After my initial breathless commentary about getting into training for Huka, the weekend before last was a bit of a write-off. No real reason, other things were happening and driving for hours to Woodhill and back just couldn't be fitted in so the gym got a decent hit up instead. However, last weekend I made up for it with two rides at Woodhill, one with the Auckland MTB Club's Cranksistas group (awesome ladies) and one being my first event.
It's been a year since I entered a sporting event of any kind (almost to the week, the half marathon was at the start of September 2012) and I'd forgotten that jittery background of adrenaline that starts from when you wake up and keeps you going until the whistle. Driving up from south Auckland to Woodhill with decent weather, in various convoys of cars all with mountain bikes and stickers of various clubs and makes helped keep the jitters to the positive, motivating flavour rather than the "help-not-ready-eeek" variety. I have to say, driving up the steep "warm-up" hill at Woodhill past the punters to the event carpark was simultaneously gratifying and guilt-inducing, but ended up being the easiest bit of the whole day.
It was great to be at a start line with people I knew, even if I'd only met them the day before. The atmosphere was pretty relaxed, though there were a lot of superhero kids on carbon fibre 29" bikes that cost more than my car.
Photo not on its side, the bike is
The race itself wasn't actually as hard as I thought it would be, though that leaves a LOT of room for bloody hard. The first part of the course, a track called Uplands, was a good way to spread the pack out (being mostly up as the name would suggest) and I soon found myself comfortably at the back of the pack, pootling along at a pretty reasonable, sustainable pace. Unfortunately, nerves and not paying enough attention saw me nearly stack it coming off a drop a couple of k's in, leaving an absolutely phenomenal bruise on my thigh and making me squeak as I missed a tree by bugger-all.
Riding the course the day before with the 'Sistas was a mixed blessing. It was good to know where on the course I was and not to lose hope on the really drudge parts, but also dispiriting to know that there was another drudge part coming. There's a steep hill at the end of a trail called "Slippery's Delight" which I ended up walking every time, and I'm determined to crack the bastard eventually! The second lap wasn't as hard as I thought it'd be (traditionally I've always hated any event involving seeing the finish line before finishing), though there was some points where I had to give myself a stern talking to about making more of an effort.
So, the goals:
Finish
Finish in less than 2hr 30min
Both totally dusted, which was quite gratifying. Having completed longer distances down at the Taupo weekender with heaps of stops and chats etc. I wasn't 100% I'd be able to complete 22km in one go but despite one proper stop for a gel (delicious goo!) I did fine. Things to think about for the next one:
I now have replacement clipless pedals after my original posharse ones disappeared, so they're going on the bike tonight before a ride out Friday afternoon. Hoping using SPDs will speed me up a bit on the hills
I'm too good at coasting on gentle inclines and flats. After the big hills and niggly bits it's too easy to just pedal on tracks that require less effort. I had to really focus on changing up a gear or two and pushing that little bit harder. Need to work on this, possibly start with some laps at Totara on Friday
Aftermath.
Next event is the 2W Gravity Enduro down in Rotorua, which looks pretty different to a standard lap race and I'm pretty intrigued by. The holidays will be spent on the bike both here and away, I've a big long weekend of riding with the Cranksistas, then it's just a week (yikes!) to the Taniwha 60km. I'm still not convinced I'll be able to complete the full Huka, but I'd like to think I'm moving in the right direction.
One last thing that's on my mind about the weekend. I came last. Hard. A good seven minutes behind the second last. I didn't mind, I was happy to finish and finish strong, but I know I could have done better. Being slow was never a huge deal to me when I was running. After all, at least I was out there, right? I feel a bit different about this. I feel like I need to be faster and trying harder. I don't want to be last every time. It's nice to feel more driven this time, and to see something in the sport beyond the big event...
Things happened. In particular, my knee happened. And my back happened. Specialists happened. The marathon didn't happen. In fact, quite a lot didn't happen for a while. It wasn't a good time.
Thankfully, medical science has stabilised my back to the point where I can watch a movie without having to pause it while I get up and walk around to alleviate the pain, the doctor has given me a high chance of osteoarthritis in my knees unless I Do Something (thing not specified) and eventually demotivation brought on by the medical profession and chronic pain gave way to the grit-teeth fuckyouness of realising that my knees are like my tattoos. They might be shitty when I'm old but I may as well enjoy them know.
Which brings me back to the mountain bike. I have a new one, which fits and cost a not-tiny amount of money and gives me no end of joy. I also have a new ridiculous thing to aim for: the Huka Challenge. 85m off-road MTB event, held on the same day as the Taupo Cycle Challenge at the end of November. It's a bit terrifying.
And exhilarating. In terms of effort, the marathon pretty much compares I think. However, this feel different. My training schedule consists of daily workouts on the bike (road or spin), regular weights session at the gym and at least one weekend day out at Woodhill or one of the many other fine parks of the muddy and sweaty persuasion (which will increase as we get more daylight and I can go hit up Totara after work). Where running felt like a clockwatching exercise at times (the blog became a reason to run, I'd formulate posts on the long sessions), being out on the bike is a joy. Every time I go out I'm improving at something, every time I take on a track I manage an obstacle that I didn't before. It's a bit addictive.
On the 15th I have my first event, the first in the 20-25km Auckland Challenge series. There are three of those taking me up to a fortnight before Huka, as well as the 60km Taniwha in early November. The calendar is starting to fill up with weekends away and club rides (I actually joined a club this time) and my washing line is increasingly neon and containing funny-looking shorts.
With all this in mind it seemed right to reopen this blog of adventuring, just to keep tabs on the whole thing. At the moment I'm managing about 16-20km on long rides and I'm working on getting my cardio and lower body strength up (this weekend saw my legs go to jelly while the rest of me felt fine, which was a new experience!). MTB seems to have a bit less of the mystical waffle that surrounds marathon running, and at a recent training weekend the wizened cycle guru's sole advice was just "Ride more". Works for me....
Last month my friend and I decided to get ourselves into gear and cycle the Otago Rail Trail. We'd been talking about it for ages and with work taking me down to the South Island it seemed like the perfect opportunity!
Thursday I arrived in Queenstown, a town that's outrageously beautiful and incredibly full of drunken backpackers. I'd asked around for a place to stay before catching the coach to the start of the trail early the next morning and had been told The Base was a good bet. The smell of toilet bleach as soon as I walked through the doors didn't seem to bear that out, so I dumped my gear and decided to find something to do for a few hours. Turns out there's nothing to do in Queenstown of an evening in the shoulder season that doesn't involve booze, so after a really nice dinner at the "locals" Indian restaurant (venison curry! Chocolate naan bread!) I retired to bed with a book about hiking in NZ and the last of the chocolate naan, and managed to get an early one.
