to the Auckland CBD for the final walk home to Mt Roskill again. It really broke the segmented awareness of the map, of my Mt Roskill world, my New Lynn world, my Massey world, my Hobsonville/Greenhithe world etc.
The funny thing about the first and second dimension is that you can't get passed the simple difficulty that you need to go through space and time. There's no quick way to get a long run over and done with. Easy kilometres still really far. It sometimes surprises me after a series of big runs when I feel I could run Everest, a simple kilometre can feel an eternity - one thousand metres~!
The third dimension of running is building the map with the topographical rises and falls. Auckland is a fabulous place to run in that you really do climb over hidden ridges and ranges that an automotive or second dimensional brain does not really register. The map is not flat. And most runs here have a degree of ascent and descent to them. It's fun to perceive a run in the third dimension. When I run up a mountain I like to imagine viewing the mountain from a drone to see myself progressing up and around the foot, waist, shoulders and head of the hill.
As a lover of astronomy I sometimes like to go a bit further to image myself on the bottom of our spherical world falling with gravitation towards the centre of the Earth. In fact, if you watch a science fiction movie with characters in low gravity walking and then go running, you can easily recognise gravity in each lope on our planet. We're pushing ourselves up and it's pulling us down. If running in the morning, I can even visualise the world rotating towards the sun to have it "rise".
The fourth dimension really is pace, momentum, propulsion and acceleration through the three dimensional space. You are a hurtling body. While you're desperately trying to sustain yourself in the air against gravity, you're also pushing your body forward with a huge amount of force. It's only when you have to stop or something stops you that the full energy is transformed into heat and impact. As you course through the depressions and rises of the land, your speed changes and your body tenses and releases, tenses and releases as you go on, perhaps for hours. It's almost alchemy to think that our body can do this: it turns mere bread into explosive heat; it bears a horrible brunt, getting stronger rather than breaking.
And that I guess is the fifth dimension I'd like to think aloud about: the transformative side. I've got a mind that would like to think that it can dispense with the linear aspect of time, embracing a present that is the product of all presents before it. All past runs are pieces to my present puzzle; running itself fills a role in my life that has made me what I am. Running is a piece of the dynamic condition known as "health" (that really is a totality of the wellness of all your cells and their ability to keep your whole organism surviving the course). Running is a piece of my self-actualisation, achieving what I had always imagined of myself since I was a youngster. Just as in the fourth dimension we see the body surging through the ups and downs in the land, our lives follow a similar dynamic course.
All this talk of ups and downs, I might as well get the theorising hat off and mention that I've plummeted into the pavement twice in seven days, bringing the number of falls this year to a rather disturbing three. My wife literally told me before I left yesterday morning to be careful not to fall, to which I promised I'd be fine. My mind and circumstance then conspired to make me into a liar.
Yesterday's fall was quite mundane. It wasn't dark, an overcast but clear morning running along Great North Road in New Lynn. I was keen to relieve myself and had been scanning both sides of the road. This in itself was annoying. I'd been before I left, had been in Kingsland about 3kms into my run and then at the 9km mark again I needed to go. Some runs I'm fine and some runs my body just wants to pee everywhere. Anyhow, while my eyes were checking out the roadsides my right foot struck a black sign base. It was the kind of base that they'd usually slot a sign into but this one was just the base, left outside on the footpath. Presumably they put the sign out every day and then remove it at the end of the day. The base itself is quite heavy so that its sign wouldn't be blown away. When my foot connected with it, it probably didn't move an inch, but my body crumpled into the concrete a metre onward. I was stunned for half a second, which was about the time needed for my nervous system to make its initial reports of damage. Nothing major and after a second half-second I was up and running and made a visual inspection while on the move. This probably confounds non-runners. If you've fallen over, you should take a break and check things out. Well, maybe other runners will think of me a fool, too. Either way, all three falls this year did not stop me for long. On this occasion, my right shoulder had taken the brunt of the impact, with my right knee losing some skin and my palms also losing some, especially the outer edge of my right hand, which had a moderately deep abrasion. It was the only of my many cuts that continued to bleed. I had a hydration vest on so I sucked out some water and washed my hands as I ran. Apart from the bleeding, the dull soreness of my shoulder was the only other nuisance. I ran a further couple of kilometres to a petrol station. They initially said that I couldn't use their bathroom as it was staff-only. Fortunately my bloody hand changed there minds. I held tissue from there almost for the next 18 kilometres until I felt a bit too tired and wound up the run.
The fall the week before was a cracker, though: my own carelessness was a big part of it. I'd already run about 14km, also in relatively good morning light, when I came to a road I had to cross at some stage. It was relatively busy, unexpectedly so in fact. Perhaps there was an event nearby. Or perhaps I'd never run the road that late in the morning. Either way, I could see it'd take patience to cross. At the same time, 14km was the point that I'd decided to take a "gel" (sports nutrition). It was to be a long run and I wanted to get used to taking gels. So I got one out of my waist pouch and was about to rip the top off when I thought I had a break in the traffic. Crossing is a tricky act: You can see oncoming traffic but need to turn your head on the move to see if there is traffic coming form behind you. Now, you might say that it'd be a good time to stop and look behind, but it's second nature to do this on the move now. I've crossed 1000's of roads while running. I thought I had a clear patch so I darted across just after a traffic island. I may have been still trying to zip back up the pouch or had just turned my mind away from the pouch either way, I was distracted and my foot caught something, perhaps just the raised part in the middle of the road and I fell directly in the middle, not directly on either lane but in the section after the island. There was actually a car coming fairly closely from behind who came to a complete halt, perhaps in shock of the running falling into the middle of the tarseal. My gel had been thrown into his lane. Again I had half a second stunned, then half a second of scrambling, scooping up the gel and getting to the other side to do a quick body-check, an OK-gesture to the driver and then running onward. I really felt a fool for a moment, thinking how it could have been a lot worse. Compared to yesterday, the injuries were very light. Perhaps tarseal is a bit nicer in comparison to concrete.
Both runs finished at 28km, not really achieving their purposes. The abrasion on my right hand I'll watch carefully. After my first fall of the year back in April, a similar cut was infected for quite sometime and I should have really seen a doctor. My immune system eventually healed it but it's not something I want to repeat.
Runners fight gravity in many ways and I lots two battles. The war will rage on.
Friday, September 07, 2018
Always crashing the same car
The 2018 version of Running Dan is markedly different to the 2017 version. Better injury resilience, much faster over 10km and half marathon distances. (There was, though, the pesky 5km record, which hadn't moved an iota.) Overall, it reflected a lot of good improvements to the "machine". My tendons were tougher and my muscles adapting to the strains of running. In terms of the engine, my lactate threshold was continuing to improve, and I believed too that my aerobic base had improved too. So going into the marathon last weekend I was quite sure I was going to improve my 3:46 record at Auckland Marathon, albeit on a more difficult course. I had been hoping for 3:20, would have been happy with 3:30.
At 9:14am, I pulled through the finish line at Milford Beach with 3:44, a two minute improvement after a solid year of training. Fortunately the result was coming clear well before the finish line. In some ways I was lucky to not to go equal or exceed the previous year's time. And unfortunately the story was pretty much the same.
There had been early tension about the weather. Heavy downpours were forecast near the start of the marathon at 5:30am. I bought rain ponchos to prepare for that eventuality but fortunately when arriving at 5:00am at Milford Reserve we were greeted by a starry sky. 5:30am is the earliest start time I've ever had and for that we can blame the moon. The North Shore Marathon goes across many beaches and the tide cannot be close to full. The organisers seemed to be a little slow off the mark meaning that most to the runners were milling around Milford not knowing where to drop bags or where they'd start the race. But everything fell into place.
We started in the dark, which startled a blue penguin which made good pace traversing the beach in front of us as it sought the safety of the water. Half of the people, including me, following the advice of carrying illumination (mine was a waist lamp). "It's your responsibility to know the course" was the mantra of the organisers. We were still clustered as we head off the beach and into suburban Auckland. I was lucky to have my illumination at one point when I accidentally went into a holiday park that was divided from the route by a wire fence. The wire blocking my re-entry back into the flow was only visible at the last minute in my beam of light, causing me to hesitate and then do a scissors jump over it.
After about 8km the bunch spread out and I ran with another competitor who I chatted with. His name was Peter and this was a training run for him before the road running championships. "This course is dangerous if you go out too fast," he mentioned. I don't think he was actually saying it to me at the time but it appears to have been the case. It does have its hills, including two ascents of Northhead, a lot of general undulation and beach sections. I feared the beach sections but the first loop allayed some of those fears: the sand was firm from the outgoing tide. My fears were reinforced though on the second loop when the sand had a chance to dry and you had this sapping drag.
The first 30km were according to plan. I had dropped Peter at the first ascent of Northhead and felt like I could run smoothly, at the half way point I accelerated again slightly. Up to the 30km mark I had maintained most splits below 5 mins/km (necessary for getting below 3:30) and had felt good. I was approaching Northhead the second time and that's when I slowed because of fatigue as well as being worried about having the energy to deal with the steep ascent. I ran the whole second ascent slowly but surely but by the time I finished I had a clear feeling of fatigue. With only 10km to go I wasn't too concerned. Even if I just maintained my overall pace, I'd get in at about 3:25. But the pace didn't return to me after the second ascent. I felt OK until 35km but not splits were below 5 minutes. And then stitch became me. It had developed slowly but distinctly in the early 30s but at the 35km mark it was unbearable. I rubbed it. I stopped and walked to take in big breaths but still it remained. I ran a section and then walked a section but still I wasn't feeling well. I felt almost nauseous. I thought it must have been the energy gel or my peanut butter slug I ate so I didn't eat any more, which too might have been a mistake.
During this period all targets slipped through my fingers. It was only in the 39th kilometre running on Takapuna beach that I sustained a whole kilometre running again, and I decided to consciously lengthen my stride and push. Both the 41st and 42nd were under 6 min/km and I shuffled into the finishing area.
