SMOOTH OPERATOR

WARNING: MAY CONTAIN TMI.

Yesterday I managed to avoid the fraction fest of Wednesday’s session and get through 56 minutes in an oddly smooth way. The first segment was 30 minutes, then I walked for 1 minute – thus neatly bamboozling the 31-minute WALL. I even had three minutes in the middle 40s when I forgot I was on the treadmill. Probably because I was thinking so much about the expansionist blister on my left foot which is even at this moment threatening to invade Poland. There seemed to be an ugly minute of what I would term ‘blister shift’ when I thought the whole thing was somehow moving down the instep and about to burst. I envisioned taking my trainer off to a spectacle of broken waters, mangled flesh wound and in-shoe Ground Zero. Or maybe the magnificently runable tyoone by Paul Hardcastle saved the day. Not N-N-N-Nineteen, but Don’t Waste My Time.

In fact this whole blister thing is a huge sod. I am just starting to get somewhere with this charade and feel fine about running 30 minutes (the longest, surely, that I have ever run in my entire life in one go) and then breezily doing another 25 minutes with only a swig of water in between – and then the Great Blister Debacle of 2009. Of course, only contradictory wisdom could be had from the NHS website (which seems obsessed with the possibility of infection) and Runners World where runners like to pontificate on TMI. Runner’s trots, anyone? Anyway, I bought some microporous surgical tape although I’m not quite sure why.

A great test illuminated tonight’s programme. Friends came over for an oddly timed (4.30 pm) spring soiree – consisting of a clattering of teeth and freezing limbs while we pretended the garden was a suitable venue for social intercourse – and I passed with sky-rocketing colours. No wine passed my lips. They left at an equally odd time (9.30 pm) and I even did some work. OK, it may not make me hugely interesting, but at least I won’t feel like my head was spewed out of a bat’s bottom in the morning.

Stats

Week 11 of 13. 30 minutes run. 1 minute walk. 25 minutes run. 56 minutes. Session 2 of 3. Walk pace: 4.5 km/h. Run pace: 6.8 km/h.

ANATOMY OF A RUN – #2

Well, some people may be on that treadmill watching the news screens, developing their latest essay evasion tactic or thinking of an exotic lover, but I have my eyes firmly fixed on the treadmill dashboard and the slowest clock in the world. So yesterday was run 25 minutes, walk one measly minute and run another 25 minutes. My mind just floods with fractions. The first five minutes are usually the worst (although I faff around with a bit of a walk/run warm-up charade first) so I think oh well, I’ve done one minute which is one fifth of the first baaad bit. After three minutes, I think oh well, I’ve done three-fifths of the baad bit so that’s good and there’s only one minute left of the baaad bit and oh look, I’ve finished the baaad bit. Well, that’s not so bad and anyway that was 10% of the whole thing and then I start fraction work on the first 25-minute segment and think oh well, I’ve done a fifth of the first segment and there’s only 20 minutes to break time and that’ll be half of the whole run. After ten minutes I think oh well, that was one fifth of the whole thing and I’m coming up to 12.5 minutes which will be half of the first segment and then there’s only 12 WHOLE minutes left of this segment and oh look, I’ve done 15 minutes which is three-fifths of the first segment and oh I’m getting pretty thirsty so big swig time without tumbling off treadmill and that’s nearly a third of the whole thing done. By 20 minutes in, I’m faffing around trying to find some music as all the tracks on my iPod seem the same and I need a boost and oh look there are only four WHOLE minutes left till break time which will be the half-way mark and that’ll be 200 calories and over 2.5 kilometres at 0% elevation down and time for another big non-tumbling swig and I wonder how…oh look, it’s break time!

Leisurely stroll at 4.3 kph-ish and adjust iPod, adjust hair, mop self, big swig, deep breaths, quick body/blister check (consists of wondering whether anywhere hurts – negative), big swig – and off again.

26 minutes gone. Now that’s more than half way so doddle on from here. I run five minutes and oh NO oh GOD oh HOLY SHIT what’s that? Looming up in front of me is the Berlin Wall circa 1970. 31 minutes and I can’t carry on. How can I carry on? The clock has stopped. I test it. I look away for ages at a news item and when I look back again only 8 seconds have elapsed. What am I going to do? What’s the point of carrying on? Even if I get over/around/under/through THE WALL, the only thing on the other side is East Germany and the Soviet Union and they aren’t very nice and there’s nothing on the other side apart from maybe death by minefield and Stasi dogs which at this point in time is a toss-up to carrying on here on the treadmill. I can feel the blister gnawing on my left foot. My instep is being chewed alive by the Stasi dogs and there’s no way I’m getting over or through or under this wall and anyway I’ve got 20 HUGE LONG INTERMINABLE IMPOSSIBLE MINUTES left to run at a pathetic pace and oh god, it’s just a charade and how do I think a half marathon will be anything but grandiose and deep deep deep horrendously horrible humiliation at the hands of the superpower of middle age and patheticness? Oh, but hey look I’m 33 minutes in and what happened there? I’ve only got less than 20 minutes to go – in fact only 17 WHOLE minutes. Big non-tumbling swig and time for a burst of Smooth Criminal to get me through this and I should at least be able to get to 40 minutes which will be almost four-fifths which sounds sort of end-like and Michael oooh does his bit and another non-tumbling swig and that’s not even what I did on Sunday and oh look that was 41 minutes so I’m into the last 10 minutes and that means only nine WHOLE minutes left and anyway that’s three-fifths of the second segment done and oh the Stasi dogs are still gnawing, but where’s that fluffy little wall? Gorbachev must have stopped by. I feel OK now and if only I can get to 45 minutes, I’m practically there and it’ll be nine-tenths of the whole thing and oh big non-tumbling swig. Does drinking less during a run mean you’re getting fitter? 46 minutes in and there are only five WHOLE minutes left and feet and endorphins are pumping now and three minutes left which is only really two WHOLE minutes and the last 45 seconds arrive and oh god they seem suddenly loooong and……….phew the treadmill goes to COOL DOWN and I’m done.

Stats

Week 11 of 13. 25 minutes run. 1 minute walk. 25 minutes run. 51 minutes. Session 1 of 3. Walk pace: 4.3 km/h. Run pace: 6.8 km/h.