This proved pretty useful as at 3am that morning I was woken up by the sound of water being poured out. Turns out it was the very drunken young man in the bunk across from mine pouring out his bladder. All over his bunk. Fifteen minutes later I'm woken up by him sitting on my bed shining his phone into my eyes, demanding to know what had happened to his bed and why was it all wet? After a short, less-than-polite response I hunkered down and tried to sleep in a bunk that smelled like an unwashed jockstrap while the poor confused and pee-stained idiot woke up everyone else in the dorn to try to find out why his bed was wet. An auspicious start.
The rail trail begins!
Friday morning was made better by a bacon and egg roll the size of my head and a decent coffee as I waited for the coach. Despite weather warnings of the dire variety the weather was looking absolutely stunning as we pulled into Clyde where I'd meet my friend Fi and our rep from Shebikeshebikes, the company who'd put together our trip. Steve was very friendly and got us set up and ready to go on our incredibly comfortable bikes.
The first leg from Clyde to Chatto was glorious. Beautiful sunshine,
gentle countryside and only the occasional strong gust of wind (better
than the promised/threatened gale force winds and torrential rain). We started our coffee odyssey in the Chatto Creek Tavern, one of the local businesses that has blossomed with the trail and made us feel incredibly welcome and fed us delicious blue cod and chips.
Nice, eh?
The second leg out towards Lauder saw some rain blow in as the incline cranked up. Full of cod and chips and coffee it made for slow going, but eventually we got through the rain cloud and that made the incline easier to deal with. The rain held off until we were just outside of Lauder, where we were spending the night, when the sky went from threatening to ominous to deluge. Thankfully, the Lauder School House was absolutely wonderful, and we were ushered in to hot tea, biscuits and a good chat with the owner. The Lauder Tavern was closed for meals but the White Horse in Becks about 9km away was open and had a free taxi service! It turned out the White Horse was where I'd had lunch with my parents when they were visiting in 2011 for the RWC, and where I'd first got the idea to do the trail, so it was nice to return to it and have more delicious kai (you will not starve on the rail trail). After half a bottle of pinot gris and a steak sandwich we were in bed by half nine.
The wonders of Edwardian engineering
Saturday morning we were up early and out into the very cold morning. A storm had blown through in the night and there was fresh snow on the hills, giving us a chance to use our thermals. As soon as we left Lauder we entered absolutely stunning countryside. Viaducts, tunnels, and soaring back country gave us the finest views of the trail.
Fine views, freezing fingers.
Unfortunately, with wild country comes wildlife and the local magpies had decided that of all the cyclists on the trail I was the biggest threat to their nests. We got attacked a few times and I was actually hit twice (wear helmets, kids). We took to yelling and waving at magpies when we saw them swooping at us which must have made us look a bit hysterical to other trail users (not that there were many!). There were fewer as we dropped into the Ida Valley, a long, (false) flat stretch that led slowly towards Wedderburn and the highest point of the trail. It was a bit of a grind, though not as much as it must have been for the cyclists going the other way into a headwind. We stopped at the quirky Hayes Engineering Works, where they leisurely served us some delicious pumpkin soup and we got to have a poke about some old engineering sheds. From there, the tailwind helped get us up to Wedderburn and the top of the trail. We celebrated by the sign saying "It's all downhill from here!" with some giant jellybeans before heading on down to Waipiata and our second bed and breakfast.
Top of the trail, ma!
We had had to contact the Waipiata Hotel two weeks before we arrived to book our dinner, something of a record as far as I'm concerned as far as booking food goes. Waipiata was the quintessential central Otago farming hamlet. Gravel roads, utes, and a frankly concerning sign painted on a farm building as we walked to the hotel. However, the food was delicious, cooked on a barbecue outside by the owner in almost Scottish weather as we enjoyed a good glass of wine and some pretty, uh, quirky service. We walked back to our B&B a bit tipsy to the sound of frogs looking for other frogs, something I've never heard anywhere else in the country.
Haere mai!
We had to be the end of the trail in Middlemarch by two so that Fi could get her bus so we decided to get up and away early. We had 53km to cover but thankfully it was all downhill in beautiful weather and we made short work of the run to Hyde and coffee, then on to Middlemarch. It was a brilliant end to a fantastic few days, and the town is set up brilliantly for people coming off the trail. We ended our trip with a great lunch (really, so much awesome food) a hot shower, and some great stories from Dave (Cycle Surgery) on the journey to the Pukerangi train and Dunedin.
It was a fantastic few days and at about 50km a day really not a challenging physical workout. I've been busy telling everyone to do it and if you live in NZ there's really no excuse for taking a few days out and visiting this absolutely stunning part of the south island. Shebikeshebikes were absolutely rad as well, organising everything flawlessly and even phoning ahead to Chatto Creek on the first day to check that we were OK after the weather warning. I'd highly recommend them if you're looking for someone to make the organisation easy!
(I'm hopped up on green tea with lime and feeling creative. Therefore blogging will happen. I REGRET NOTHING!)
So today my good friend and occasional writing collaborator @amiewee put forth the following question on twitter:
Good question. I had no idea.
Then she asked:
Simple questions, yes? This was my first thought....
Why that one? I wrote about it in detail a few years ago as part of an attempt to do NaNoWriMo but I guess the short version is that it was the first time I remember going from being a spectator to a participant. My parents hadn't done it (at least in my living memory). It was something that was Mine. It was the first time I realised that things like this were possible, within reach of mere mortals, even 16 year old ones. The fact I nearly killed myself on my second jump just makes the lesson even more important I think. And man, was it fun to unearth some writing of mine from four years ago! I was preparing to move to NZ at that point. Interesting times.
But what else? I got thinking. Today's been one of those days that's invited lots of thinking. I've been productive, my room is clean and all the laundry is done. The rats are making a nest having been cleaned out, there's good tunes on the stereo, and the weekend has been full of happy times with good people. I've been alone today, but nothing approaching lonely.
So, what memories make themselves known immediately when I get asked this?
One that I think will stay with me forever is actually pretty recent. It was the morning after my motorcycle had been stolen. I'd been out of hospital only a few days. I remember lying in bed, and distinctly thinking "you have two options here. You can spend the day in bed feeling really down and nobody would blame you for that. Or you can get up and keep going." I remember it feeling like a real choice, one that went further than just that morning. Now, whenever I feel a bit overwhelmed by things, I just remember how I felt lying in bed that day, leg in plaster, painkillers not working, and how I still managed to get the hell up and fix what I could. Gritted teeth and all.
If I'd seen you nicking my bike bro, I'd have chased you. Cast or no.