In the post-mortem the main problem, not enough aerobic base for the pace I'm looking to maintain, is probably still the case. The pace might have been OK at Auckland Marathon but not this course. And even before the stitch I'd been decelerating. Interestingly, the "stitch" felt more gut-like. It may have come from the peanut butter I ate, or even a side-effect of my food poisoning from two weeks previous. (Up until the day of the marathon I'd still had some after effects of that episode.) If I run another marathon in the near future, I'm just going to bite the bullet and run on gu gels alone.
What's next? I'm still thinking whether I want to run the Auckland marathon in seven weeks time. There is enough time to recover and put some minimal training to improve my current fitness and experiment. There is a half marathon series that I'm already entered into starting in 3 weeks, and I'm eyeing the Kirikiriroa Marathon (Hamilton), just as an opportunity to see what I can do on a flatter course. Run on!
At 9:14am, I pulled through the finish line at Milford Beach with 3:44, a two minute improvement after a solid year of training. Fortunately the result was coming clear well before the finish line. In some ways I was lucky to not to go equal or exceed the previous year's time. And unfortunately the story was pretty much the same.
There had been early tension about the weather. Heavy downpours were forecast near the start of the marathon at 5:30am. I bought rain ponchos to prepare for that eventuality but fortunately when arriving at 5:00am at Milford Reserve we were greeted by a starry sky. 5:30am is the earliest start time I've ever had and for that we can blame the moon. The North Shore Marathon goes across many beaches and the tide cannot be close to full. The organisers seemed to be a little slow off the mark meaning that most to the runners were milling around Milford not knowing where to drop bags or where they'd start the race. But everything fell into place.
We started in the dark, which startled a blue penguin which made good pace traversing the beach in front of us as it sought the safety of the water. Half of the people, including me, following the advice of carrying illumination (mine was a waist lamp). "It's your responsibility to know the course" was the mantra of the organisers. We were still clustered as we head off the beach and into suburban Auckland. I was lucky to have my illumination at one point when I accidentally went into a holiday park that was divided from the route by a wire fence. The wire blocking my re-entry back into the flow was only visible at the last minute in my beam of light, causing me to hesitate and then do a scissors jump over it.
After about 8km the bunch spread out and I ran with another competitor who I chatted with. His name was Peter and this was a training run for him before the road running championships. "This course is dangerous if you go out too fast," he mentioned. I don't think he was actually saying it to me at the time but it appears to have been the case. It does have its hills, including two ascents of Northhead, a lot of general undulation and beach sections. I feared the beach sections but the first loop allayed some of those fears: the sand was firm from the outgoing tide. My fears were reinforced though on the second loop when the sand had a chance to dry and you had this sapping drag.
The first 30km were according to plan. I had dropped Peter at the first ascent of Northhead and felt like I could run smoothly, at the half way point I accelerated again slightly. Up to the 30km mark I had maintained most splits below 5 mins/km (necessary for getting below 3:30) and had felt good. I was approaching Northhead the second time and that's when I slowed because of fatigue as well as being worried about having the energy to deal with the steep ascent. I ran the whole second ascent slowly but surely but by the time I finished I had a clear feeling of fatigue. With only 10km to go I wasn't too concerned. Even if I just maintained my overall pace, I'd get in at about 3:25. But the pace didn't return to me after the second ascent. I felt OK until 35km but not splits were below 5 minutes. And then stitch became me. It had developed slowly but distinctly in the early 30s but at the 35km mark it was unbearable. I rubbed it. I stopped and walked to take in big breaths but still it remained. I ran a section and then walked a section but still I wasn't feeling well. I felt almost nauseous. I thought it must have been the energy gel or my peanut butter slug I ate so I didn't eat any more, which too might have been a mistake.
During this period all targets slipped through my fingers. It was only in the 39th kilometre running on Takapuna beach that I sustained a whole kilometre running again, and I decided to consciously lengthen my stride and push. Both the 41st and 42nd were under 6 min/km and I shuffled into the finishing area.
In the post-mortem the main problem, not enough aerobic base for the pace I'm looking to maintain, is probably still the case. The pace might have been OK at Auckland Marathon but not this course. And even before the stitch I'd been decelerating. Interestingly, the "stitch" felt more gut-like. It may have come from the peanut butter I ate, or even a side-effect of my food poisoning from two weeks previous. (Up until the day of the marathon I'd still had some after effects of that episode.) If I run another marathon in the near future, I'm just going to bite the bullet and run on gu gels alone.
What's next? I'm still thinking whether I want to run the Auckland marathon in seven weeks time. There is enough time to recover and put some minimal training to improve my current fitness and experiment. There is a half marathon series that I'm already entered into starting in 3 weeks, and I'm eyeing the Kirikiriroa Marathon (Hamilton), just as an opportunity to see what I can do on a flatter course. Run on!
Friday, August 24, 2018
10 days n' counting
Next Sunday the gun will go off and all the others gathered at 5:30am on Takapuna Beach will head off with me for a couple of loops of the peninsula, including two ascents of Northhead to complete a marathon. Actually there's no gun. Most races have a countdown. I've been to a few that precede that with the national anthem in Maori. I like to have a bit of ritual about the starts both in terms of my own routine and what the race organisers cook up.
5:30am is the earliest I'd have ever started a race but thankfully most of my training is earlier than that in the morning so I don't think it'd be a problem. Race organisers probably had to have us go earlier because of the tides. (Each loop has two beach sections.) A 5:30am start though means having breakfast by 3am, which means the whole night before becomes a little bit of a joke. I think I'll need a nice simple week before this so that I generally rest well.
With 10 days to go, the extended forecast now extends to event day. Rain, it appears, but is bound to change as we get closer. I've never run an event on a rainy day. I hope I don't need to at 5:30am in the morning wait for the start in the rain.
The lead-in has not been without set-backs. After my half marathon two weeks ago I was in Fiji for a week which was well timed as it was the first week of my taper. However one of my arches flared up for a couple of days, and then when we landed back in Auckland I had a 24-hour stomach bug which meant I was too sick to run on the day I was planning my last long run. I had two consecutive days off running for the first time since May when I fell in the Domain. I've gotten back to it but I can't afford to do anything two outlandish. Probably this won't affect my performance but it just means I won't go in with the same level of confidence.
Before the half marathon I struggled to imagine that I would be able to pull it off with my eventual pace. My expected marathon pace is exactly the same. I can't really believe it but with the training and the chance to taper it should be achievable. The taper is said to a be a time of nerves and uncertainty and I completely feel it in terms of the confidence that my training and my body can cross the line in the way it is projected to. Only time will tell.
5:30am is the earliest I'd have ever started a race but thankfully most of my training is earlier than that in the morning so I don't think it'd be a problem. Race organisers probably had to have us go earlier because of the tides. (Each loop has two beach sections.) A 5:30am start though means having breakfast by 3am, which means the whole night before becomes a little bit of a joke. I think I'll need a nice simple week before this so that I generally rest well.
With 10 days to go, the extended forecast now extends to event day. Rain, it appears, but is bound to change as we get closer. I've never run an event on a rainy day. I hope I don't need to at 5:30am in the morning wait for the start in the rain.
The lead-in has not been without set-backs. After my half marathon two weeks ago I was in Fiji for a week which was well timed as it was the first week of my taper. However one of my arches flared up for a couple of days, and then when we landed back in Auckland I had a 24-hour stomach bug which meant I was too sick to run on the day I was planning my last long run. I had two consecutive days off running for the first time since May when I fell in the Domain. I've gotten back to it but I can't afford to do anything two outlandish. Probably this won't affect my performance but it just means I won't go in with the same level of confidence.
Before the half marathon I struggled to imagine that I would be able to pull it off with my eventual pace. My expected marathon pace is exactly the same. I can't really believe it but with the training and the chance to taper it should be achievable. The taper is said to a be a time of nerves and uncertainty and I completely feel it in terms of the confidence that my training and my body can cross the line in the way it is projected to. Only time will tell.
Sunday, August 12, 2018
The one before the next
I "conservatively" set myself a goal of 1:32 with hopes of doing better. In the end I got myself 1:31:10. It all happened all rather smoothly. It started with an outstanding day. Probably the most Spring-like day you could imagine in winter. I warmed up a little hastily but felt prepared, and then we were off. Again I tried to size up who to pace with but the pace readings I was getting sounded too fast and I slowly dropped myself back from any potential targets. Eventually I was passed by "AH".
AH was a familiar face for me in many ways. He is in his 50s but a very strong, metronomic runner. I always remember him in the leading bunch in the previous year. He probably didn't know me from a bar of soap before today, although he might have recalled me from the Western Springs event. I'd followed him for half that race before burning him off in search of a faster companion. When he caught me, I parked myself a metre to the rear of him and bided my time. Eventually I took a few turns leading him until about the 15km mark where I made my move. I chose to go full-tilt down the one sharp slope on the loop course and bolted away from him and shot past another runner. My next target was "The Last of The Night Ninjas". The Night Ninjas seemed to be a training team. Almost all of them were in the top 20! Fortunately, there was one just a little bit slower than the others who had always been on the horizon in their orange kit. The orange was a key point because on the second lap there was a lot of other running traffic with the track being shared with the half marathon walkers and 10km runners. It could have been difficult to pick who was actually running in my event, but with The Last of the Night Ninjas ahead I had someone of relatively equal pace to reel in. It took about 3km before at about 18km we and one other formed a bunch for about a kilometre. That was when I attacked the last hill and left them behind. Once over the hill and just over a kilometre to go, I felt I still had plenty left in the tank and went into overdrive, passing more or less at will to the finish line and recording 1:31:10. It was a personal best by 5 minutes to my previous best official time.
