Monday 16 December 2013

Pain pain go away



I am running free, sailing down long streets with twinkling streetlights. This is easy, I think, a mile in and I feel so fine, so at ease, so…. OW. What the hell?

The last week has involved three hellish runs, not because of the freezing cold weather, but something much worse – my bloody legs. I have finally cracked the whole running for 8 miles and feeling physically fine thing, but it appears my legs had something fun in store for me – horrible stabbing pains if I decide to go faster than an 11 minute mile (which is not very fast).

After a mile suddenly my shins start screaming or my hips decide they’ve had enough. And its hugely frustrating, because I know I could run a good fast 3 miles and my body is telling me I can’t.

Now, I am stuck as to what to do. Most treatment seems to involve rest, but I worry that if I rest this weekend I won’t get in my 10 miler – a pretty important benchmark. However, it is more than that – I have started to enjoy, like really enjoy running.

I want to run and that weird feeling of ‘what the hell do you think you are doing’ – seems to be going further and further away, but instead my legs are giving way and I don’t know what to do about it.

I know I can run faster, but this physical barrier is getting in the way. And the worse thing is how hard is it to run through it. The pain of getting fitter can be run through, you can keep going when you’re gasping for air or fantasizing about what cold drink you will have at home.

But with leg pain, that feels like tiny elves have gone on an exploratory mining mission between your shinbones, it’s much harder to keep going.
I am sure I am not the first marathon trainer to feel the pain of shin splints, or have to limp up stairs after a run. I know its because my regular route involves hills, and my legs aren’t used to going up and down a hill at a fast speed four times a week.

I know that I should rest, but I don’t want to. I want to keep going. I want to finally get to under 30 on my 5k and not have to deal with my hips every second stride.

There has been the pain, the frustrated walking, and running full pelt away in panic when I suddenly realised I appeared to be running in the middle of nowhere and there was just one lone man sat in his car – that brought up too many visions of horror films for my liking.

But each night I put my shoes back on and pulled my way up that hill, and grimaced at my poor times, and kept running.

So to you pain I say, please just go away, just this once. Please?

(Note: since writing this, I have also caught a chesty cold meaning I can't run at all - I am having no luck)








Tuesday 3 December 2013

Valuable lesson while running: I can't run with a hangover


This weekend I discovered something incredibly important - I will not run when I am hungover. 

For someone who calls themselves the reprobate runner, you would think that training with a mild headache and a queasy feeling in my stomach, would be my forte.

And I had began to think that too. The internet had provided me with hundreds of articles saying no matter how bad the hangover I would feel so refreshed at the end, and the run would basically cure my self inflicted ailments. I thought, yes of course, I will master this. I will run off my hangovers!

Well, this is my run down of how not to run with a hangover.

Firstly on Friday night I ended up drinking a few too many Duvels (8% Belgian beer for the uninitiated) and woke on Saturday morning with that restless energy that only hazy morning drunkeness can provide.

I'll do it, I thought. I will run away the hangover - it'll be amazing, I'll return a new woman! I will become one of those people who runs at 7am after a binge on white wine, and then does an hour of yoga - and talks a lot about the power of anti-oxidants.

I have found the cure for all my ails - I thought merrily to myself as I laced up my shoes. No more painkillers and hours in bed watching Netflix for me. I stumbled into the bright light of Saturday morning.

Well I was terribly wrong. Running hungover is horrible. 

This is mainly for one quite obvious reason: running takes up a lot of energy, and your body spends a lot of time trying to deal with that - add in a liver attempting to process four strong beers, then you're heading for a painful ride.

I managed 2k before wanting to immediately lie down in the slightly damp grass, and it took nearly all of my willpower not to succumb to this urge. Not only was I trying to clear my body of beer, I had barely enough sleep, meaning every miserable step just reminded me I was veering further away from my bed. 

Finally after an extra 0.5k I gave in and walked home miserably. It's fine, I thought, it was just a blip - maybe next time. The problem was, my next attempt was the following day. 

A month or so before I had decided to take a trip back to Manchester to see some friends, one of whom I am attempting this ridiculous idea of running a marathon with. So we readily made plans to drink copious of beer, then go on a 10k run the next day - this was planned for the weekend of the first ill advised hungover run.

Nursing my Duvel hangover, I packed my running shoes into a rucksack, got on my Ryanair flight and tried not to think about putting on the shoes the next day.

So, let's put it this way - the first bit with the beer happened (English pints this time though), the second part with the running... well, that didn't even come close to taking place.