Standing on the roof of an abandoned office block in East London, NYE 2004/5, watching the sun rise on a new year and toasting the dawn with a can of lager with people I'd met only weeks or hours before (some of whom I count as close as family today) also sits at the top. I'd been in the city a few months, and that was the moment I knew I wasn't going to move back to Glasgow, that I could make it here. Eight months later I was training to be a teacher, something I'd probably never have thought of if I'd gone north. Again, a total game-changer (and a hilarious night all round. Were my little parochial eyes opened to life in the big city that day)
Watching the sea haar roll in and over a massive island in the arctic ocean before totally enveloping it, in the weird milky sunlight that you get at midnight in that part of the world. Feeling awed at this otherwordly sight and thinking suddenly that it is sights like this that produce myths and religions. I remember being completely entranced, standing on this beach watching this alien seascape disappear before an advancing, inexorable force. I was 13.
Too crazy to take photos, have a poster instead
Standing front and centre for the gig Clutch played at the Kings Arms in 2010. I went with my oldest NZ friend and it was incredible. Intimate venue, absolutely packed with fans, music loud and intense and everything you want a gig to be. I had bruises on my hip bones from where the crowd had pummelled me into the stage. This was a gig like pop culture makes you imagine gigs should be like. No lesson really, just AWESOME NOISE.
Being woken up age tiny by my mum and dad in the middle of the night. I was bundled into a really warm jacket (my memory tells me it was furry) and taken outside, where the biggest aurora borealis was happening. I remember this huge curtain of red and gold like fire lighting up the sky like it was the end of the world, with green and blue flickers and jumps. Standing in the front doorway, looking out over a dark field and up to this hypnotic, terrifying and stunning display is one of my earliest memories and I am eternally grateful to my parents for thinking it was more important than sleep.
I was going to say that's my top 5 but it's six so you get one for free. They're maybe not the absolute happiest moments ever or the kind of days people say are their best memories, but they're the six that leapt out at me when I saw this so I guess they're the most important floating around in my brain right now.
I'd probably write about six different ones tomorrow.
Yesterday was one of those days where I felt that summer wasn't just teasing- she was actually here. I woke up to glorious sunshine and the sound of the kids next door playing outside with a noisy exuberance that was perhaps not entirely welcome at half seven in the morning, but nevertheless was an incitement to get out of my nest and Go Do Something. After looking at both my noble two-wheeled beasts I plumped for a day on the trails at Woodhill, got my stuff together, and headed up the highway to the playground.
I recently bought some MTB clip-in pedals and shoes from the awesome wiggle.co.nz, and I was desperate to try them out. However, whilst I have a semi-decent toolkit (thanks, dad!) I lacked the leverage to get the old flat pedals off. In a moment of genius I decided to take them to Woodhill with me and get them swapped over at the pro shop there.
It's like a gym and a nature trail and a playground in one!
I've been steadily accumulating bits and bobs for cycling since I recently rediscovered the joys of throwing a bike round a forest, and turned up with my shiny new shoes, a Camelbak, and iPod on one of those armbands that makes you feel half cyborg badass, half poseur who belongs on a crosstrainer at Les Mills. However, my bike is ten years old and has been, well, neglected is a kind way to put it, having been used variously as a commuter vehicle (London, once ending up under a car), a scourge of cycle tracks (Glasgow), an occasional off-road beastie (everywhere), and room/garage/outside ornament (also everywhere). I can do basic maintenance things to it but intermittent use and my epic levels of procrastination (hello, facebook and tumblr!) mean that it's a bit munted. As I wheeled it towards the pro-shop I got a hit of social awkwardness. Would I look like a prat for getting new clip-in pedals put on an outdated contraption that I've been riding my entire adult life? Would they look at my new shoes and "rehydration system" and think I was the worst kind of track-blocking waster?
And this is the crux of my post. That paralysing feeling that you somehow need permission to do something, especially something active. That unless you are a world champion you're not allowed to take part. That if you have new gear you're posing and if your gear is crap you're not taking it seriously. That you're too fat to wear workout gear, too old to skate. Whatever.
Like running, I'm slow on the mountain bike. I pull over for people behind me. I'm cautious on the downhills (though with every sortie into the woods I improve my skills and my speed) and my knee means I take it easy on the uphills. I wear cycling gear I pick up from the Warehouse or clearance sales. I'm new to the sport and it's like learning to ride a bike all over again a lot of the time. I see the "cool kids" with their disc brakes and their carbon shocks and feel a bit intimidated. What happens in the playground comes back to haunt you in adultland sometimes.
I guess that's where my experiences in roller derby have been so valuable. I felt that fear, that lack of "permission" to be there when I first started out. I felt it doubly so when, on my second ever practice, I got a bollocking by the coach for not being able to do one of the falls properly. If it hadn't been for some of the other skaters there who talked to me, made me feel like I DID have permission to be there, I probably would never have gone back. It was that feeling of inclusiveness and support from pretty much everyone there that kept me going back and made me determined to do well.
It was a lesson I remembered when I started coaching. Give people permission to be there. Be friendly, don't judge them for coming with a complete set of new gear bought online before even setting foot on the track, or for coming in skates bought when disco was in, or for coming with nothing. It doesn't matter. Elitism just strangles the enthusiasm that every sport or activity needs to keep going.
COVERED IN FARKLES.
I remembered all that as I asked for some help getting the pedals swapped over. The guy who helped me out clearly didn't give a stuff about how old my bike was, or that I was wearing a Kathmandu jersey and pink gloves. He just seemed happy to help out someone as keen on throwing themselves about the woods as he was. As ever, that feeling permission is needed came not from the experts, but from myself.
Of course, the bike suffered a major mechanical fail on the trails which means I might have to look at buying a new bike anyway, but that's beside the point. Don't feel you need to be brilliant at something just to start doing it. Don't feel like you need permission from the elite to enter their territory. Be honest about your skill level and confidence and you're only going to improve. Which you won't if you sit and wait for permission from people who in reality are just stoked to have you take an interest in their sport to begin with.
So my last post (and the first post in ages) was pretty dark. I don't apologise for that. Waking up to a sunny day and feeling pretty low about a life's ambition culminating in sweet bugger-all will lead to the kind of blogging usually done whilst listening to Mogwai and smoking endless cigarettes in a dingy basement.
However, I am never one to let the moodiness of one day affect another. Monday the 29th dawned with sunshine, work and the realisation that whilst I might not have run the Auckland marathon last weekend, neither did a lot of people and they managed this news just fine.
Not being able to run far and getting a diagnosis of Munted Kneecap (not a medical term) has given me a chance to do a bit of a damage inventory, and figure out where I'm going from here. The inventory is pretty long, and rather painful.
Right knee. Munted.