The only blemish was possibly from my over-eagerness the day before. There was an Asics training event with a group run. I'd initially planned to run easy and put in some bursts of race pace. Usually I wouldn't run more than 5km the day before but with the group I decided to do 10km, mainly because my mileage for this week was going to be below 100km and I wanted to make up for the lack. Then I went with the faster group. I felt like I was running well but when I got home I noticed some tenderness in my shin. I treated it as well as I could but could still feel it in the morning before my run. In the initial kilometres I could feel it too. It didn't stop me running as I had wished. In fact it was the same problem I felt back in April/May this year. The same problem that I had in the Rotorua event. I'd ignored it then and I ignored it today. After that run I was a cripple. After this run I felt like a cripple. This evening the swelling and pain seem to have subsided somewhat and I hope that again it's just a temporary thing that won't hinder our trip to Fiji and any training I want to do there.
With it shattering the 1:35 wall, I look forward to the Mizuno Half Marathon Series, which begins in September. The next wall is the 1:30 threshold. With my current fitness on a flat-track, I would expect myself to be able to do it, and there are some flat tracks in the series. Couple that with further increases in speed and aerobic base, I look forward to it.
Three weeks to go to North Shore. Some lacklustre long runs had shaken my confidence; while some big events show I'm still pretty fit and able to take what the courses throw at me. I think this Moment of Truth is truest.
Thursday, July 26, 2018
Out of the mist
There comes a point during the many complex human interactions that comprise life that one starts to feel that the problems, obstacles and dilemmas don't reside in the actual real workings of concrete things but rather in rationalising and equilibrating of the perspectives and cognitive starting points of the collective human mass looking to deal with them. Any single human member entrusted and empowered to solve a problem would do so, but with the direction of a superior, or worse, rhe assistance of another, or worse, consultation from a committee, or worse the assumed support of a crowd of would-be supporters but later critics, the problem no matter how small becomes increasingly difficult. It makes successful problem solving in a collective environment a Nobel prize worthy achievement in psychology rather than a simple act of simple fixes. We obstruct ourselves.
That isn't to say without the human dimension problem solving is easy. There is skill, knowledge, common sense and creativity that comes in fixing those irritating problems. Perhaps it's the difference in big company / small company but the organisation I'm in never really learned how to launch anything. There are only a small number here who could organise a piss-up at a brewery. There is one I know of who I'll call "Katie". She under her own steam could organise Albert Hall. I'm not even close to her level of awesomeness but she can only shoulder; she cannot share; and she cannot train in these dark arts. I rate myself as one in contrast to the majority but I was lucky: I had the tutelage of some wise ones in the past, and had the constant necessity to find creative solutions, to "roll out" campaigns, at times against my will and beliefs, to "make it work" in my previous position. The common sense of organisation causes so many "duh" moments when you see someone thinking an e-mail or poster will successfully change something.
Change, oh, change. It's the elusive thing of them all. Change "them", change the world. If only "they" would listen. Or didn't "they" say that they would do such and such.
5 more weeks
Well, perhaps not yet five more quite yet to the North Shore Marathon. But I've reached a nice clearing in time to write about my feelings (almost) five weeks out.
It's the 26th of the month and I'm just 15 kilometres short of the record mileage of June. 15 kilometre is really nothing to me these days, it won't happen tomorrow though. It'll happen on Saturday when I run a parkrun and then keep running. It won't be tomorrow because tomorrow is a rest day. A well-earned one, it's the rest after six straight days running, which, appropriate for a record breaking month, was the first time I'd run six days straight in my adult life. It's a nice little ticked-off goal - to run a good marathon it's good to be running 5-6 days a week, according to a lot of the resources I read.
For me it's something quite symbolic. I see myself as a fragile runner, with niggles a-plenty, injury always around the corner, over the horizon or at least swept under the carpet for a rainy day. The six days straight took me 110km, with three really focussed runs and three "easy" runs in nine hours twenty six minutes of running. And there aren't any sore spots.
That being said I had my "classic" moments of doubt: after day four's intervals (15km where three sets of 2 miles were done at speed) left my calves feeling beaten up. For a moment on the last interval I feel a sudden tightness in my right calf near where I had a calf tear in early 2017. I ignored it, ran just as fast but with that sensation. Two other points in my calves felt sore and so I chose not to run the next morning, leaving it to the Run Club in the evening to check them. They still "felt" it but I ran easily and by the end of the run all sensations in my calves had diminished. I'd run them out. If there is one learning point for the year it's that the cause can be the cure. The knee pain that blighted the last half of 2017 only went when I trained smarter with exercises. It simply became less obvious as my mileage increased. The rest day tomorrow will be enjoyed guilt and worry-free in that my legs are great, the rest only makes them stronger and I'll be ready to close out the month in style.
This should be my third straight week over 100km, touch wood, and barring any incidents. I've planned another two before my taper. This kind of volume and intensity should make my fitness quite formidable when it comes time to compete. Sometimes it's hard to believe that. In my pre-marathon half I should be able to maintain 4:20/km based on my understanding of my fitness. But that's a ridiculous number in the context of my previous running. That's fast! How am I meant to do that? The truth is that classic line: Trust your training. If there is one thing that is astonishing about running it's that when you put yourself out there sometimes your body responds and you just keep going. After my last blog I did a 10km race that was exactly that: I ran it in an unfathomable time in respect to my previous running: 40:50. I haven't recorded an official 5km time under 21:00 yet managed to keep pushing myself to the wire in a 10km at less that double my 5km race record. There were reasons, namely that the course was reasonably flat. Also, I jumped onto the tail of a regularly fast runner and once he couldn't keep it up leapt onto the coattails of another bunch and then another. Get with the right runners you'll have your carrot always in front to tease you to the end. And if the body is well-tuned, as long as the pace is vaguely reasonable, you'll sustain it to as far as you need.
I'm going to sleep well tonight.
It's the 26th of the month and I'm just 15 kilometres short of the record mileage of June. 15 kilometre is really nothing to me these days, it won't happen tomorrow though. It'll happen on Saturday when I run a parkrun and then keep running. It won't be tomorrow because tomorrow is a rest day. A well-earned one, it's the rest after six straight days running, which, appropriate for a record breaking month, was the first time I'd run six days straight in my adult life. It's a nice little ticked-off goal - to run a good marathon it's good to be running 5-6 days a week, according to a lot of the resources I read.
For me it's something quite symbolic. I see myself as a fragile runner, with niggles a-plenty, injury always around the corner, over the horizon or at least swept under the carpet for a rainy day. The six days straight took me 110km, with three really focussed runs and three "easy" runs in nine hours twenty six minutes of running. And there aren't any sore spots.
That being said I had my "classic" moments of doubt: after day four's intervals (15km where three sets of 2 miles were done at speed) left my calves feeling beaten up. For a moment on the last interval I feel a sudden tightness in my right calf near where I had a calf tear in early 2017. I ignored it, ran just as fast but with that sensation. Two other points in my calves felt sore and so I chose not to run the next morning, leaving it to the Run Club in the evening to check them. They still "felt" it but I ran easily and by the end of the run all sensations in my calves had diminished. I'd run them out. If there is one learning point for the year it's that the cause can be the cure. The knee pain that blighted the last half of 2017 only went when I trained smarter with exercises. It simply became less obvious as my mileage increased. The rest day tomorrow will be enjoyed guilt and worry-free in that my legs are great, the rest only makes them stronger and I'll be ready to close out the month in style.
This should be my third straight week over 100km, touch wood, and barring any incidents. I've planned another two before my taper. This kind of volume and intensity should make my fitness quite formidable when it comes time to compete. Sometimes it's hard to believe that. In my pre-marathon half I should be able to maintain 4:20/km based on my understanding of my fitness. But that's a ridiculous number in the context of my previous running. That's fast! How am I meant to do that? The truth is that classic line: Trust your training. If there is one thing that is astonishing about running it's that when you put yourself out there sometimes your body responds and you just keep going. After my last blog I did a 10km race that was exactly that: I ran it in an unfathomable time in respect to my previous running: 40:50. I haven't recorded an official 5km time under 21:00 yet managed to keep pushing myself to the wire in a 10km at less that double my 5km race record. There were reasons, namely that the course was reasonably flat. Also, I jumped onto the tail of a regularly fast runner and once he couldn't keep it up leapt onto the coattails of another bunch and then another. Get with the right runners you'll have your carrot always in front to tease you to the end. And if the body is well-tuned, as long as the pace is vaguely reasonable, you'll sustain it to as far as you need.
I'm going to sleep well tonight.
Sunday, July 01, 2018
9 weeks till North Shore
Winter is certainly upon us: Fog shrouded mornings. Numb morning fingers. Trouble drying the laundry. And why does the heating in the car take so long to warm up?! I've had a hectic June. July promises to continue the hecticity.
In spite of that, I've generally been able to find the time and energy to sustain and increase my mileage. June was a record month: 376 kilometres run, each week over 80km. (For reference, my highest previous week was 296km, and I'd only done 2 weeks over 80km last year.) This is all going to plan. And most importantly, I'm noticing the fitness effect of the high mileage. Last weekend I smashed my favourite half marathon route, TwinPeaks, shaving two and a half minutes off my previous best time, which was in turn recorded at my fittest, fastest period last year. At the Shoe Science group run I sliced one a half minutes off my 10km time for the my route record made just 6 weeks earlier. Almost unbelievably, the last few splits for that run were under 4:00/km. In every area I'm stronger than my peak period last year, except perhaps in my confidence to run beyond 32km.
And probably even more importantly than the fitness effect, I'm not experiencing the niggles to the degree I had last year, where I felt my momentum was always thwarted, and early this year when I felt I might not be able to run again at all. Fortunately ever time I've had those dire thoughts I've proven to be wrong.
Next week I have my next "moment of truth": A 10km race at Western Springs. It's a flat route and probably my best chance to record my best time for a 10km run, which in turn will be a measuring stick for what paces I might be able to do in the coming half and full marathons. My happy range of results would be anywhere between 42:00 to 43:00, with anything below 42:00 being a reason to celebrate. I've recorded two 10km times between 43:20-43:30 on hillier, more challenging courses, with slightly less fitness in the last two months. After this will be a half marathon 3 weeks before the marathon, which will be a perfect chance to sort out my marathon pace; and then the marathon itself on 2 September.
