When you're running Awfully Long Distances, you can't just run and run and run. You need fuel. Over the last few months I've experimented with a few different things, based on ideas from the RW fora and magazines. When I started out doing what are now shorter distances - 6 miles or so - I'd rely on just a carb drink (Lucozade Sport) to get me through. When I started to extend the distances, I tried Jelly Babies. This resulted in me returning home one afternoon to quote the immortal line, "There's a Cry-Baby Boobles at the top of the by-pass". There was. Really. I dropped it on my way down and only noticed when I stumbled past it again on my way back. Some small rodent must have thought it was Christmas come early.
Jelly Babies require some chewing though, and need a fair slug of liquid to rinse your mouth out. I tried Love Hearts initially a few weeks ago, then last week I thought I'd give a go with these fancy energy gels. I bought one - a Lucozade Sport, orange flavour - a few weeks back, and decided it was time to try it.
What I discovered was that they'd omitted to add two words to the flavour description, and in fact it should have read "Orange Wallpaper Paste Flavour". I had to expend more energy getting it out of the tube-packet than I actually gleaned from consuming it (I have to say "consumed" because the texture of the gel precludes using the words "eating" or "drinking"). The initial flavour was OK, but once it had started to go down - EURRRGH. Quick, pass the drink. It was, as we say in the Black Country, extremely "clarty" in the mouth, and really did seem as though I'd accidentally swallowed a small quantity of Solvite.
So, this week, I've ordered some gels from SIS (Science in Sport), which were top-rated by RW, being far more palatable and less pastey than other gels. In the meantime, though, it was back to the Love Hearts.
So, 14 miles yesterday. I started getting depressed by the prospect when trying to plot a route on G-Maps Pedometer and realised that I could run to Stourbridge Ring-Road and back and still not have covered the distance. And the prospect of running through Lye really wasn't appealing. Twenty-odd curry houses is great when you've had a few beers on a Friday night, but when you're stone-cold sober on a Thursday afternoon and you've still got to run back to Halesowen, it's a bit tough. So I decided to run up to Romsley instead.
It was certainly picturesque. The error I made, though, was forgetting exactly how much uphill is involved in getting from Halesowen to Romsley. About 2-3 miles, is how much. Mind you, it was very picturesque when I got up there - it was a perfect afternoon for it, the sun was out, and the Clent Hills always look great - even in the rain. And, following the inescapable laws of gravity, I got to run down it again the other side.
After that, it was the inescapable loop down the by-pass and back. By the time I was getting towards the top of the Hagley Mile - about 11 miles by this point - everything below my waist had started to dissolve into a kind of numb pain. By which I mean I was fully aware of the fact that things were painful, but I had started to lose appreciation of exactly how much. To give you an idea, after my run last week, I was getting in the bath when I clonked my left kneecap against the side of the bath. Usually this would be enough to at least make me turn the air blue and hop around a bit (this all relates to going ar*e over t*t in Portugal whilst running a couple of years ago, and landing directly on my left knee cap). I barely noticed it, but the bruising was very evident over the next few days.
Anyway, so I'm trudging on, some kind of bloody-mindedness causing me to put one foot in front of the other. It is almost overpoweringly tempting to stop at the Badger's Sett for a pint of lemonade, barring the fact that I have no money. But I carry on, and decide it's time for another Love Heart (I have been steadily letting them dissolve in my mouth over the past six miles, like a kind of glucose drip-feed). For some reason, I decide to read this one. I think I was getting a little desperate for distraction.
"CRAZY"
Nuff said.
Friday, 27 February 2009
Black Snot and Endorphins (Week 7)
So, I had a busy busy week last week. So much so that I didn't have time to blog. Golly, I'm awful at this whole blogging regularly thing.
We spent the weekend in London, it being mine & Mr Steve's birthdays (me on the 15th, him on the 20th). The journey down was....interesting (Carry On Driving-style, you can read all about it elsewhere), but we made it to the theatre on time to see "Oliver!", which was superb.
On the Saturday we met up with Adopted Daughters 1&2, went to the Science Museum, and had a meal together. Adopted Daughter No. 1 bought me a rather splendid running-themed book, "Running on Empty", by a bloke who used to write for Runner's World. It gives a great humourous look into the world of running, and he doesn't take himself too seriously, which makes it an engaging read (particularly for others like myself, who don't take running *too* seriously!). Of course, I should also mention Adopted Daughter No 2's present, for want of making her feel left out. Not strictly running-related, it was a splendid pair of cow-slippers. Marvellous.
