Thud.
The noise you make when you run into something. A dull crescendo as you, a very resistible force meets an immovable object. You dust yourself down, cartoon stars circling your head, take a run up, kick back your heels and run forward once more, bracing for impact…..
Club night
I’d got to Wednesday without any form of running or exercise. This was intentional, a few days off to rest after the bafflingly quick Pride 10k time and wicket keeping duties over the weekend. DOMS had truly kicked in by Tuesday, my quads were no longer on speaking terms with me. As I knew this would pass, my physio visit in the evening focused on loosening any neck and shoulder tension, then working the calves and hamstrings. Since Endure I’ve been more aware of hamstring tightness, though this is most likely down to the increased mileage and potentially a slight improvement in my running form, placing load through the correct muscles. Dan was happy to confirm it was just tightness, nothing massage, rolling and stretching can’t resolve.
I arrived at club night, ready to run again. I appeared to be with one of the faster groups, but everyone was talking about nine minute miles, something very manageable. There were a couple more reluctant looks, guys in the same boat as me, so I assured them I’d also be likely to drop back.
Our route was easily decided, to the forest and back. I settled into the pace, still able to hold conversation. I was running alongside another recent recruit, also via parkrun. Chris is 2:56 marathoner so this pace was that manageable that to see him start running backwards would not have surprised me. We’ve chatted on Twitter for a year or so, commuted on the same trains for four years (observing the golden rule of train travel, no talking or acknowledgement) and at parkrun of late.
On the way to the forest I was comfortable enough to talk away, feeling pretty reasonable despite the pace being slightly faster than I’d prefer on a normal to easy run. When we arrived at the forest it was presumed I knew where I was! Thankfully we had some guys in our group that knew these routes well as my knowledge of Hatfield Forest, though improving, is limited to a few different parkrun courses. A brief mid run stop at The Shell House for a drink and we were heading back. Chris & I were joined by Adam, another BSRC speed machine.
We carried on talking, but as the lights of Bishop’s Stortford came into view I realised that they were naturally speeding up as I was taking a dive in the opposite direction. I allowed myself to slip back to the rear of the main group and relaxed my pace. Despite slowing down, everything felt good, no ill effects from the weekend’s excersions were apparent. I coasted back to the club, happy with the effort, 12 kilometres at 5:45 pace, with some faster clicks in the second half. It was time to grab a portion of chilli at the clubhouse and settle into a chair for the club notices.
parkrun
My parkrunday had been planned for a few weeks. Brentwood were short of volunteers & Event Director Leigh had asked amongst our ED group if anyone could lend a hand. It appeared I wasn’t on duty at the forest so offered to assist with setup and any other roles that would allow me to run their fantastic course.
Of course plans are made to be broken and on Thursday evening it was clear our roster was looking rather sparse, Brentwood looking fully manned by contrast. I asked to be stood down and Brentwood were happy to release me, I couldn’t leave my own event in the lurch if they were in need.
So Saturday had a very familiar feel to the morning. Arriving just after seven (sausage rolls not being out of the oven) to assist with setup, then relax, help, annoy, generally get in the way without intending to until it was time to run.
My parkrun plan for Brentwood was to enjoy their brutal course, my PB in the mud earlier in the year an easy target. Push, but not too hard was the idea. At Hatfield Forest I had no such agenda. The weekend after Dublin I’d run a strange time, 24:40 (just 30 seconds over course PB) pushing in the first, fourth and for some of the fifth kilometre. Having run a PB at half marathon and 10k distances in the days preceding, had I missed an opportunity?
On Saturday I decided to see what was possible if the only plan I had was to run fast.
Over the past few occasions I’ve run at the forest, a starting strategy has been formed. A fast getaway guarantees you some space through the narrow track between 200-500m. I’d learnt this the hard way in the past, starting too conservatively and finding myself stuck until the course opens up onto the plain.
Now I stay at the back of the main briefing (or head to the back after I’ve announced things). The briefing takes place at ninety degrees to the start, so being at the back gives you what would effectively be lane 1 on a track. This allows for the inside line around the big tree as you turn right, then a wider line for the left turn onto the estate road.
It seems to work, I get into a nice rhythm and by starting fast you don’t get too many that have started wider chopping in front of you.