My general strategy will be to continue sustaining the mileage, up to 100km/week by the end of July and then taper from mid-August. I've done two runs over 30km so far and aim to do another 3-4 in this coming period.
Saturday, June 09, 2018
12 weeks
(Warning: This post is yet again running-related)
The North Shore Marathon is just 12 weeks away. It'll be my second full marathon, and out of all my goals for this year, it is the highest, most valued. I have the goal of a sub-3:30 time, and hopes of getting it considerably lower. My other goals in between it and now, my 10k and 5k goals are at this point to serve this greater goal. 12 weeks is both far and near - individual weeks can play huge parts in the lead-in; a single run or injury can bring it all down. It has clearly got my attention.
To understand and be better prepared than last year it's important to know what went right and wrong last year. I should have had the fitness to get close to 3:30 at the Auckland Marathon. Instead I got 3:46 with an exhausting last quarter. My post-mortem of factors that led to the disappointment, from close range to long range are as follows:
The North Shore Marathon is just 12 weeks away. It'll be my second full marathon, and out of all my goals for this year, it is the highest, most valued. I have the goal of a sub-3:30 time, and hopes of getting it considerably lower. My other goals in between it and now, my 10k and 5k goals are at this point to serve this greater goal. 12 weeks is both far and near - individual weeks can play huge parts in the lead-in; a single run or injury can bring it all down. It has clearly got my attention.
To understand and be better prepared than last year it's important to know what went right and wrong last year. I should have had the fitness to get close to 3:30 at the Auckland Marathon. Instead I got 3:46 with an exhausting last quarter. My post-mortem of factors that led to the disappointment, from close range to long range are as follows:
- Running too fast in the first half
- Not hydrating well during the race on a warmer than average morning.
- Risking fueling with just dates and never considering using the gel I had in my hydration vest.
- Doing my training runs on average too fast, with few easy runs.
- Not sustaining a consistent mileage in the weeks leading up to the event.
Many of these lessons I've already applied. Point 4 I believe I've partly succeeded in. I now do 2-3 completely easy runs during the week and have reined in my long run speed, with only a few indiscretions. For example, last week I was doing an easy run and in the last 5 kilometres found a "second wind" that I just ran with. Considering I had a hard run the previous day, it was probably ill-advised. My calves felt quite tender on the rest day and then they still had some residual soreness, which then affected my long run today. It served as a reminder that speed has the capacity to kill this campaign. Going slow now can only lead to more speed and health in the long run.
And that was what went wrong last year, which led to point 5. I had momentum back in January 2017 until I did three straight days of fast runs, had one rest day and then one more intense run was enough to give me a calf tear and a couple of months out of action. After recovery and progress, I again were delayed by niggles both perceived and real. The biggest of these was my knee ligament issue that developed in July, which started once I started doing increasingly long runs far more early than I should have. For perspective, even though I was doing a few runs a week, the long run was often over half the mileage for the whole week. I was a so-called "Weekend Warrior" making up for a lack of running during the week by going overboard on the weekend. Every three "good" weeks of mileage would invariably be followed with a week of worry when something causes me to fret that I was overdoing it. This year I've built up in a more reasonable way. Two straight months I've average over 50km a week. In the last four weeks I've pushed it up from the 50s, now into the 70s. I'll consolidate around this level while aiming to push up further, peaking at 100km for the peak weeks in early August. In other words, touch wood, I've got a more informed, strategic mindset to get me in better shape to my goal.
As for points 1-3, that's race day.
Of course those are just to address the missteps of the previous attempt.
Monday, June 04, 2018
Overtaking oneself (part 2) - Running related again
Almost two weeks on from the first Overtaking post, I have a better sense that I'm doing as the post title says. On the following Sunday, I set a new official 10km personal best with 43:16 at Barry Curtis Park. This was still not exactly "crushing it" but sets a nice measure of where I am at. At the same event last year I surprised myself recording 43:52 (mat time). I set off at a rather unrealistic pace for the first of three laps (below my 5km pace) but managed to hold on to an acceptable pace for the second lap before cranking it up for the final. In five weeks' time I'll be running in my next 10km race at Western Springs (8 July) where I hope to show my progress and get a time in the 42-43min range (target) or below (dream). Depending on how well the training goes, I may move this goal. In terms of really "overtaking myself" 42:48 is my fastest presumed 10km run which was at the peak of my fitness in October last year.
May was a good month for proving myself for mileage, too. The 266km I ran makes it the second highest mileage month of my running life. (Second only to September last year where I ran a half marathon and had my peak week before the Auckland Marathon. June 2018 is now set to become the biggest and, health-gods willing, should start a sequence of high mileage months to lead into the North Shore Marathon. In the first four days of June I've run 66km and I've no obvious aches or pains but will rest tomorrow before another two workouts, a rest day then the start of what I hope will be a pattern of six running days and one rest day until the taper for marathon.
The next real tests of where I'm at are as follows:
5km - 16 June Cornwall Park Parkrun; 30 June - Western Springs Parkrun
10km - 25 June - Time trial; 8 July - Race: Run Auckland Western Springs
Half marathon - 23 June - TwinPeaks; still considering whether to do the Millwater Half prior to the full marathon.
Of course the main test is that final goal: North Shore Marathon 2 September 2018.
May was a good month for proving myself for mileage, too. The 266km I ran makes it the second highest mileage month of my running life. (Second only to September last year where I ran a half marathon and had my peak week before the Auckland Marathon. June 2018 is now set to become the biggest and, health-gods willing, should start a sequence of high mileage months to lead into the North Shore Marathon. In the first four days of June I've run 66km and I've no obvious aches or pains but will rest tomorrow before another two workouts, a rest day then the start of what I hope will be a pattern of six running days and one rest day until the taper for marathon.
The next real tests of where I'm at are as follows:
5km - 16 June Cornwall Park Parkrun; 30 June - Western Springs Parkrun
10km - 25 June - Time trial; 8 July - Race: Run Auckland Western Springs
Half marathon - 23 June - TwinPeaks; still considering whether to do the Millwater Half prior to the full marathon.
Of course the main test is that final goal: North Shore Marathon 2 September 2018.
Ceremony
On Sunday I got to witness my little sisters' First Communion. Not having been brought up in a religious, let alone Catholic, tradition there was quite a lot to learn and a lot to go in the flow of even as a spectator. The girls themselves had gone through classes prior to their Confirmation (the day prior) and their First Communion to make sure they knew what to do. I could have done with a class though as each part of the Mass had some call-and-response element to it. If you did want to sing or talk along with the prayer, there were things you were meant to say at their conclusion. Not that my ignorance annoyed me - it was just interesting to be a part of. It was cute to see the girls and the other children have roles to play and rituals to perform. I couldn't help but be happy that they were brought up in such a tradition.
Ceremony is something that I have learned through experience is vital to being human. Perhaps that sounds like I'm going too far but it shows how far I've changed as I've aged. That is probably the case with a lot of people. As a principal of a school, there are many ceremonies to be done: Orientation for students and new staff; staff farewells; student graduations; recognition of performance or contribution. And not surprisingly their absence on occasion does get noticed. The "Why didn't we...?" question is commonly posed to me, when the "we" refers to "me".
One of the work topics that permeate my after-work hours is the lack of a sense of ceremony that our Chinese students have. Out of all the students who deliberately avoid a graduation by calling in sick or booking their flight the day before, most are Chinese. Ceremony isn't big in China and many ceremonies really are "for show". It's easy to be cynical.
Ceremony is something that I have learned through experience is vital to being human. Perhaps that sounds like I'm going too far but it shows how far I've changed as I've aged. That is probably the case with a lot of people. As a principal of a school, there are many ceremonies to be done: Orientation for students and new staff; staff farewells; student graduations; recognition of performance or contribution. And not surprisingly their absence on occasion does get noticed. The "Why didn't we...?" question is commonly posed to me, when the "we" refers to "me".
One of the work topics that permeate my after-work hours is the lack of a sense of ceremony that our Chinese students have. Out of all the students who deliberately avoid a graduation by calling in sick or booking their flight the day before, most are Chinese. Ceremony isn't big in China and many ceremonies really are "for show". It's easy to be cynical.
Tuesday, May 22, 2018
Overtaking one's self
Warning: Running-related blog
As my running career rises with training and falls back with injury, I go two steps forward and one step back. There are lots of different emotions on this rollercoaster - the frustration of climbing back from the depths and the thrill of rising towards a crest. The previous peak for me was the last quarter of last year. I ran my favourite TwinPeaks route in 1:40, ran 10km under 43 minutes, ran 5km below 20 minutes, ran a marathon and got to the point where I could run a half marathon under 1:35.
Two months was all it took to take it back to the bottom. That was first apparent at Coatesville where I barely finished a half marathon in March. Fortunately despite the niggly weirdness and a suspected hernia, everything has come back together fairly well. But now there are some more semblances with my peak last year and I think I might be approaching my previous fitness. The Rotorua half marathon might compare well to those last year. My parkrun last Saturday was faster than my best race 5km last year as well. It would seem that my speed for shorter races has returned. I'm pretty sure that my endurance at the longer end of the spectrum isn't there yet though. I may struggle to run further than 30km right now.
But I have the confidence that I'll be past there soon. The next run is a 10km race on Sunday. This time last year I exceeded my expectations and broke 44 minutes. I shouldn't have difficulty matching that at least. I look forward to possibly getting below 43 minutes.
As my running career rises with training and falls back with injury, I go two steps forward and one step back. There are lots of different emotions on this rollercoaster - the frustration of climbing back from the depths and the thrill of rising towards a crest. The previous peak for me was the last quarter of last year. I ran my favourite TwinPeaks route in 1:40, ran 10km under 43 minutes, ran 5km below 20 minutes, ran a marathon and got to the point where I could run a half marathon under 1:35.
Two months was all it took to take it back to the bottom. That was first apparent at Coatesville where I barely finished a half marathon in March. Fortunately despite the niggly weirdness and a suspected hernia, everything has come back together fairly well. But now there are some more semblances with my peak last year and I think I might be approaching my previous fitness. The Rotorua half marathon might compare well to those last year. My parkrun last Saturday was faster than my best race 5km last year as well. It would seem that my speed for shorter races has returned. I'm pretty sure that my endurance at the longer end of the spectrum isn't there yet though. I may struggle to run further than 30km right now.