Left shoulder. Munted (have spent my entire adult life sleeping on my left side with my shoulder thrown forward. Apparently it's not built to withstand that)
Lower back. Slightly munted (prolapsed disc from poor form doing a deadlift in 2009)
Left ankle. Still not full range of motion, and are scars still supposed to hurt after this long?
So, where to start? What's the next goal? After years of signing up to races, events, sports etc. I decided to change gear slightly. I want to Not Hurt. I want the injuries to heal, to build up the muscle and tendon that will help hold everything in place and let me do what I want without worrying about this giving way or that stopping me from sleeping at night.
Toy store/bedroom
It's a different way of looking at my body. One where I'm working with it, not in spite of it. Getting back to the body as an ergonomic tool, rather than something to be tortured and pushed.
So with that in mind, I joined a new gym in town. One where rugby players train and there's loads of classes on all the time (it even has a pool!). I'm going to yoga 2-3 times a week, spin classes, pilates and weights classes. I've signed up with a PT to put together a recovery program. My new (to me) road bike is making me happy, as is my very old mountain bike. I've thrown my scales away. I go out with friends instead of a run and don't feel guilty. It's all a bit new and weird and really quite good.
Today, 28th October, was the day I was meant to have completed the Auckland marathon. Instead, I've spent the day feeling utterly wretched. No Saucony trainers have been laced up, no 4am ferry to Devonport caught, nothing. Instead, I read Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. I drank some coffee. I felt a bit lost. No finishers medal will adorn my wall.
The trouble all began back in June. Actually, scratch that. It began back in 1998, when my right kneecap dislocated during a game of lasertag. And again in 2001, stepping over a low bench in a night club. In 2008, reaching for the final hold on a climbing wall problem I'd been trying to complete for a few weeks. And finally, in June 2012, when it popped out of its track doing a turnaround toe stop. I wrote at the time that normal walking and running were fine. That wasn't strictly true.
On the final k of the Whangamata half marathon, 1/9/12.
I made the error of thinking that by seeing a physio a couple of times and resting it a bit that it'd be fine. What I didn't bank on was, as the kilometres increased, the knee would become more swollen and painful. I bought Voltaren and ice packs thinking that if I treated the symptoms the cause would also go away. I prescribed to the "she'll be right" attitude of injury management until I couldn't ignore the grinding I (and others) could feel when I straightened and bent my knee, the "give" of the patella after 18k or so, the near-inability to drive home after my half-marathon in Whangamata (at least I can say I completed one of those). With just under two months to go to the marathon and my excuses not to make my runs wearing thin (no, it's nothing serious, just work/friend's birthday/neighbour's cat's funeral) I realised that attempting to run more than a half marathon distance could be Very Bad and bit the bullet.
The doctor was concerned. She agreed that knees don't do what my knee was doing. I was sent for X-rays. And an ultrasound. Then more x-rays (to discount a possible fracture of the kneecap). Then an MRI. An orthopaedic specialist. Surgery was mooted.
I went from the 28th of October being my D-Day, my focus, to having nothing. A kind of medical limbo. I cycled. I swam. I waited for appointments. I didn't run. I felt out of control, helpless. I felt angry with myself for going to the doctor at all (it would be fine if I just carried on!), and angry for not going sooner. I felt like those times when the marathon seemed to hard had come back to bite me harder than I felt I deserved. The feeling of letting people down and some other, totally unrelated things in my personal life tipped me into a pretty dark place for a while. If I'm honest, I'm not out of it yet.
right knee, skyline view.
Five days before I should have been lining up in Devonport, the specialist came back with the diagnosis. Fissuring of the cartilage under the kneecap. No surgery needed immediately (thank god) but I may need some to loosen the tendons on one side of the patella in the future. Rock climbing was off the "things to do on a weekend" menu. Cycling and swimming were on. Gentle jogging was acceptable. I didn't ask about distance, I don't think I wanted to know.
I'd managed to get my head around not doing the marathon before today. I've moved house, joined a new gym, got a road bike and started cycling to work (a round trip of 42km, amusingly). I've got a new job starting next year. It's been a sunny weekend.
Today though, today's floored me. Waking up this morning to a beautiful sunny day, knee actually aching (which it does nearly all the time), well, it's not been easy.
I feel like my body's failing on all fronts. My lower back still hurts from popping a disc in 2009 (weightlifting, as you do), so I quit weightlifting in case I hurt myself again. My ankle still doesn't have full range of motion from the accident, and I quit skating. Now I'm told I can't rock climb, and have to carefully consider things like hiking as descents can cause permanent damage. I don't know what to do next.
So yeah, that's what happened. This blog seems to have had it's fair share of triumphs and failures and I leave this update feeling very lost. I don't know what to do next, if in fact I should set myself any sort of physical challenge as I just seem to injure myself out of them.
Thanks for all the encouragement, aroha and support both on this blog and IRL. Thanks to those who donated money to the Red Cross. I'm sorry I couldn't see it through.
I started putting this post together about halfway through today's long run, which took in the first part of the marathon course and a meander around Auckland's north shore. A fantastic weekend had been marred by the news that the first man to walk on the moon, Neil Armstrong, had passed away at the age of 82, and I was feeling contemplative as I slowly negotiated the streets of Milford.
If one is feeling reductionist about things, an 82 year old man has died. This sort of thing happens all the time. He lived a good life by all accounts, was a well-respected academic and administrator in the post-Apollo years, a father and a husband. But for the 29th of July 1969, his death would be sad but not unsurprising, he would be mourned by those who loved him and that would be that.
But he was not just an 82 year old man. He was much, much more than that. With his passing we have lost a man who did one of the truly great Firsts of earth's history. We may not know who the first creature to use fire was, or who rode a horse for the first time, or used language. But until today we shared a world with the very first human, the very first creature of our world's billions of years of evolution and change, to set foot on a celestial body that was not this one. And that is a loss that is immeasurable. There may be others who are the first to step on Mars, or Europa, or further afield, but he was the Very First. And now he is gone.
As is so often the case in our culture, there's already a backlash (to a man dying. Christ on a trampoline).
"Oh, he was just the one that landed, thousands of people got him there"
"They never landed anyway"
"Macho white imperialist bullshit. They could have spent that money on famine/ending war/me"
Is it weird of me to find this thinking actually upsetting on some level? I'm sad that people are so closed-minded, so lost to something larger, that they can't grasp what this stood for. Not just the first American. Not just the first white guy. Not just the first man. Not just the first human. But the first anything from this entire planet. From all the things that are, or ever were. The first to step off this tiny little marble to somewhere else.
