Keep it 100

A week of milestones. Not mine, not my week. There’s a bit of ****thon training self loathing to contend with first. Feel free to scroll past this though.

16 Miles (yes, really)

Without context, my run on Wednesday felt like a complete failure. Even knowing the context myself, in the immediate aftermath of the run on Wednesday, I felt like my marathon training was a failure. By Thursday morning, I’d realised that I had made the most of a window of opportunity, the run might not have been amazing, but it served a purpose.

It wouldn’t be until Wednesday that I had the chance to run again. The week previous had involved a lot of travel; a weekend trip to Stockholm, little sleep, an early Sunday flight to catch Tiny Dancer’s last show in Matilda.

The working week offered me little respite. Monday morning, the alarm chimed once more at 0510, I was Frankfurt bound for the day. I didn’t see much of the outside world on Monday, just meeting rooms & departure gates. Even Frankfurt airport passed me by as we’d concluded with enough time to hot step it all the way to the gate. There was a great deal of discipline in waiting until I was home to cook some pasta instead of ramming my Burger King down my throat once through arrivals. Body is a temple and all that…..

Tuesday? I could at least take my time in getting up to Leicester, but I didn’t see home until after eight, another meeting running later than expected, so that journey deferred whilst you wait out the rush hour.

With two long days, I’d decided that I would run on Wednesday morning, get that 16 miler in (and perhaps consign the most used section title in recent memory to the bin), then log in afterwards, work could be parked for an hour, personal time to be taken.

Not for the first time, I had to fight the urge to kill the alarm call, to recoup a bit more sleep, to stop spinning all of the plates for just one day.

Instead, I got into running gear, for the route was planned, 26.3km or something (16 miles ish for imperialists) on this rarest of rare things this winter, an absolutely stunning morning. Winter training is horrific, there was no way I’d be wasting a morning like this.

Gels packed, water packed, sunnies on, let’s go for it. My route comprised of the usual saunter out of Stansted to Manuden, the ridiculous climb to Rickling, then two new cards added to my deck recently, into Henham (from the west, another delightful climb), then rather than straight home from Elsenham, the quiet road to Burton End.

It would mean finishing the run with a climb into Stansted. But, after nearly 7 years in Stansted, I’m well aware that every run finishes with a climb into Stansted.

First 10k went all very easily, pace was decent, rhythm decent, in many ways I had to slow myself down a little. I was enjoying the run, although leaving a little later, taking on country roads in the morning rush hour meant I had to be alert at all times. I had a gel as I entered Henham, 12k in, nearly halfway through what felt like a good run.

By the time I was arriving in Elsenham, more than 17k had been banked, I pondered whether I should run straight back home, claim the half marathon & get on with the rest of my day.

After the past few weeks of getting to half distance very easily but not finding the time to go beyond, I resolved to carry on as intended, taking the narrow, winding road from Elsenham, to Tye Green, to Burton End.

This was only my second time running this route, but I’d already grown familiar with it containing numerous little climbs. On my second passing I was also very happy that there was little traffic to trouble me, I’d be free to run all the way into Stansted with little other than my own thoughts for company.

Tye Green soon appeared, then the airport came into view. Yet as I grew closer to Burton End, something wasn’t quite right. I’d taken a gel at about 12k, but had decided on not taking another, despite having a plan in my head to take gels at 11, 16 & 21. Unlike my running past, I was trying to be less reliant on gels.

I might have run into Burton End, but by the end of the hamlet I was walking. What my revised no fuelling strategy had not taken into account was my recent travels, sleep debt & lack of miles. I had found the wall & would spend the next 3km run walking my way. Even on the nice downhill into Stansted I had to ease into a walk.

On paper it was 25 kilometres, in my head it felt like a failure. I’d still not got to 16 miles, even worse, I’d run out of gas. Five weeks out, not only were the wheels coming off my marathon training, someone had put a Coldplay album into the CD player & set fire to the seats!

Georgia very quickly tried to pull my head from my arse, to give me some reasoning. Just because I know that I’m trying to get as much into training as life will allow, I felt like a failure, that all I was doing was opening myself up for hurt when I took on the London ****thon. I’d had a tough Big Half, now this? My mileage was nowhere near. Even with Georgia being a voice of reason, I struggled to shake these feelings.

The Lurge

Within 24 hours of what at the time felt like a debacle, I had some context. I spent my day throwing every cold & flu drug at my system. I’d had some issues at the start of the year, but had managed to hold out on the spring colds whilst the rest of the family had to take time off etc.