But I have the confidence that I'll be past there soon. The next run is a 10km race on Sunday. This time last year I exceeded my expectations and broke 44 minutes. I shouldn't have difficulty matching that at least. I look forward to possibly getting below 43 minutes.
Saturday, May 12, 2018
Out of the thickets, running in the dark
It's interesting how the patterns of our lives shape the patterns of our thinking. I believe that I'm pretty good at my job, or rather the job that I've fashioned for myself. It currently revolves around managing close relationships with 30 people and rapport with close to 200 people, and the administration thereof. That is 80% of the job. The other 20% of the job is more strategic and creative but is increasingly more detail related. Designing courses and programmes does have, as you would expect, room for innovation, but are predominantly referring to specifications and building to requirement. Most of my job is among the thickets.
And that is how my thinking about greater problems has disappeared. I'm in the thickets and struggle at times to get out of the details long enough to get a greater view of my job, my life and the universe around it. There were times in my life when I've enjoyed being beyond the thicket, up the trunk and perched somewhat along a branch to look out upon the jungle within eyesight. (But not the jungle beyond, or the concealed clearings.) It's been a while since I had that luxury and it is something that I yearn.
But my job isn't everything. Running, though potentially a hobby to not think about things, is something I now invest quite some time in decision making relating to planning training and time. I now consider myself at least basically capable of doing the planning for myself, and thinking about which events to enter, what paces, workout styles and terrain to run and how to deal with the physical and dietary side of these things. There is an element of creativity, risk/reward and endeavour. It's a realisation to find that the mere act of managing something of your own is a joy, not to mention without the managerial function to my running, I wouldn't nearly enjoy it as much. (There are a lot of other things to enjoy from running such as health, camaraderie, relaxation, pride in achievement, cultivation of self, but it's the managerial function that makes all the other most positive.)
In managing anything there are decisions, risks and rewards. In my job life this week has begun a reckoning about one of my decisions and my handling around it. I've learned a lot. Coincidentally it also featured a moment in my running where two strategic decisions came to a reckoning. Every busy runner has to make decisions of how to get the time to train in the face of all life's other distractions. My choice, which suited my constitution, was to get up early in the morning to run. This in a way has been my key decision to get the mileage in that allows me to run at a decent level. But there are risks. Even the lightest coloured running gear isn't obviously visible to drivers in dark conditions. (Let's face it - even the brightest coloured clothing could be mown down by a driver in the bright of the day.) It's also harder to see the ground and any hazards. This was obvious from the time of the blackouts. At the time of the black-outs I had the choice of borrowing a waist-lamp that would illuminate the path for our group running events but always chose not to. Even when one was free, I chose not to use one. Perhaps it was by conservatism around running gadgets. Perhaps it was my belief that I was a canny runner who could do without. To choose against running with carried illumination is the second strategic decision, which brings us to the result.
On Thursday morning I went on my first hard workout since the half-marathon, interval running at the Domain. I got up at 4:30am and jogged easily to the Domain. Fog had descended on the city and the Domain in particular had captured a layer of it. I began my first mile of pace and in the last quarter heard a van coming from behind me. The headlights hit the fog making for a bright glare. The Domain doesn't have a footpath around the mile loop so I tried to get to the left of the road so not to concern the driver. Just as he passed me, my foot went into a wastewater drain and I was thrown into the asphalt. The van stopped to investigate and I got up, my palms hot and my knee bleeding. He checked me out and but in the van's lights there only seemed to be some grazing and cuts. I thanked him and bid him on his way. I felt fine to continue so jogged for another mile before I felt good to start another mile of pace, then a rest, another mile of pace, and a rest, and a last mile of pace and then jogged home, 14.5km in total, at least 10km of running after my fall. I got home and got cleaned up. I hadn't noticed it but a cut at the base of my little finger had bled down to my elbow. I went to work without trouble but around 11am my left knee swelled up and I struggled to get around the office. I got a bit worried. My left knee had been the knee that I broke four years ago. It was also the one with the fickle tendon that had caused me annoyance for the last 9 months. The physio tested it the next day and found that no ligaments, tendons or bones seemed damaged, likely to be just a "contusion", and fortunately a couple of days on, the initial swelling has gone down. It's plausible that I'll go on a test run tomorrow.
I have to learn from this and act now to get a running light of some sort. I'd broken my knee while walking at slow pace. I'm very lucky if these are only "flesh wounds" considering I was running at interval running pace (between 4:00-4:30 mins/km) and thrown into the hard ground. The broken knee of course was falling onto some steps. I was lucky this time that my hands took the impact. (although interestingly two days later, my shoulder has started aching too.) I was lucky that I've been a habitual runner now with stronger bones. I was indeed lucky.
Sunday, May 06, 2018
Smashed
I should now have done enough half marathons for the specialness to have worn off. But that’s not the case. They’re a contest. An experience. An I-against-I. A measurement of belief vs reality. The ceremony around it only makes that sense thicker.
I charged through the finish gate 1 hour 40 minutes 3 seconds after running through the start gate. That was about one and a half minutes slower than the previous year but on a totally different course. Last year’s course was flat,fast and all road. This was hilly, rough and on very uneven surfaces. To be honest, even though I may have charged through the finish gate, my body was quite a lot more broken than when I’d started. I had a sore hip flexor and a painful shin but more on that later.
Every race has its story. This one started off with me rolling with the 1:40 pacers. 1:40 had been my target for a half marathon with my current fitness although knowing that this course was hilly I’d prepared to try for that pace on the first flat 5km and then take time over the hills in order to have a fast final 5km. I started drifting back as soon as the hills came.
The first hill was a massacre. Usually you need to wait for the final half to start passing people. At 5km, I passed a glut of runners that had gone off too quickly. One of them was walking. It was steep though and we’d hit the unsealed section. At 6km we finally had some descent and that was when I felt the hip flexor start to be really sore. I’d just gained this problem recently in my training but in training it’d be sore to start and then fade. This wasn’t fading. And that made sense: a hip flexor helps adjust your leg on uneven surfaces. It must have been working overtime. It was so early in the race and past a level of discomfort that would have stopped a training run. I thought about pulling out but was in the middle of nowhere. I decided to keep plowing on.
I got passed by those I’d passed on the hill but they became my running bunch and targets for the next 5km. “Big Rig” was the most dominant of them early on. He slowed on the ascents but powered the descents. I passed him in total about three times but overall lead our bunch for most of the second quarter. I slowly worked my way through the others “The world’s fastest Indian”, “dropsy” (who dropped his energy bar and never caught back to the group) and “The worlds fastest Indian pt 2” (different fella). We had a lot of a mild ups and downs and if my hip flexor wasn’t enough, my shin pain from two weeks ago returned. Both were just manageable.
The second sharp rise put an end to my current collaboration. Big Rig wasn’t seen again and for the third quarter I was tracking with just one runner “Lofty” who had been in my group earlier on but had probably stayed with the pacers for longer. (I didn’t see them till the end.) He set my pace until the third sharp hill which marked the three quarter mark. I didn’t see him after that.
Going down from that hill I only had two other genuine companions: Fluro and Action Man. Fluro was the kind I call a “late starter”. A late starter is the kind who comes out of nowhere in the middle of a race at an unreal pace and blows by you, as if he or she were a pro runner who started late. He passed me on the downhill making some comments on how shocking the last ascent was and then speeding onwards. He was in the distance for quite sometime indicating that he was slower on the flat.
Before he left my sight he just had passed Action Man, and we all entered the confluence of the Quarter Marathoners and walkers (coming the other way). This is a dangerous phase because there is more dodging but also fewer true visual cues for pace. If you have a half marathon competitor near you you can pace off them but in a sea of runners for other competitions it’s tricky. But at this stage it was almost totally downhill.
I finally overhauled Action Man as we were literally “coming out of the woods” and thankfully hit the paved and sealed sections. He was bizarre though running with surges to overtake me sometimes going quite far into the distance before cruising. My slower but steady speed was fast enough to get him every time. He probably passed me and fell back five times. He was great to have because he kept me pushing in the final kilometres right to the final stretch. At that point I started my final sprint and he wasn’t able to close the gap 6 seconds behind me. I don't know if he imagined it as a duel, but it helped me sustain the speed to the end.
And then I was done. The body was sore but I hope neither of the two issues are long lasting. I’ll try some easy running soon to loosen things up again. I’m so glad I stayed the distance. 1:40 on this course is an achievement. I crunched the numbers and found I was the slowest 42nd place getter in the last 6 years. Usually that runner would get a 1:30 time. So maybe the course could be said to have a 10 minute handicap to a runner of my pace.which makes me feel good till I think that I’ve never run below 1:35...
My body was smashed but I smashed it. I’m glad to be a runner.
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
My pre-event ritual
Original Wednesday blog text:
Which event of mine is not preceded by medical drama? My first half marathon had me preparing my mum for the possibility of an emergency call. The Rotorua half last year was preceded by a strained arch. The North Shore Half was preceded by the dodgy knee (that still bothers me now). The Auckland Marathon had IT band syndrome just weeks before and now we come to this event.
After the optimism of my last post, I went on one good run, a fast 5km for the Garmin fun run at Cornwall park on Sunday, and felt fine. I'd planned a good taper week with pace but less mileage. I rested on Monday and prepared for a pacey week. On Tuesday I got up early, 4:30am, and prepared for a run. My warm-up wasn't the best with a few cranky tendons but I'm used to that now. I started up for my usual 15km easy run route but after less than 500m the my lower front shin felt tight. I ran over the base of Mt Eden but it didn't go away and felt close to pain. I came to a stop after 1km, rubbed it, stretched and tried to run a bit more but it remained. Walking back, it still felt tight and sore. The sensation plagued me the rest of the day when I walked. Today I woke with my legs feeling fine so I tested them with a light jog but stopped as soon as I felt the tightness coming on. It returned on my longer walks later in the day.