Yes, he didn't get there alone. But his name will be one that carried their, and our, collective accomplishment into the future. A humble man who loved flying, who never cashed in on the incredible thing he had done. His is the name that will be remembered in a thousand years from our time. As Neil DeGrasse Tyson said on twitter today:
Would the money spent on getting him there have been spent on famine? Or ending war? No. Would it have ended either? Also no. The US spends more on pet food every year than they do on NASA. It's comforting to think that, regardless of the motives of the top brass, money was thrown into something that changed everything in a positive way for once.
And if you don't think we actually went to the moon then get the hell off my blog.
What has this got to do with running? Nothing, on the surface. The man himself infamously quipped that
"We all have a finite number of heartbeats, and I don't intend on wasting any running up and down the street"
However, wasting heartbeats or not, I felt extra motivation today. I felt that by striving to move myself forward, to do something more with myself than just what is easy, to do something positive, I was trying to emulate one of my few real heroes. Will this endeavour that I'm putting myself through change anyone but me? I highly doubt it. But it is a desire to be something more than I am which is, I feel, something that all of us should be aiming for in some way. Something that was until today embodied by Neil Armstrong.
For all mankind.
However, epochal as this news was, it was not the only thing that had my attention as I considered the relative merits of a jambag at 12k or holding off to 14. Another Armstrong had been in the news for a more insignificant though still interesting reason. Lance Armstrong, seven time Tour de France winner and all-round cycling Titan, had decided not to contest charges of blood-doping brought against him by the US Anti-Doping Agency (USADA). In doing so, he has all but admitted to taking performance enhancing drugs and cycling's governing body (the UCI) agrees with USADA, he will be handed a lifetime ban from the sport and stripped of his titles. The reaction to this news in the sporting world has been huge. Most pundits have condemned Armstrong and his actions, with support being seen as a patriotic duty by some rather than a considered stance.
I've always held a rather ambivalent view about drug use in sport. It always seemed like an interesting thing to single out when athletes do so many weird and wonderful things to their bodies in order to excel. Hyperbaric chambers, creatine, branch chain amino acids, all fine. But a drug that boosts the amount of red blood cells (effectively a pharmaceutical oxygen tent or high-altitude training camp)? Worth a ban and losing your titles. I don't want to talk about this ad infinitum but I can highly recommend the attached documentary Bigger Stronger Faster which mainly focuses on steroid use but has a few interesting points to make, even if I don't agree with all of them.
What got me about this story (and what it has to do with my marathon) is what people will do in the pursuit of their goals. If Neil was the embodiment of the positive trait of striving to be more than we are, what does that make Lance?
It's a relevant story to me as I have been grappling recently with the desire to shed some weight to make running easier on myself versus the need to not obsess over what I eat and potentially lapse into some disordered eating patterns that have plagued my adult life. Since losing weight I have become very twitchy about food (I have talked about this elsewhere on here) and to be in a situation where everything I read talks about the importance of a 100% balanced, weighed, portioned-out diet 100% of the time has made it very difficult to relax about what I eat. The guilt has made training this week especially very difficult and I've found myself becoming resentful, even petulant, at the self-imposed demands made on my life by this race.
How much of yourself can you sacrifice for the goals you set yourself?
Lance's story brought me up short. Here's a man who, one imagines, could have won all those titles regardless of EPO or steroids or whatever. Anyone driven enough to recover from metastatic cancer to be able to compete again would, one imagines, be able to win clean. But in a sport where 86% of the TdF winners have been accused of drug use, how do you fight that temptation? Everyone has their limits on what they are willing to do to reach their goals. Some people give up their favourite foods. Some sleep in oxygen tents. Some people take drugs. What was I willing to do for my goals? Was I willing to sacrifice my mental well-being, my health, for this goal I have set myself? Was a self-imposed time limit on finishing the marathon worth months of denial, of guilt when I caved in to temptations that others thought nothing of? What was I willing to do?
And so, as I made my final descent back into Devonport, face contorted from exhaustion and tiredness (I've never come so close to crying on a run as I did today) I decided something. No final time is worth making sacrifices that I'm not comfortable making, that don't sit well with me as a person. I'll strive and I'll keep going and it'll hurt but I'm drawing the line right here on what I will and won't do for this. That I'll finish the marathon is a given. Everything else is an extra. Striving for the best in me without unleashing the worst.
First off, holy shit that was a lot of interest in my last post! Nearly 2000 views of my post explaining why Hell Pizza are bad citizens. That's a lot of angry pizza-eaters. Thanks to everyone who read, commented, discussed, and ultimately got Wellington Rape Crisis enough funding to stay open five (five!) days a week. If only we could have these essential services WITHOUT having to have the public outcry first (OK, imagine a world where we didn't need rape crisis centres. Much better)
Back in the world of the marathon, things are.....progressing. I guess. I had a rebellious weekend where instead of a two hour run on Sunday I lay in bed with the curtains drawn and cursed whoever invented pinot gris, and was still feeling a bit crap yesterday. Today the sun was shining and spring had most definitely arrived on the porch so I decided to go for a 10k or so to blow the cobwebs out. Of course, good weather and a slight feeling of guilt meant that I overdid it a little and ended up running nearly 15k, before my body decided that a packet of ramen noodles and a cup-a-soup was inadequate for the demand placed upon it, energy gels be damned.
Speaking of delicious "jam in a bag" nutritional options, I discovered my local supermarket sells Horleys' jambags at $13 for 5. The raspberry ones taste pretty un-raspberry-like but aren't too bad when washed down with some NUUN and water, and they do the job, so I think I'll stick with them for the time being. It occurred to me today (nomming a gel every 5 or so k) that having a gel when running is as close to the effect you see spinach having on Popeye as a real human is likely to get. I had definitely not eaten nearly enough for a 15k run today but having the gel made the legs feel less fatigued, the muscles less sore and almost put a spring in my otherwise weary step.
That's not a cigar, that's some Chocolate Outrage
I'm getting better at the whole nutrition thing but still haven't quite nailed it. With just over two months to go it's time to really dig in and get all those cliches about giving it everything and aiming high that us runners bloody LOVE. I have to say, though, that part of me is feeling a bit rebellious. I've been training for this bloody thing for nearly four months now, and I find myself feeling almost resentful at times. Hangovers are bad enough without a feeling of guilt that I should be hitting the pavement. A hard day at work is only compounded by the dilemma of a) going for a run when making some toast feels like a big ask or b) making toast instead and sitting looking at Tumblr feeling like the unfittest, biggest marathon loser in the world for not running. Ugh. It makes me reconsider my idea of the Half Ironman next year. Is this really how I want my life to be? Further weekends of wine denial so I can plod my way round yet another course? Endurance events are very much a lifestyle choice and I guess I don't know if I'm, I dunno, good enough? Too slow and self-conscious for the running clubs, I don't feel like I've made the friends and connections that I had sort-of-hoped I would through running. Social awkwardness is magnified when you're wearing running tights and jiggling.