At 11am I stumbled downstairs on the Sunday morning and loudly claimed I was pretty sure that I was still drunk. We spent long lazy hours eating sausage sandwiches, drinking countless cups of tea and watching four episodes of Don't Tell the Bride.

Finally we looked out of the window to the impending darkness and gave in, agreeing that running with a hangover was a terrible idea.

So this weekend I learnt a valuable lesson - I should not schedule runs the day after the night before, and if I have a day of miles ahead of me - I am best sticking to sparkling water.

The reprobate runner might have to become a little less of a reprobate. 

Sunday 24 November 2013

Thursday 21 November 2013

Running towards the light


So I became that person, I am the person who comes home after work when its pitch black outside and the temperature is barely 1 degree, and goes running.

I never thought I’d be that person who would go running in the freezing cold at night when there are radiators and Netflix, but here we are. It has happened.

Now most things don’t phase me too much when running: I secretly enjoy running in the rain. Bright insanely hot sunshine can be gruelling, but manageable. Freezing cold temperatures can be combatted by long sleeved tops and gloves.

But today I had to conquer my biggest fear: THE DARK. Now I like being female, I very much enjoy it, but sometimes it gets in the way of things. And one of those things is choosing to run at night.

Because pretty much for any female, no matter how unappealing we look in our lycra running gear, can't go running in pitch darkness for fear of scary men lurking in shadows. Its rubbish, and check out Reclaim the Night marches for info on protests around this.

So pretty much all parks are out of the question, and you have to stick to lit roads surrounded by houses. This is a damn annoyance to be perfectly honest. I am happy to wear the reflective gear, and look like a idiot in a bright yellow hat (though I have yet to succumb to wearing the only head torch I own, which is a panda’s face with two glowing eyes that flash), but running on streets doesn't quite have the same exciting - look at all these lovely things, as running round a nice park does.

So I kept putting it off, but with the pressure of 26.2 miles ahead of me, I finally went for it.

And it wasn’t too bad at all – I stuck to lit roads and found a decent 5k. I even encountered another runner, who was clearly much more worried about not being seen than I was and had no less than three separate lights flashing on him.

I’m pretty sure even his trainers lit up. It makes you wonder if people run just for the excuse of legitimately wearing trainers with flashing lights past the age of 8.

Apart from the bright trainers, he was obviously a serious runner, because when he past me, he looked at his watch in a meaningful – AM I PBing??? (personal best) way.

And the best part about running in dark? Less people to randomly mock you on the street. Now, this doesn’t happen all the time, but at least once each run you’ll get some moron who is so uncomfortable with the idea of exercise that they feel the need to openly share it with you.

However, those same idiots wouldn’t step outside if there was even the slightest chance of rain, so you get to share the path with much more accepting individuals.

So all in all – despite the problems of being a girl, I still managed to run in the dark!

Evening runs conquered.

Finally here is Wanda Sykes with the perfect solution to the problem:



Tuesday 12 November 2013

My legs hate me today

Last week I ran a 10k, and in the flurry of a runner high - I dreamily decided that it would be a brilliant idea to sign up for a marathon in April. And much like making a drunken purchase using Amazon one click, that brilliant idea suddenly felt utterly absurd as soon as the adrenalin had worn off.

A marathon? The most I have managed before is 10k, so I may not be starting from scratch, but when my race results came in for the run on that Sunday - my name seemed to be surrounded by a large amount of women in the over 40 category. Not that women over 40 are bad runners, in fact I can tell by looking at my own time (I hour 8 mins if you must know), they clearly aren't.

So like any self-indulgent runner, I decided to write a blog - mainly as a outlet for my frustrations, confusions and naval gazing.

Today my legs hurt - they really bloody hurt. They hurt in that way that it is almost hysterically funny how much they hurt, because every movement feels like someone is shredding my thigh with a steak knife. Ok, so its not that bad, but it is the unfortunate issue with running a 10k, followed by a 5k the next day.

My body isn't used to this kind of pressure, it has come rather used to sitting or lying down. I once perfected the ability to lie on my bed, while watching endless episodes of 30 rock on Netflix eating crisps, without having to lift my head at all.

So now my body is on strike, it is refusing to go on, it is picketing the fence that is my upper thighs and sneering at my feet for even trying to get me anywhere. However this shall of course not deter me. I am mildly amused by my bodies resistance, like a toddler throwing a tantrum – it will eventually pass and I shall keep going.

I am a mild reprobate – I drink beer (I live in Brussels, its basically their water), I can’t hear the words 'free food' without the urge to stuff it all in my mouth, I have spent days not leaving the house, but I am a runner.

Welcome to my blog.