So ten days before another event I'm worried about the extent of an injury. Shall I just wait patiently for a few days without testing or should I still do test runs? One interesting piece of advice you hear a lot is that if it isn't a bone, or painful, don't stop running. Not running doesn't fix a great number of problems. I'll probably plan something in between. I'll have another day off and then just see how it feels with a day of walking. I'll use a foam roller and do other strengthening exercises but keep running off the agenda until the weekend.
It seems to be the recurring story of my running life. It doesn't deter me. I just keep hoping and almost every big event has had me pulling through and exceeding the original expectations.
Addendum:
Saturday. Three days after the post above, seven days before the Rotorua event, the sun didn't rise in the morning. After a week of good weather during which I haven't been able to run, the weather was a depressing, dreary, thick smearing of cloud. I had a terrible sleep centred around some of my work anxieties. I got up at 6:45am and made a coffee and got myself ready for a run.
Outside there was a sudden downpour. Weather apps and rain radars are wonderful but there was nothing about that on them. There was to be light rain that would become heavier from 8am onwards but there is nothing as accurate as that for Auckland weather at this point. I prepared nonetheless.
I had reason for hope. After my failed Tuesday run, I tested myself on Wednesday morning as mentioned above and I chose caution. I kept myself completely away from my running shoes on Thursday but already there was an evident change "afoot". This niggle felt a lot of tendon tightness and tenderness early on. By Thursday, the sensation wasn't in the muscles but now below the skin. The area felt swollen to touch but I had no trouble walking or even doing short urban jogs to cross the road. I got up early Friday feeling fine but after the warm-up I had enough reason to suspect it wasn't completely over. Which brings us to this morning.
By the time I went out that downpour had already ceased and it was just drizzle. I warmed up as usual and started to run. Perhaps it was confidence that these changes clearly were in my favour. It was after a kilometre that I remembered that this was technically a test run, and I noted to myself I hadn't found any discomfort. In fact I was rollicking along at a rather rapid pace. I stayed close to home in case the weather got too nasty but by the time my running shirt was saturated and I returned home, I'd completed 13.7km without much of any physical problems. (My knee had chimed a couple of times.) In the process I ran my fastest 10km (45:43) since resuming in 2018. Looks like the show is back on the road.
The next seven days are a little tricky. I do want to make up a little for lost time but also keep things shorter and pacey, but with lots of recovery. I'll hopefully have a window of better weather tomorrow morning to do a 15km run with a 5km half-marathon pace section. Then a rest day and a 10km time trial so I can estimate for one last time the best pace to run.
Fingers crossed I can roll into the event without any further surprises. (The course is a little bit of a surprise, but I'll leave talking about that to a later blog.)
Which event of mine is not preceded by medical drama? My first half marathon had me preparing my mum for the possibility of an emergency call. The Rotorua half last year was preceded by a strained arch. The North Shore Half was preceded by the dodgy knee (that still bothers me now). The Auckland Marathon had IT band syndrome just weeks before and now we come to this event.
After the optimism of my last post, I went on one good run, a fast 5km for the Garmin fun run at Cornwall park on Sunday, and felt fine. I'd planned a good taper week with pace but less mileage. I rested on Monday and prepared for a pacey week. On Tuesday I got up early, 4:30am, and prepared for a run. My warm-up wasn't the best with a few cranky tendons but I'm used to that now. I started up for my usual 15km easy run route but after less than 500m the my lower front shin felt tight. I ran over the base of Mt Eden but it didn't go away and felt close to pain. I came to a stop after 1km, rubbed it, stretched and tried to run a bit more but it remained. Walking back, it still felt tight and sore. The sensation plagued me the rest of the day when I walked. Today I woke with my legs feeling fine so I tested them with a light jog but stopped as soon as I felt the tightness coming on. It returned on my longer walks later in the day.
So ten days before another event I'm worried about the extent of an injury. Shall I just wait patiently for a few days without testing or should I still do test runs? One interesting piece of advice you hear a lot is that if it isn't a bone, or painful, don't stop running. Not running doesn't fix a great number of problems. I'll probably plan something in between. I'll have another day off and then just see how it feels with a day of walking. I'll use a foam roller and do other strengthening exercises but keep running off the agenda until the weekend.
It seems to be the recurring story of my running life. It doesn't deter me. I just keep hoping and almost every big event has had me pulling through and exceeding the original expectations.
Addendum:
Saturday. Three days after the post above, seven days before the Rotorua event, the sun didn't rise in the morning. After a week of good weather during which I haven't been able to run, the weather was a depressing, dreary, thick smearing of cloud. I had a terrible sleep centred around some of my work anxieties. I got up at 6:45am and made a coffee and got myself ready for a run.
Outside there was a sudden downpour. Weather apps and rain radars are wonderful but there was nothing about that on them. There was to be light rain that would become heavier from 8am onwards but there is nothing as accurate as that for Auckland weather at this point. I prepared nonetheless.
I had reason for hope. After my failed Tuesday run, I tested myself on Wednesday morning as mentioned above and I chose caution. I kept myself completely away from my running shoes on Thursday but already there was an evident change "afoot". This niggle felt a lot of tendon tightness and tenderness early on. By Thursday, the sensation wasn't in the muscles but now below the skin. The area felt swollen to touch but I had no trouble walking or even doing short urban jogs to cross the road. I got up early Friday feeling fine but after the warm-up I had enough reason to suspect it wasn't completely over. Which brings us to this morning.
By the time I went out that downpour had already ceased and it was just drizzle. I warmed up as usual and started to run. Perhaps it was confidence that these changes clearly were in my favour. It was after a kilometre that I remembered that this was technically a test run, and I noted to myself I hadn't found any discomfort. In fact I was rollicking along at a rather rapid pace. I stayed close to home in case the weather got too nasty but by the time my running shirt was saturated and I returned home, I'd completed 13.7km without much of any physical problems. (My knee had chimed a couple of times.) In the process I ran my fastest 10km (45:43) since resuming in 2018. Looks like the show is back on the road.
The next seven days are a little tricky. I do want to make up a little for lost time but also keep things shorter and pacey, but with lots of recovery. I'll hopefully have a window of better weather tomorrow morning to do a 15km run with a 5km half-marathon pace section. Then a rest day and a 10km time trial so I can estimate for one last time the best pace to run.
Fingers crossed I can roll into the event without any further surprises. (The course is a little bit of a surprise, but I'll leave talking about that to a later blog.)
Saturday, April 21, 2018
Two weeks till Rotorua
I did countdowns to events last year and I thought I may as well repeat it this year. The next event on the calendar is the Rotorua Marathon (half marathon event). There's been something of a phoenix-from-the-ashes element to it. Five weeks ago I ran, struggled and walked in the Coatesville Marathon, feeling broken and flat. Despite some obvious physical issues that have not gotten better or worse, but have transformed, they haven't obstructed any of my progress.
Last week I expressed my consternation that what came easily last year was strangely not coming out from a much more structured, planned training programme. The difference of six days is significant: I packed four workouts into a crucial week and with some easy running tomorrow I will have done 70km for the first time since October in the lead-up to the marathon. What have been the workouts?
- Tuesday: Hill sprints - I ran 12.5km including 6 sprints up local "hills".
- Wednesday: 10km tempo run at Shoe Science Run Club - I ran within myself but still ran almost as fast as my 10km TT last week. I finished without feeling overly tired.
- Thursday: 15km 3 x 2 mile intervals (in this case: 1 mile easy, then 2 miles fast, then 1/2 mile easy, and then 2 miles fast and 1/2 a mile easy and then 2 miles fast and then easy to finish). The important thing from this run was that all three intervals were hard out runs but each time I recovered well enough to still go hard out.
- Saturday: 20km easy + 5 km fast. I managed to slash 3 minutes off my run of the same route from 2 weeks ago and most importantly felt the 5km fast easy enough to do - I managed to stay under 5 minutes per kilometre on tired legs. And I didn't feel tired after the run.
Of the four runs, I noticed clear improvements in three runs. Tomorrow I'll run slowly easily and only exert myself a little at the Garmin 5km run tomorrow. Two weeks is the recommended length of a taper for a half marathon and I'll look to do this "by the book". I'll do two time trials in this period to double check my fitness and estimate the pace that I'll do Rotorua. I believe I should be fast and fit enough to equal or better 1:38:45 from last year. There could still be some "progress" made but consolidating the gains, healing what can be healed and keeping sharp is the order of the fortnight ahead.
Last week I expressed my consternation that what came easily last year was strangely not coming out from a much more structured, planned training programme. The difference of six days is significant: I packed four workouts into a crucial week and with some easy running tomorrow I will have done 70km for the first time since October in the lead-up to the marathon. What have been the workouts?
- Tuesday: Hill sprints - I ran 12.5km including 6 sprints up local "hills".
- Wednesday: 10km tempo run at Shoe Science Run Club - I ran within myself but still ran almost as fast as my 10km TT last week. I finished without feeling overly tired.
- Thursday: 15km 3 x 2 mile intervals (in this case: 1 mile easy, then 2 miles fast, then 1/2 mile easy, and then 2 miles fast and 1/2 a mile easy and then 2 miles fast and then easy to finish). The important thing from this run was that all three intervals were hard out runs but each time I recovered well enough to still go hard out.
- Saturday: 20km easy + 5 km fast. I managed to slash 3 minutes off my run of the same route from 2 weeks ago and most importantly felt the 5km fast easy enough to do - I managed to stay under 5 minutes per kilometre on tired legs. And I didn't feel tired after the run.
Of the four runs, I noticed clear improvements in three runs. Tomorrow I'll run slowly easily and only exert myself a little at the Garmin 5km run tomorrow. Two weeks is the recommended length of a taper for a half marathon and I'll look to do this "by the book". I'll do two time trials in this period to double check my fitness and estimate the pace that I'll do Rotorua. I believe I should be fast and fit enough to equal or better 1:38:45 from last year. There could still be some "progress" made but consolidating the gains, healing what can be healed and keeping sharp is the order of the fortnight ahead.