Still, I'm getting towards that marathon finish line. Slowly, so slowly, but I'm getting there. First ever half marathon in just over a week, and I'm feeling pretty psyched about it. I'm enjoying the feeling of being able to run 10k, not as an "OMG LONG RUN HOLY SHIT" but as a fairly generic shorter gig. I'm enjoying the realisation that I can absolutely do this. I'm also enjoying planning what wine I'm going to buy for the first weekend of November.
I'm not going to sleep well tonight. I don't after things like this. Tomorrow I'll be scritchy and grumpy and snap at the students and hide at the back of the staffroom with a book or something so I don't have to make small talk. I'll be like this because I'm upset. I'm upset and I'm angry.
I'm angry because I live in a world where fast food companies believe that rape sells pizzas.
"Don't read of you are easily offended" Or, y'know, against raping people.
I'm angry that I live in a world where people think that not only is rape and sexual assault OK, it's actually marketable. That people who are dithering over which fast food choice to make of an evening might be swayed towards a company that rewards accounts of sexual violence. I live in a world where people who can drive, vote, be parents, teach kids, not just defend this marketing but don't think there's an issue in the first place. Apparently putting a mask on and sticking your genitals in the mouth of a complete stranger isn't rape, it's FUNNY. HAHAHAHAHA. FUNNY.
WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH YOU PEOPLE.
Not pictured: misanthropy
It brings out all kinds of horrific feelings in me. the people all posting their "LOLS" and "SHOT BRO" high-five bullshit could be the people who drive the night bus. They might be the guy working the late shift at a bar. They might be the driver of your taxi. To quote Fight Club "We guard you while you sleep".
How safe is that meant to make me, a denizen of this country, feel? That maybe the bouncer at the club where I saw that girl blind drunk isn't going to put her in a cab, because he thinks rape isn't a problem? Maybe the teenager I teach is going to have something hideous done to her by a person known to her who thinks she just needs to lighten up? Maybe some dude is going to wake up, a bit drunk, a bit disorientated, to find himself being violated by a masked assailant and then read an account of his being violated on facebook, along with hundreds of comments applauding your assailant's actions?
What's almost as bad as the original post was Hell Pizza's response.
Not "We are very sorry. We were wrong". They apologise to "those offended". "They saw the bad light the post could be taken in."
WELL THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR CARING, YOU PATRONISING BASTARDS.
Apparently, being a masked rapist is offensive depending on the light quality! It can be seen as a prank, y'know, between friends! Shit, I bet this stuff happens all the time!
"Hey bro, you remember that time you were asleep and I, like, totally raped you?"
"Shit yeah dude, you really violated me! In front of a crowd of people! Fuckin' A!"
Because that is what friends do, apparently. They rape each other. For the lulz.
Now, clearly I am doing friendship wrong. When I went to friend upset about the assault I went through, I should have asked to be orally violated! Would have cheered me right up. When, late at night, talk has turned to the outrages we've suffered at the hands of others, and tears have been shed and glasses drained, what we should have done is commit an act of sexual indecency on someone! Silly me!
So, people, here's the thing. If you think hearing about someone being raped is funny, then you're an apologist for rape. That means you think rape is acceptable. To do so means you side with the rapist, not the victim. There's no "lighten up" on this one. If you work in a company that uses tactics like this to sell your wares, you are implying that you think your customers are rape apologisers, or worse. That's not a matter of a dodgy lightbulb, that's you using rape. To sell pizza.
I'm waiting for the men's marathon to start, which is the final event in the 2012 Olympics. I don't know about you, but I've absolutely loved the games and found them pretty inspiring. Further down the athletic pecking order, I've had a busy if inconsistent couple of weeks since my awesome ten mile run at the end of July, so I'm just going to put up some bullet points and maybe return to a few of these later...
I smashed another PB today and popped my 20km cherry. I ran part of the Auckland marathon course in reverse (St. Heliers to the Viaduct and back). I had a brilliant time and was making a steady pace until the last 3km, where I bonked/hit the wall. The last 3km were absolute torture, I was still running but so, so slow. Finished at my car 2 hours 39 minutes after I left it and waded into the sea to cool my feet and legs. Memo to self: take more gels.
On that note, GU's "Chocolate Outrage" is both hilariously named and delicious (and has caffeine in it!) Also used NUUN's lemon/lime tablets in my new water belt to keep me hydrated, which worked a treat. Bought some Horley's raspberry gels at the supermarket this evening so we'll see how they go next week. I'm experimenting with different gels to see what I want to use on race day.
I'm also starting to use a Nathan water belt for longer runs. It initially felt very odd having what is
I stopped feeling like a poser with this after the first 5k.
essentially a posh bumbag bouncing around when I was running, but I got used to it very quickly. The design is excellent and it was nice having another little pocket to store things!
Speaking of buying things, my new Shock Absorber bras are AMAZING (despite having to send one back due to a defect). Boobs feel supported and even after a long run there's no discomfort. Full review once I've worn them in a bit more.
Had some great runs the week after my ten miler but fell sick with some child-vectored leurgy on Friday afternoon (yay timing!) and spent almost the entire weekend in bed watching well people be athletic. Had planned to run my 20k then so a week's delay isn't so bad. Was kind to myself and took over a week off running to recover. I have a nasty tendency to pick up chest infections from colds (I'm a whopping cough baby) so wanted to avoid that if at all possible.
My gym offers a free 30 minute massage every month (which I pay to turn into an hour). The new masseuse is, erm, interesting. Let's just say it's hard to feel positive about your body when an extremely thin Asian woman is grabbing the fat on your inside thigh and jiggling it.
It looks like third time's the charm for my running shoes, as the Mizuno Wave Inspires have left me blisterless and as pain free as my feet are likely to get after nearly three hours of running. Such a relief.
The NZ website Running Plus has contacted me about reviewing some equipment for them, which is very exciting. Not really able to talk too much about it at this stage but it's a fantastic opportunity! In the meantime please check out their page and like them on facebook if that's your thing.
I attended two marathon-related seminars within the space of about a week. One by Mat Lewisham on preparing a good training program for the marathon, one by Tracey Wheeler on nutrition for endurance athletes. Both offered some useful bits of information and Mat especially did a good job of answering my questions about my training and it was very comforting to hear that I am exactly where I should be on this journey and what I need to tweak about my program to help prevent overtraining. There'll be a separate post about these seminars sometime this week.