Now, notes from an over competitive Event Director aside, the run itself didn’t have too much to write home about. I executed the plan, demolishing the first kilometre in 4:26, then followed up with splits of 4:45, 4:57, 4:47 & 4:44. The slight lull in the third click made sense given the ditch, rabbit holes and heavier footing of Halfway Ride as every runner stuck to the right in search of some shade.
All this meant I crossed the line in 23:22. To give this some context, my previous best at the forest was 24:10. My best ever 5k was at Chelmsford parkrun in September, 23:08 on a course that I consider to be about a minute quicker than the forest.
Slightly dumbfounded, I grabbed some water, then a camera and got on with capturing some finisher and finish area hoots as some last minute volunteers meant my services as a barcode scanner were not required.
After close down, results processing at the pub and a venture into Dunmow to buy cheese, we were back at the forest to meet with core teams from neighbouring parkrun events for a picnic. I was soon reminded that I’d forgotten to pack sunblock as I spent the next hour or two frying away. The heat was unbearable, what kind of crazy person would have run in this earlier in the day?
Long run
During the week I’d posted what was at best an optimistic appeal:
Fellow Berlin competitor Joel was running his first 20 miler, but after much discussion we concluded our paces were just a bit too far apart, especially as he was following conventional marathon training and running slower than intended pace, where as despite my best efforts, I appeared to be unable to run at the 4:30 target.
Joel had even joked at how unlikely it was that anyone would fancy a 20 mile run, I was in agreement. To our surprise, Denise now a BSRC club mate answered the call. She was looking to run 12-13 miles for Great North Run training and with her being based in Bishop’s Stortford I could run there and back. This was a perfect plan, Denise & I have run together before at the club and the Stort 10, our paces match nicely.
I was due to get to our meeting spot in Stortford for eight, so set the alarm for half six. In the never ending battle between my body clock and sanity I appeared to be up and awake at half five, thankful for an early night on Saturday and once again applauding the efficiency of my body at denying itself sleep. This gave me some time to enjoy some butter smothered Soreen and some TV, I would be attempting my third 20 miler but felt relaxed.
I’d run the reverse of the route to our meeting point during my first 20 miler so knew I had approximately 36 minutes of running to get there (a very precise approximation). I left the house at 0720, more in hope than expectation that I’d run slowly enough to get there on time.
Instead I was thankful that Denise was early as I was already faster than I both needed and wanted to be (3rd km was a 5:58, intended pace was 6:24). Upon seeing me approach Denise started running, ensuring I didn’t need to break stride.
For the next two hours the route was completely in her hands as we headed west out of Stortford, across fields, alongside country roads south towards Sawbridgeworth, then diverting off course as we returned into Stortford by running along the canal. The conversation flowed easily, as did the running. We were slightly quicker than pace, but I would occasionally slow us down, trying not to break the rhythm.
My fuelling was a bit behind what I’d planned, but this didn’t concern me as water levels were being managed well, I felt good and the heat wasn’t effecting me. As we approached our original meeting point we said our goodbyes, a very enjoyable two hours of running with Denise was now over, I just had the small and manageable matter of 7-8km back into Stansted to navigate, 5.5 of them would be achieved by following the most direct route.
In my mind I’d been toying with the idea of climbing up to the rugby club, then looping round the back of it before heading back across the a120. In hindsight I should have done this, my mistake was to cross the a120 with extra distance to find. This could be easily done were it not for the fact that I now appeared to be running through treacle. Though still moving, the ground appeared to be a travelator acting against me. The route back into Stansted involves three climbs, all just enough to tax you, I knew what to expect, yet my pace was gone completely.
I nixed the idea to head west for a loop of Lime Kiln Lane, right now I didn’t care for making up distance. I needed to get home, or more specifically the BP garage at the end of my road. The emergency £10 would be used, a can of full fat coke needed. Despite being in dire need of the finish line, I foolishly diverted off of the most direct route, hoping to cut the last hill by passing the Windmill and hoping a brief downhill might restart the engine.
Everything had caught up with me, the missed gels earlier on, the ever increasing heat, not running at target pace, the stupidly quick parkrun 24 hours beforehand. Even self doubt crept up on me, I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t run a marathon, I simply wasn’t good enough.