Sunday, April 15, 2018
When it rains it pours
Being of British ancestry I do tend to talk about the weather a lot and the last 12 months have really stood out as extraordinary. We had a long baking summer, three cyclones and just recently an apparently mild weather system produced unpredicted category 2 cyclonic winds that brought down a large number of trees in Auckland and cut the electricity supply to some for days.
Though my mouth talks about the weather, weather rarely intrudes on my mood or my plans. I've been running as much now as I have in the past, although it must be said that a lot more caution has been required in the last few weeks with some suburban blocks completely dark after sundown and before dawn, often with branches of varying sizes blocking the footpath. (In isolation either one of these wouldn't be too bad but together you could be running into a tangle of branches before you know it!)
Following up my last blog, the tendon problems I mentioned are slowly going down though not completely; shin pain has returned and my knee still checks in to say it's still there from time to time. But I am running and running pretty well. In the last month I've run more than 200km and gotten some of my speed and endurance back. With three weeks to go till the Rotorua Half Marathon I'm still trying my best to get in important training, raise my mileage and test my limits.
Last year I ran Rotorua and achieved a lot more than I had expected. I ran 1 hour 38 minutes at a time when I hadn't broken 1 hour 40 minutes at any stage. And although my training relative to its lead-up was solid, it's nothing compared to what I've managed to do after it and even in the recent weeks. For some context, in 2017, in the same set of 4 weeks I ran only 120km compared to 224km this year. But there is a little mystery for me in this. Mileage does have an affect and should raise performance. I am doing work-outs that should help me run faster and longer, the kinds of work-outs I didn't even know about last year. Yet I did my favourite 21.1km training run and did it 2 minutes slower than last year. To give myself a little consolation, this morning's route was slightly different to last year's route as we moved house and there is a little bit more "uphill" than before; and it was raining for the last 10km, although I was already behind the 8-ball when rain started to fall. The strange conclusion is that I was a stronger faster runner at this time last year with less running.
Although I'm now following the advice of the running experts online, I definitely wasn't back then. Last year, I was still trying basically to go as fast as possible on all my training runs but not running many back-to-back days. Looking back on the titles or descriptions of those runs, one of the most common phrases is "badly timed", that is, I'd often misjudge the speed I should run out and feel the burn by halfway or three-quarters of the way, and have to try to survive till the end. Quite possibly that is a short cut to fitness (if one avoids injury) because the body has to quickly adapt to the demands of ridiculous work-outs. As a result of running fast and holding on I had PBs of 45:00 for 10km and 21:00 for 5km. I'm nowhere near that right now. I'll persist with my plan until after the Rotorua Half and then evaluate. Many of the work-outs are said to take 10km to show effect and I'd like to give it a chance to make me a stronger, resilient and eventually faster runner.
Though my mouth talks about the weather, weather rarely intrudes on my mood or my plans. I've been running as much now as I have in the past, although it must be said that a lot more caution has been required in the last few weeks with some suburban blocks completely dark after sundown and before dawn, often with branches of varying sizes blocking the footpath. (In isolation either one of these wouldn't be too bad but together you could be running into a tangle of branches before you know it!)
Following up my last blog, the tendon problems I mentioned are slowly going down though not completely; shin pain has returned and my knee still checks in to say it's still there from time to time. But I am running and running pretty well. In the last month I've run more than 200km and gotten some of my speed and endurance back. With three weeks to go till the Rotorua Half Marathon I'm still trying my best to get in important training, raise my mileage and test my limits.
Last year I ran Rotorua and achieved a lot more than I had expected. I ran 1 hour 38 minutes at a time when I hadn't broken 1 hour 40 minutes at any stage. And although my training relative to its lead-up was solid, it's nothing compared to what I've managed to do after it and even in the recent weeks. For some context, in 2017, in the same set of 4 weeks I ran only 120km compared to 224km this year. But there is a little mystery for me in this. Mileage does have an affect and should raise performance. I am doing work-outs that should help me run faster and longer, the kinds of work-outs I didn't even know about last year. Yet I did my favourite 21.1km training run and did it 2 minutes slower than last year. To give myself a little consolation, this morning's route was slightly different to last year's route as we moved house and there is a little bit more "uphill" than before; and it was raining for the last 10km, although I was already behind the 8-ball when rain started to fall. The strange conclusion is that I was a stronger faster runner at this time last year with less running.
Although I'm now following the advice of the running experts online, I definitely wasn't back then. Last year, I was still trying basically to go as fast as possible on all my training runs but not running many back-to-back days. Looking back on the titles or descriptions of those runs, one of the most common phrases is "badly timed", that is, I'd often misjudge the speed I should run out and feel the burn by halfway or three-quarters of the way, and have to try to survive till the end. Quite possibly that is a short cut to fitness (if one avoids injury) because the body has to quickly adapt to the demands of ridiculous work-outs. As a result of running fast and holding on I had PBs of 45:00 for 10km and 21:00 for 5km. I'm nowhere near that right now. I'll persist with my plan until after the Rotorua Half and then evaluate. Many of the work-outs are said to take 10km to show effect and I'd like to give it a chance to make me a stronger, resilient and eventually faster runner.
Friday, April 06, 2018
Starting blocks
What does it mean when it's easier to run than jog? What does it mean when it hurts less to run fast than to even walk? Those are questions that it pains me to ask. During this period that I've been running I have had a lot of niggles, even mild injuries but none have been more confusing the my two feet right now.
While I was in China, just when my knee was coming right, something went wrong with my left foot. It was painful just below the point of my ankle. And it should have because I'd ignore discomfort and still decided to run 8 kilometres. "You should listen to your body!" they say. But I've never listened to my feet. Half my runs in 2016 started with tight, sore soles that only loosened after running. (I realise now that I had plantar fasciitis for much of my twenties and thirties.) So I ignored a little tight discomfort on one run and struggled to shake it even with extended rest. And just as it started to show signs of improvement, my right foot mirrored the symptoms. Now I've got two terribly frustrating feet.
But, there is a silver lining. The physio said it was my tendons and tendons improve through putting work through them and using them, that is, running. So on painful feet I start my warm-up, fearing that I might make things worse. I jog in agony. And then once I begin, the previous pain fades. And the rest of the day is fine.
The best measurement of tendon healing is how it feels in the morning. By that standard, it's getting better but still not near better. Mornings make me walk like an arthritic old man. But better is... better.
My running plan for the next year is clear in my head. Even with these niggles I'm running more and more strategically than I did at the same time last year. I'm looking forward to a good 10km race on 15 April with which I'll judge my fitness, which will lead to an estimated time for me to do a half-marathon on 5 May.
The first step is rest. Tomorrow there is no running. And then on Sunday I'll aim to run 25km. If and when I do, it'll be the first time I've done that since the marathon. I hope I can do it on painless feet.
Friday, March 16, 2018
Resume
There is a time in life when everything is about to happen. A few moments when it does. And then a time shortly after when it resumes. And now it is resuming.
Looking backwards through the smoke and rubble of the past was a four week long holiday; a helter-skelter technology-hamstrung four weeks in the office; the hustle and/or bustle of the Christmas period travels and feasting; the marathon and its anticipation; the struggle for fitness and confidence in my own health; work stretching me to the limit while I still focussed mainly on running... that backward glance was a busy 6-7 months. And now I can look ahead to a comparatively anodyne and relaxed "start to the year".
It does feel like a beginning, a reset. There is nothing on the horizon. There's just life, routine and simplicity.
Today was the first Friday since I came back. Everything has fit together. It started at 5am in the morning with a 10km run. This was the longest run since late December. In the 2.5 months before this run, I'd run a mere 52.7km, and it's been a challenge of restraint, stupidity and desire. My left knee which had been a nuisance since August 2017 got really stroppy with me after bouncing on a trampoline on New Year's Eve, and I struggle to run more than 3km in a single sitting. I strengthened and waited but it still bothered me till eventually I went back to the physio, who redirected me onto a specialist. With him I had my first MRI of my life. Regrettably that was just a few days before our trip to China. Less than 48 hours before departing the result came out was interpreted by my physio and said onto me: Keep strengthening, don't stop running.
So I did. I ran in the village for the first time ever. It was a thrill. But I was thwarted twice over: while sitting feasting and drinking I suddenly turned to my left and felt a pinch around my ribs; anesthetised by the drink I didn't notice for long; the next day I noticed my ankle was a bit sore pre-run. This is relatively normal for me. I have flat feet and they are never 100% happy to be feet, let alone running. As this was a feeling similar to what I had had before, I ran despite it. But the run after it though feeling OK at the time had a huge effect. My ribs ached and my ankle twinged. My ribs were sore with any movement so my plan of exercise went out the window. That alone would have precluded running but even if it hadn't, my swollen ankle was going to be an obstacle. And then in this pain, we travelled to Chengdu with heavy suitcases... After which it felt marginally better. Then we went to Guangzhou last week where I ran again but regretted it afterwards, feeling beaten up and miserable.
My specialist had booked me this morning so I decided that I had to know how my knee was and chose to run 3km. My knee was fine it appeared, but concern for my ribs and ankle cut the run short. The next day however I didn't have any after effects, which led me to today.
My alarm rang out at 5am. I didn't like it. I got up nonetheless. I could still feel the discomfort in my ankle but after a walk down the hall it wasn't obvious. I kitted up and went for a run. I pushed it - 10km is a reasonable morning effort. I felt the same as I had after 3km. My knee didn't irk me at all, but my ribs and ankle were clearly urging me to finish. I showered and went to the specialist who showed me the MRI scans: I'd split my tendinosus (a tendon). But he was taken aback that I ran 10km without discomfort and said I should still do strengthening work (which I will do). And now I have the challenging choice. I was silly enough to book a half marathon for Sunday. I might try it and try only to get to the end. I'll rest well, strengthen and think about it.