Now it was my turn. No time off from work, homeworking & some self restraint meant I could get through customer calls (and then having suppressed the coughing, have a crazy ten minutes).

Running? After trying some yoga on Thursday morning, I downed tools. They’d be no running, nothing, just lots of off the shelf drugs & vitamins.

Anyone that trains for a marathon will tell you it is exhausting. The long runs, the constant tiredness, the aches & pains, the mental anxiety. I was trying to fit a 2015 plan into a 2018 life. Even if all the ducks lined up nicely, it would be a tough ask. Add in a shithouse winter to what was a summer program, I might as well have shredded it before I even began!

George made a very pertinent point, one that I hadn’t really considered. In 2015, I had nothing going on in my life. I was newly single, without a concern in the world other than to get to work on time & make sure the new parkrun event ticked along nicely. If I chose to run 20, 22 miles as part of my training & knacker myself out, it didn’t matter, life gave me plenty of time to recover.

Being fully integrated into family life doesn’t allow that luxury. If I go out for an early morning run, then I have to turn it around for whatever activity we have. I can’t afford to write myself off, I’ve three kids & a wife to entertain (seriously, they have me juggling for hours, it is quite demeaning, especially the outfit).

There was no point beating myself up (easy to tell yourself, less easy to execute). Instead I knew that recovery was more important.

I took a pragmatic approach to the remainder of my marathon training plan. I had five weeks left. If I gave myself until the Wednesday to recover, I could still get some distance in. The Lee Valley Half would finish that week, marking 4 weeks to go. The Easter weekend would afford me time for 17 miles on the Friday, 20 on the Monday. Then I’d run home from the St Clare’s 10k on the Sunday, to make another 20 miler. Two weeks of taper.

The plan is a bit half baked, but then so am I. It might just work.

Georgia’s 100th

Enough of the self loathing, onto the main event for the week.

Georgia’s last parkrun, in Sweden had been her ice cream run. Her next was due to be her 100th.

When Georgia would actually run her 100th has been an ever moving target. I recall a conversation in September, when it looked just about possible that the New Year’s Day double would be her 100th. So how did it take until March?

Much like my well known plethora of excuses & reasoning, the same applies to Georgia. Where I’ve done a lot of the midweek Callum stuff, if we had a Saturday, she’d take Cal in, which meant she’d not want to be parkrun fresh wandering around London where possible. In January her back went as she approached the finish line at Castle Park. There was even a time when we spoke about potentially being abroad for the milestone as George didn’t want a fuss made.

This is saddening to write, but Georgia, despite being an Event Director doesn’t always feel at home at our home event. When we moved the parkrun event, that was a joint effort, not just me, Georgia by my side for every step, every meeting, every decision. Her confirmation as Joint Event Director should have been a happy moment, but was soon followed by a core team revolt & some folks immediately stepping down. Georgia was on the receiving end of some surprising & disappointing behaviour from people that only months prior had been celebrating with us at our wedding. Sadly people view her as my wife that is in the position of ED for that reason, rather than taking a moment to engage with her & understand just how involved Georgia really is.

I didn’t help the situation either. Having been sole proprietor of Hatfield Forest since 2014, I was used to making every decision, every call. I undermined without even realising. It is only recently that we’ve properly split the role & are functioning properly as a joint ED team. I’m still learning how to share my toys properly, having complete autonomy is great, but carrying on the way I had been, as if nothing had changed meant I was not doing my job, which was detrimental to the event.

Back to the 100th & I had promised Georgia that I would make a fuss of her, that she would have her moment. Yet by Friday at half five I’d not done a thing. Georgia asked what I had planned, I looked blankly back at her. I’d had so many ideas, but with an ever moving target, I hadn’t done a single thing.

I’d let Georgia down again, built something up & taken it away before the event even occurred.

George has been through a lot in life & has had plenty of people let her down, I chucked my coat on, grabbed my keys & got into the car, I wasn’t going to be another person to add to that list. My mind cycled, what could I find in Bishop’s Stortford at 6pm on a Friday evening?

The Result?

On Saturday 17th of March 2018, Castle Park parkrun became the Funhouse parkrun!

I couldn’t get Pat Sharp in time, neither the twins.

But I did have some twins at home…..

On Friday night, Team Manly & the Besties were combined, turning our bedroom (we kept George occupied with some Grey’s Anatomy downstairs) into a conveyor belt of craft.

Then I left the house early doors on Saturday morning & got to work. Fans of the 90’s ITV show (apparently Georgia wasn’t) will know that it ended with a quest around the Funhouse house, collecting tags that meant prizes & as this article tells you, some prizes were naff, where as a special power prize was amazing.