The marathon is 11 weeks away, and in just under three weeks' time I'll be lining up for my first half marathon in Whangamata. Hard to believe that six months ago I was having surgery on my ankle to remove the plate and pins, and a year ago (almost to the day!) since I had my accident. To be well on my way to achieving a life's ambition after these setbacks is very exciting.
Speaking of ambition, I'm considering life post-marathon. I don't want to go through all this training, push this hard and get this fit just to fritter it away after the final k. I like my fitness being such an integral part of my schedule, and I like the feeling of working towards a challenge. I am considering entering the Auckland Half Ironman, held on the 16th March. Obviously this is dependend on lots of different variables but I'm keen to have something to train for after the 28th October and I do enjoy my multisport to we'll see. Watch this space!
It's nearly midnight on a Saturday night and I'm typing this whilst wearing a head torch because the lights blew in my flat this evening but I am so incredibly stoked about today that an update needed to be written. Today my mind triumphed over my matter and I completed the oldest road race in Auckland, the Glen Eden 10 Miler. Not only did I complete it, I loved every second of it.
Last night I'd resisted the temptation to stay out late with all my awesome friends and get a bit drunk on free cocktails (willpower, I didn't know I had it) and go home early in anticipation for this event. This led me to feel a bit crap about the whole endeavour. The marathon is now three months away (exactly, at least for another half hour anyway) and it's causing me to pike on fun social things. The distance and supplied map (with frankly TERRIFYING height graph) left me feeling out of my depth in terms of being able to complete, and the fact they anticipated everyone finishing within 1:45 made me feel like I was punching WAY above my weight with this one. This wasn't a "Fit is fun! All fitnesses catered for!" event. This was a "You must be this fit or higher to enter" and I felt like I'd been caught out standing on a book. It was with a sense of extreme trepidation that I drove out to Glen Eden on a gloriously sunny afternoon. Could I do it? Could I hit ANY of my goals for this event? I had nightmares of being picked up by a tail end charlie van and removed from the course for extreme slowness.
Thankfully, the Glen Eden Harriers are the friendliest bunch of runners you could hope to meet. After registering I was given a ten minute head start on the gun so I wouldn't finish too far behind the pack, and I even got my own photo taken of the off! Every marshal had a positive word and once I started being overtaken (by about the third kilometre) other runners were full of encouragement as they nipped past. Weirdly, knowing the massive hill was coming made it easier to handle and I was able to give a happy response to the overtakers even after three k of incline! The beautiful scenery of the Waitakeres helped and I got caught up in being somewhere new.
I had aimed to complete the run in 2 hours and felt pretty good to pass the half-way mark at 59:30. Unfortunately the next 2k consisted of the steepest part of the hill and my speed, erm, decreased. HOWEVER I managed to keep running (or at least making a running motion with my body, the speed aspect not so much), only taking a few walking steps at the the blessed water stop at the 10km mark. It was about here that the plethora of sticky plasters I'd put on to prevent bra-chafing came off, and my new trainers decided to start giving me arch problems (back to the shop tomorrow, sadly) However, I was rejuvenated by the refreshment and the last few inclines were taken with good humour and the final descent into Glen Eden was done pretty quickly, though as I could feel my legs feeling incredibly heavy on the flat I doubt I'd have run the whole way without the steep descent. I romped home in 2:03 (according to my watch), a proud last place but absolutely overjoyed at how I'd done. I got a warm congratulations from the timekeepers, who humoured me with my revelation that it had been the furthest I'd ever run and one chap even took my transponder off for me as I must have looked in no fit state to manipulate anything off my foot.
The club had laid on an afternoon tea for the runners and I gave in to my ravenous belly and had some cakes, pies, cookies and two cans of diet coke before the prizegiving (unfortunately my belly rebelled against this feast once I got home- too much, too rich, too soon. Oops).
Spot prize!
Excitingly, I managed to win my first running spot prize! As you can see, it's a lamp and some place mats. I actually needed a lamp so that's rad, but placemats would require a dining table so we'll have to see what else I can do with them. I spoke to a fair few of the harriers and found them to be extremely friendly and approachable, which makes me think that joining a club might not be such a dumb idea.
I was considering trying my luck at the Taupo half marathon next weekend but as they've upped the prices I may go check out the YMCA marathon club instead. I shall report back!
I feel like I've crossed a massive barrier with this event. If I can run ten miles, I can run 26.2 miles. If I can grit teeth for two hours, I can grit them for five. If I can run up THAT hill, I can run over the harbour bridge. I thought to myself on the drive there "If I fail this, then the marathon is over". Looks like we're good to go for a while yet...
Event goals
Complete (done)
Run entire event (done)
Complete event in two hours or less (close!)
Body report
Massive blister on arch of left foot and toe on right foot (taking shoes back for refit)
Cuts/chafing from sports bra despite taping (new bras in transit!)
Stiffness and ouch from not stretching properly after run (don't do that again- stretch before cake, always)
Sick from too much cake too soon after event (just because there is a massive spread doesn't mean you have to try all of it)
Ah, Public Enemy. Always so very quotable (apart from the anti-Semitic stuff). Yes indeed, according to marathon coach, I am 30% through my program and have completed the base (BASE!) section of my program.
As you might be able to guess from me quoting Chuck D, I am feeling a bit better about the whole thing compared to Tuesday. In marathon training, as in politics, a lot can happen in a week. Here's the stats rundown:
30% completed
Total distance: 226.66km (though a few of those are cross-training k's from cycling round Scottish islands)
Weight: 84kg
93 days to go
So, what's happened? I woke up on Wednesday morning (in my current role I start later on Wednesdays) still feeling rotten about the notion of running but determined to push through. This, I decided, is the difference between people who line up at the start on marathon day and those who don't. I laced up my new shoes (still getting some arch bruising on my left foot but I'm waiting to see if it sorts itself out as I break the shoes in), queued up some tunes and set out on my Wednesday pace run. Thirty minutes easy warm up, then 5x 2min at half marathon pace with 1min recoveries, then a 16 minute slow jog cool down to round off the hour. Due to heavy rain over the previous few days the humidity was surprisingly high given the early hour, but what a luxury to run in daylight!
XTERRA give you a free official photo. That's my "fuck you, hill" face.
And you know what? I hated every bloody minute of it. By the time I reached 30 minutes I felt ready to throw in the towel. My "fast" intervals felt like I was wading through molasses. My slow run recoveries were a fast walk. But I bloody did it, the whole frickin' hour. It felt like a huge victory, like I'd taken a step towards getting through this rough patch (the alternative title of this post was going to be "Tramping the Hump" after a glorious strapline in Wilderness magazine. Totally unrelated to running but it summed up my feelings). Plugging in my measly distance into the iPod was incredibly satisfying.