But that was all sorted at 7:25am. The day was still yet to get on with itself! I headed home, picked up the wife, headed to work and observed a teacher. He's a nice fellow who was introduced to our school while I was away. He's an awesome teacher and even more awesome because he likes our place and thinks I'm an OK kinda guy, and is best friends with our senior teacher. Good teachers set us up for stability. Then out the door I met my boss, who had the talk I'd hoped for. And she gave me the answers I wanted. So I feel happy staying where I am. We had a nice staff lunch and after a korean dinner with soju, I feel a nice calm with the year ahead.
It's time to resume and I like where this is going.
Looking backwards through the smoke and rubble of the past was a four week long holiday; a helter-skelter technology-hamstrung four weeks in the office; the hustle and/or bustle of the Christmas period travels and feasting; the marathon and its anticipation; the struggle for fitness and confidence in my own health; work stretching me to the limit while I still focussed mainly on running... that backward glance was a busy 6-7 months. And now I can look ahead to a comparatively anodyne and relaxed "start to the year".
It does feel like a beginning, a reset. There is nothing on the horizon. There's just life, routine and simplicity.
Today was the first Friday since I came back. Everything has fit together. It started at 5am in the morning with a 10km run. This was the longest run since late December. In the 2.5 months before this run, I'd run a mere 52.7km, and it's been a challenge of restraint, stupidity and desire. My left knee which had been a nuisance since August 2017 got really stroppy with me after bouncing on a trampoline on New Year's Eve, and I struggle to run more than 3km in a single sitting. I strengthened and waited but it still bothered me till eventually I went back to the physio, who redirected me onto a specialist. With him I had my first MRI of my life. Regrettably that was just a few days before our trip to China. Less than 48 hours before departing the result came out was interpreted by my physio and said onto me: Keep strengthening, don't stop running.
So I did. I ran in the village for the first time ever. It was a thrill. But I was thwarted twice over: while sitting feasting and drinking I suddenly turned to my left and felt a pinch around my ribs; anesthetised by the drink I didn't notice for long; the next day I noticed my ankle was a bit sore pre-run. This is relatively normal for me. I have flat feet and they are never 100% happy to be feet, let alone running. As this was a feeling similar to what I had had before, I ran despite it. But the run after it though feeling OK at the time had a huge effect. My ribs ached and my ankle twinged. My ribs were sore with any movement so my plan of exercise went out the window. That alone would have precluded running but even if it hadn't, my swollen ankle was going to be an obstacle. And then in this pain, we travelled to Chengdu with heavy suitcases... After which it felt marginally better. Then we went to Guangzhou last week where I ran again but regretted it afterwards, feeling beaten up and miserable.
My specialist had booked me this morning so I decided that I had to know how my knee was and chose to run 3km. My knee was fine it appeared, but concern for my ribs and ankle cut the run short. The next day however I didn't have any after effects, which led me to today.
My alarm rang out at 5am. I didn't like it. I got up nonetheless. I could still feel the discomfort in my ankle but after a walk down the hall it wasn't obvious. I kitted up and went for a run. I pushed it - 10km is a reasonable morning effort. I felt the same as I had after 3km. My knee didn't irk me at all, but my ribs and ankle were clearly urging me to finish. I showered and went to the specialist who showed me the MRI scans: I'd split my tendinosus (a tendon). But he was taken aback that I ran 10km without discomfort and said I should still do strengthening work (which I will do). And now I have the challenging choice. I was silly enough to book a half marathon for Sunday. I might try it and try only to get to the end. I'll rest well, strengthen and think about it.
But that was all sorted at 7:25am. The day was still yet to get on with itself! I headed home, picked up the wife, headed to work and observed a teacher. He's a nice fellow who was introduced to our school while I was away. He's an awesome teacher and even more awesome because he likes our place and thinks I'm an OK kinda guy, and is best friends with our senior teacher. Good teachers set us up for stability. Then out the door I met my boss, who had the talk I'd hoped for. And she gave me the answers I wanted. So I feel happy staying where I am. We had a nice staff lunch and after a korean dinner with soju, I feel a nice calm with the year ahead.
It's time to resume and I like where this is going.
Monday, March 05, 2018
To health: Credit where due
But credit where credit is due to the humble Chinese hospital: it's better now by a long way. It's all about using its obvious strength while ameliorating its weakness with technology. China already had economies of scale. A single hospital has everything - but previously it was a Byzantine bureaucracy of paper and payments: register here, diagnosis there, payments here, treatment there, pay for your medicine/treatment here, collect it there, curl up in a ball and cry/die here.
Now there are payment terminals everywhere, scanning a QR code allows you to pay everything cashlessly. Now you can be treated and tracked simply. Technology serves the masses. Treatment are a salve rather than a rack.
It is a disaster that I've had contact with the medical system thrice on this trip. My sidestrain from eating. My wife's digestive distress. But travel should be about experiencing and in that area I can't complain.
Since I'm often with a glass on this trip: Here's to health.
Post-script: the strange picture is a plastic bag in a ball. They're sold from a vending machine with a QR code. There is no complimentary bag when you collect your meds. It's part of that move to reduce plastic waste.
Friday, March 02, 2018
City Review: Chengdu
We had a window of time to travel out of Guangdong and despite my having been there twice already we decided to go to Chengdu. Not that I was disappointed. My previous two visits impressed me and this visit was not any different. In my previous trips, I'd done some of the "key experiences" like seeing pandas, going to teahouses and eating spicy food. But had also done two specific out-of-town experiences Emei Mountain and Leshan's big Buddha. This time we spent it all inside the city and still found a lot to do.
Hotel review: Buddhazen (near Wenshu Yuan (Manjushri Monastery): 4 stars out of 5
A beautiful classical building right next to a large monastery? It's as good as it sounds. Everything is old wood, perpendicular corridors and spiritual. The emphasise the connection with Zen Buddhism. The service was humble and quick. We would stay there again without hesitation. The only drawbacks were a slight odour from the plumping, a seemingly non-live TV broadcast and an average quality foot massage. But those are minor compared to the enjoyment of living in and returning to such a comfortable place.
Favourite places: Du Fu's Thatched Cottage: 4 stars out of 5; Shujing Fang Baijiu Museum: 5 stars out of 5
These were two places I went to for the first time on this trip and both would be high recommendations, although most appropriate to people with a bit of a knowledge of Chinese and Chinese culture. Du Fu was never one of my favourite Chinese poets. (For the record, I loved the alcoholic poets more, even when I was teetotal, namely: Tao Yuanming and Li Bai.) But after going to his recreated thatched cottage and the grounds around it I may finally have gained an appreciation. The poems I liked best were his war-time poems. During his life there was a large-scale rebellion against the Tang Dynasty and a lot of his works focus on the pains of war that any modern reader could see are just as true today. One non-war poem that took pride of place on the cottage grounds was a dedication to Spring in Chengdu:
好雨知时节，
Good rain knows its time,
当春乃发生。
It falls when it becomes Spring,
随风潜入夜，
It follows the wind and enters by night,
润物细无声。
It moistens all with fine, silent drops,
野径云俱黑，
Its mists cloak the rural paths.
江船火独明。
All that can be seen through it are the lights on riverboats,
晓看红湿处，
And when it dawns the red of the sun can be seen through the moist fog,
花重锦官城
The damp, heavy flowers decorate this city of Chengdu.
Good rain knows its time,
当春乃发生。
It falls when it becomes Spring,
随风潜入夜，
It follows the wind and enters by night,
润物细无声。
It moistens all with fine, silent drops,
野径云俱黑，
Its mists cloak the rural paths.
江船火独明。
All that can be seen through it are the lights on riverboats,
晓看红湿处，
And when it dawns the red of the sun can be seen through the moist fog,
花重锦官城
The damp, heavy flowers decorate this city of Chengdu.
The poems were great but the grounds themselves are beautiful. Highly recommended.
Now an alkie like myself has to love Sichuan province. Of the top 4 baijiu brands by market share, 3 are made in Sichuan. Number three is Shuijing Fang which is made in Chengdu. And a few years ago when they were expanding the factory, the diggers revealed that the same site had been used since the Tang Dynasty. (Which incidentally could mean that Du Fu might have drunk wine from there!) It's one of the oldest proven places of Chinese wine production. Archaeologists have even shown that the bacteria that was present at the time is the same as is used now.
The museum itself takes you through the production process and even gives you a sample of the first drawn spirits, at about 68% alcohol. Wooooo! One sip is enough. They show you the art of their bottles. (And in fact Chinese wine bottles are far more artistic than the simple elegance of western wine and spirit bottles.)
Restaurant review: Bashu Dazhaimen Hotpot (Caishi Street, Qingyang district, Chengdu): 5 stars out of 5.
I'll throw in a restaurant review because simply it really shows service mind, which had been a rare thing in China. Every trip to Chengdu requires a trip to a hotpot restaurant. At first I baulked about walking far to one with a good review arguing that we weren't connoisseurs, and there were places on every street. But I was persuaded and we went to this one. My arguing and the required persuasion had probably delayed us to the point that we had to wait for a table. This was the first impressive point though. If you have to wait, they give you a voucher that takes 15 yuan off your bill, provide you with cordial, sunflower seeds and another snack. We didn't have to wait long and the waiter was very attentive. In fact there was one moment that I thought nailed attentiveness. A staff member gave us our cutlery and I thought I noticed a small smear of chili oil on my cup. I checked with my finger and no sooner than I did the waiter switched it without a word. The food was great, too. Overall, there are lessons even a New Zealand restaurant could learn from them, which is rare.
City review: 5 stars out of 5.
Chengdu. Three visits and three pleasant times spent. But there are so many small things which make you feel good. Whether it be the main at the guokui shop who used tongs to handle money and plastic gloves with food. The general cleanness of the surrounds. The proliferation of bicycles. The unobtrusiveness of people and service in general.
Thursday, March 01, 2018
If a tree falls in the forest...
A friend mentions that something with knives happened in Beijing. Not in the news. Tourists march on.
We go from a station to a station. The blood goes from a city to a city. We march on.
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