The tags would represent each of the 31 different parkrun events that Georgia had completed. As our mini production line churned out Buckinghams & Brockenhursts, there was much dissatisfaction amongst the workforce about all of the parkrun tourism!

Let’s see what was on offer around Castle Park…..

David introducing proceedings & neglected to wear the Pat Sharp wig I’d got for him, he told me very strongly that he’d only settle for dressing up as one of the twins & I’d forgotten the pom poms so it really wouldn’t have made sense.

Alas the day was a bloody cold one, so the speech was cut a bit short, but not before we made Georgia aware that she’d not get to finish until she brought back all 31 tags.

I think at this point, I should point out that George should have perhaps paced herself. By the midpoint on the second lap the blood flow to her fingers had pretty much stopped as 20 odd tags on string had swung around on her hands. Suddenly Georgia was also regretting all of the tourism! I’d kept some tags with the marshals for the second lap, Woody & Callum also helped to retrieve the more intricately hidden tags around the park.

When we finished, the funnel manager had Georgia’s running nutrition of choice to hand, Percy Pigs & there was cool champagne to hand to celebrate the landmark. The funnel had been decorated in red & purple balloons as a nod to her 50 club & v25 club status going into the run.

It might have been a bit of a last minute exercise, but I think between us we provided Georgia with a memory to mark her 100th parkrun, one that was individual to her, yet still included some fun for everyone else that was at the parkrun as they got to see all the shenanigans around the park without it intruding on a normal run or walk.

We celebrated with some of the core team over breakfast. By mid morning my health was returning back to the current mean, my cocktail of drugs pre-parkrun were wearing off & it was clear that whilst an easy jog around parkrun was just about achievable, I definitely wasn’t fit for anything else.

Oakley 20 

The problem I had with not being fit to run, was that I wasn’t going to be fit to run the Oakley 20. A road race up near Bedford that I’d persuaded Alec to enter as well. An actual 20 mile race, even after the Wednesday debacle, I still felt I could give it everything, the time limit was generous enough to allow me a bit of a slow down in the second half.

Then the lurge hit. I’d let Alec know straight away that I’d be fighting to be fit for the race. It soon became very clear that even if I got close to full health, putting myself through 20 miles would probably lead to a relapse. Plus it was due to be bloody cold & grim.

So on Saturday I made the definite call & sold my place. With transfers available up until half an hour before race start & a sold out race, it was easy to pass the opportunity (if you can call 20 miles that).

Safe in the knowledge that I could dedicate all my energy to recovering, I got my head down for the night.

Despite the sleep debt & the illness, the body clock decided 6am on a Sunday was a really fun time to be awake.

Good job I suppose, there was an email from the race organisers. After attempting to carry on regardless of conditions, they’d decided to fall into line with the official advice & other events by cancelling. I let the chap who’d grabbed my place know, checked in with Alec, then got back to bed. Weirdly, I’ll now get a hoodie for an event I’ve not run!

The Eat

After the Wednesday run, I’d been in need of decent food all day. Being kid free for the evening, we headed to what is fast becoming a favourite in Stortford for us, eat 17.

After trying a couple of the concessions on previous visits (I’ve a particular liking for the Mexican food), we opted for a massive bowl of hearty pasta from the Italian stand. Perfect to fill the giant cavern created by running.

The Conclusion

Not the most amazing week to have so close to the marathon. I’m significantly under cooked, but there appears to be few folks I know that aren’t going through the mill a little. I’ve some anxiety about just how truly ready I am going to be, but I am accepting, slowly, that I’m doing as much as I can, London will just have to drag me along for the ride.

But the focus shouldn’t be on me this week. As Georgia reminds me, before we met, her parkrun experience had been limited to Harlow & Hatfield Forest. In the couple of years since we’ve had quite the journey! I wouldn’t want to have experienced it with anyone else, well, except when the kids get to join us for some fun as well.

There are times, such as at 6am with snow falling outside our bedroom in Paris that the silliness has been questioned. We’ve agreed to scale down some of the shenanigans, especially on family time, the teen loves his bed after all! We even have a holiday booked for somewhere without a parkrun (albeit there was once one).

Without Georgia, Saturday morning’s wouldn’t be quite as fun, invariably she finds herself enjoying it by the end of the run, even if the early start, weather, conditions etc don’t make the start line an appealing prospect.

Here’s one of my favourite photos from the past couple of years to sign off the week.