Yesterday evening I also discovered a secret (OK, not that secret) weapon in the War on 42.2. Yoga. I've mentioned yoga a few times on here, but I confess to falling out a regular practice in the last year or so (no time, or so went the excuse). However, on the urging and recommendation of a good friend I turned up at The Loft in the city and I can say they were not wrong! The Wednesday night class is a fun, physical class with lots of balance poses and deep forward and back bends that did a great job of stretching out and loosening those muscles that felt so miserable in recent weeks. In addition, they throw in a delicious cruelty-free vegetarian meal (with pudding) afterwards for free! It's a really nice, relaxing space and I can recommend checking out the class if you're in the area.
In addition to yesterday's successes, my running Obi-Wan Jane sent me an email after my last post, saying she knew someone who was about the same speed as me and that we should get together for runs. This evening we met up and went for a leisurely spin round the local park. It was ace! Both our training programs had an "easy" run, and it was really refreshing to have exactly that. No busting my arse trying to keep up, just a genuine easy run with someone new to talk to. We're going to run again next week and see about making our easy runs a joint effort, which would be great for my motivation and also to stop seeing every run as an exercise in pain.
The other day I put down over $100 on two Shock Absorber bras from Wiggle. Why, you ask? Er, because of this:
And that is literally half the story.
This is what happens when you train for hours a week in a bra that might fit great and support you, but isn't actually designed for running. The Shock Absorber Run bras have won awards so I'm betting my boobs on them making running a less painful experience. If they don't get here by Saturday I'll be running the Glen Eden Ten Miler with big sticky plasters and a pained expression....
As a final note, I have stopped listening to music on every run but find it useful on the big ones and the speedwork. This mix by Freq Nasty has a remix of Bring the Noise about halfway through that led to the title of this post. My mate Magneze has put together some ace techno mixes that are great for running too, this is his latest one. (link to download further down page)
I'm having one of those days where the enormity of the task I have set myself is sinking in. Where it feels like as ridiculous and impossible a task as it's possible to undertake. It's not nice.
Today I decided to face my fears and go running with a social running group. Facebook and the internet has details of millions of them, but one was near my house, seemed very friendly and after I met the guy in charge at XTERRA on Sunday I felt ready to take the plunge and run with that most terrifying of creatures, Other People.
I've been in training now for a shade under two months, so I figured I would slot in with their slow pack. The meet point was a cheeky 2 k or so from my house so I figured a gentle warm up run to the start, introduce myself, 5k tempo run, then a slow jog/walk home. All in keeping with my plan, all good.
I am acutely aware of not possessing a runner's build. I am stocky. I jiggle. I am (thanks to holiday cheese and barbecue) 84kg which puts me firmly in the "Athena" weight class (I love that). At XTERRA there were loads of us Athenas and Clydesdales on the start line and it was great. At the running group, I was the only one. My blistering 6:30 min/km time to the start now seemed a bit pathetic in the face of five or six incredibly fit long-term runners who looked like they had been built for speed not comfort. There was no slow pack.
I lasted about ten minutes at their pace. I'm quite proud of that. I'm not fast at all and to be able to keep pace for a bit was just awesome. Then I found that no matter how hard I tried, the gap kept widening. No biggie, I thought, I'll just run my own pace. Then the group leader saw that I had fallen behind and dropped back to keep me company.
To his eternal credit, he didn't make a big deal out of it at all. He didn't initiate conversation but answered my gasped questions with enthusiasm (given I sounded like I was in the latter stages of labour he probably thought conversation would kill me. He may have been right). Eventually I said that he should go on once we got through the park, that I would run up the infamous Chinaman's Hill and make my way home at my own pace. Again to his credit, he did. No cajoling, no reproach. Thanks dude.
It's all me, I know. The schoolyard fear of being the fat kid in glasses left on the bench. I faced my social/fitness awkwardness fear and had it realised anyway. I walked up the hill and home feeling angry and bitterly frustrated with myself and my slow, heavy body. After all this effort, all the sacrifices I'd made, why is this still so goddamn hard?
I appreciate the gains I have made. I can run 5k in 32 minutes. I can run 10k in just over an hour. Hell, I can run 10k. I know my neighbourhood better than most long term residents. I am sticking to the program (minus the short, cheese-powered trip home). I'm making progress, I have to be.
But the shine has worn off the challenge and the days are short. The weather's grossly uninspiring, the run program is only asking for more time and mileage, and it won't slacken off until the final few weeks before the big day. This is the part of training where marathon runners are decided, not on the start line. This is where I either grit teeth, toughen up and continue to lace up those bloody shoes four days a week, or where I make my excuses and go find something else to do with my time.
So, tomorrow is meant to be a 60 minute pace run, then there's a 40 minute easy run on Thursday before Saturday's ten mile event. I'm dreading all of them, but I'll make every single one. Hopefully.
Today's been a big day running wise, and this merited a post all to itself. A few weeks ago I wrote a post about the merits of my new running shoes, and how they were wonderful and rad. Well, as the weeks wore on it transpired that they were less amazing than I first thought. Not for me the usual blisters on the heels or the toes, oh no. My shoes were bruising and blistering the arches of my feet. It would be OK for the first 5k or so but then it start to be sore and after ten kilometres it'd feel crippling. My run on Wednesday culminated in my hobbling home as a result (it's a surprisingly sensitive area!)and I felt it was time to do something about it. I had bought my original pair from Shoe Clinic, a chain that offers the full monty of video gait analysis, sizing etc. etc. They also offer a 30 day return policy on shoes that have been prescribed by them. Due to my holiday I was outside the 30 days, but I figured they might be able to suggest an insole or something that would stop the pain.
They say that if you get good service somewhere, you tell one person. Get bad service, you tell ten. I figure that good service is worth as much airtime as bad so I want to go on record here and say that Shoe Clinic Ponsonby were brilliant. The two sales staff got me back on the treadmill in bare feet to see if they could ID the problem, then after a lot of conferring as to how to fix the problem got me another type of shoe. After some more treadmilling, they did a swap on the shoes, and even showed me how to lace my left shoe to hold the foot in place better in the trainer (there's more movement on that side apparently). No grumping about doing an exchange, hell they even said if the problem persists to come back and see what else can be done! They were also happy to spend time and talk about their own training for the marathon, and swap running stories. As a relative newb who hardly has a runner's build, it's really nice to be treated as an equal and not patronised.
ASICS Gel Cumulus 14- more neutral than a beige sweater in Zurich
I'm absolutely over the moon about this as I couldn't afford another $250 for shoes (I need a decent running bra but that's a whole other story) but I couldn't keep running in the ones I had. So cheers guys, I really appreciate it and I recommend them 100%
Note: I didn't get anything from Shoe Clinic for this review, they didn't know I was writing this, etc. etc.