I might have been struggling, but no matter the pace, I wasn’t stopping until I reached the forecourt. The shades went on, no one needed to look into my eyes, the battle was clear from everything else.
No words were exchanged as I handed the tenner over for a can of coke and a banana milkshake, barely making the walk home. I had to support myself whilst pouring a glass of water, struggled into the living room and put the drinks down before easing myself onto the floor. I laid flat on my back for a while, breathing all over the place. I didn’t feel right at all, summoning up a bit of energy I moved into the recovery position until I could regulate my breathing.
I’ve never experienced this before, I felt useless physically, defeated mentally. My mood wasn’t improved when I finally sat up and found I hadn’t quite eased myself onto the floor, my phone had taken the impact. Oops.
Once I was able to sit up I opened that can of coke I’d been fixated on, despite the depths this run had dragged me to, this was possibly the best tasting Coca Cola I’ve ever had! I hauled myself upstairs, into the shower and forced some food down me, wallowing in my own disappointment until mid afternoon when I eventually got pissed off with myself!
I realised that 40 bad minutes at the end of a long run doesn’t negate the good work I had put in over the 20 weeks previously. After heading out of the house, I returned and viewed my training plan. It was an overwhelmingly positive picture. I’d faced adversity and still carried on, not stopped and walked or given up, cutting the run short at a natural juncture instead.
The Eat
The week started well, a return to working in London meant a sushi fix for lunch, something I’m certainly going to miss when working in MK! In the evening I met up with Joel, a Will & Suz and on my suggestion we headed to Cahoots near Oxford Circus. A mock up 1940s tube station, Monday night cocktails seemed like a good idea!
After laughing at all of the 90 minute wait lists for hipster food, we found a Korean BBQ, restaurant, 25 years old and not a chequered shirt in sight (we’ll neglect to mention my beard)! Not knowing what to order, we opted for a set menu. The food never stopped arriving, we were thoroughly impressed with the variety and quality.
Tuesday saw Burak head over to view the G1 Climax finals as the trip to Japan gets ever closer. He wanted to eat clean, so I put together some fennel and cumin chicken, it appeared to get the seal of approval, Roo was also very keen to sample!
I worked from home on Wednesday and threw together some avocado, feta and chilli jam on tiger bread. Whilst shopping for the ingredients (I realised of those listed, I only had an avocado in stock), I made an amazing discovery. Kitkat have now launched a proper sized portion. For some confusing reason they have marketed it as sharing size. Presumably this is so that you eat ten of the fingers and then, potentially fully satisfied, offer the last one to a friend, much like a packet of Rolos.
After the Sunday exploits I decided it was time for a burger. Two hearty pork burgers in fact, served up with Jarlsberg cheese, Serrano ham, thousand Island sauce and a very recent acquisition, sweet maple bourbon gherkins. Run for the eat indeed!!!!
The Music
With Summer still occasionally making an effort I’ve been enjoying the sunshine with some equally happy music. The announcement of a potential Flight of the Conchords film during the week I found myself rediscovering their work, Fun & FFS have been in regular rotation.
The Alfa being a bit on the old side has me looking back through my CD collection, recently Reveal by REM has made it into the car, another fun album, Imitation of Life being the high point.
The Conclusion
“Ah yes, I remember when I first met the wall” was Sean’s response when we were chatting about Sunday’s run. Suddenly it all made sense. Of course I’d contributed to my own downfall, but this was the first time I’d experienced the wheels coming off during a run. Initially I was disheartened, early Sunday afternoon was not a nice time to be around me, which was lucky as I was left to my own devices.
Being an over thinker and over analysing things isn’t something I can easily switch off, by Sunday afternoon I’d had enough of it though and drew a line under the run. I had enjoyed the run up until that point, running at a good pace and with company made what isn’t small task, a lot more manageable. I’ve learnt the need to carry on fuelling irrespective of yow you feel at that point in time, you’re preparing for further into the run, not the here and now.
Perversely, I’ve been wanting this moment to come. The training had, to this point being going too well. I needed a bit of a wake up call to remind me to respect the distance, to test my resolve. This is the whole point of training, I’m happier this has occurred ahead of time rather than during the marathon itself. Sure, it could happen in Berlin, at least I know I’ve faced the wall before, should we meet again I’ll be ready for it.
Run for the Eat 