Anyway, why am I waffling on about London? Ever since my second foray to the capital (my first was with my parents in my early teens, when we drove through it but didn't stop) I've come to the conclusion that it has to be one of the worst places to even think of running, or indeed doing any kind of exercise. At the end of the day, you go to your place of abode, you blow your nose and you get...Black Snot. Now, praise the Lord and give thanks for your nasal cilia, is all I can say. Those tiny hairs, beavering away to stop all this particulate rubbish from getting any further. But you can't help wondering about all the bits that they don't catch. All that lovely airbourne carbon and other diesel stuff that might make its way down to your bronchial tubes....mmmmm, splendid. Who on earth came up with the bright idea to stage Britain's flagship marathon in what is the lung-equivalent of a sewage swamp?
Mind you, according to RW magazine's feature this month, Birmingham isn't much better. "...the city is almost the most polluted in term of asthma-causing PM10 diesel particles". Note the "almost", please. When, as someone with an irritating lung condition who normally lives in a relatively clean-air area, you take a foray into a city centre, you certainly notice the difference.
In the world of respiratory medicine, a recently emerging concept is that of "One Airway, One Disease". Put basically, if inflammation is present in one part of the respiratory tract (which extends right from those lovely nasal cilia to the base of your alveoli in the lungs), then that can also mean inflammation in another. Relate this back to the splendid Black Snot, and you can see that this might result in a few problems.
So anyway, back to the actual running. This week it was 12 miles - the second-longest distance I've ever run. I gave into my insanity and ran down, and subsequently back up, the Hagley Mile. Disappointingly, I confirmed what I had previously suspected - the current entity known as the Hagley Mile isn't actually a mile. It's 0.7 miles. And when you're running back up it, it's 0.7 miles of not-so-sophisticated torture. Mind you, I didn't do too badly, considering the weekend dose of Black Snot. And the fact that I'd already run up Portsdown Road (incidentally, I realised I hadn't properly purged my MP3 player at the point, whilst turning puce and gasping, it started playing "Take My Breath Away". Not funny. Stop laughing). Got round the lot in 2hrs 10, not bad considering it was at "LSR" pace and the two hills.
Running a long distance does slightly funny things to your psyche. Getting through the first 30 mins is a challenge - it's a bit like making a truculent toddler do something it doesn't want to do. Namely, it spends a while throwing a strop, then settles down and grudgingly complies. Then, a few miles later, you get insidious thoughts leaking into your mind. "This is daft, I'll never make it. Stop it." If you manage to circumnavigate those, you're rewarded by a little boost a while later with a rush of those friendly endorphins, who envelope you in a lovely warming glow. "Well done," they seem to say. "You've made it this far. You can do it, just keep going." Then those 'orrible thoughts break through again (usually co-inciding with a hill, or similar), and we're back on the roller-coaster again. Given the fact that you're already running, going on a roller-coaster is just a bit rude. It just shows that sometimes, running is as much a mental battle as a physical one.
We spent the weekend in London, it being mine & Mr Steve's birthdays (me on the 15th, him on the 20th). The journey down was....interesting (Carry On Driving-style, you can read all about it elsewhere), but we made it to the theatre on time to see "Oliver!", which was superb.
On the Saturday we met up with Adopted Daughters 1&2, went to the Science Museum, and had a meal together. Adopted Daughter No. 1 bought me a rather splendid running-themed book, "Running on Empty", by a bloke who used to write for Runner's World. It gives a great humourous look into the world of running, and he doesn't take himself too seriously, which makes it an engaging read (particularly for others like myself, who don't take running *too* seriously!). Of course, I should also mention Adopted Daughter No 2's present, for want of making her feel left out. Not strictly running-related, it was a splendid pair of cow-slippers. Marvellous.
Anyway, why am I waffling on about London? Ever since my second foray to the capital (my first was with my parents in my early teens, when we drove through it but didn't stop) I've come to the conclusion that it has to be one of the worst places to even think of running, or indeed doing any kind of exercise. At the end of the day, you go to your place of abode, you blow your nose and you get...Black Snot. Now, praise the Lord and give thanks for your nasal cilia, is all I can say. Those tiny hairs, beavering away to stop all this particulate rubbish from getting any further. But you can't help wondering about all the bits that they don't catch. All that lovely airbourne carbon and other diesel stuff that might make its way down to your bronchial tubes....mmmmm, splendid. Who on earth came up with the bright idea to stage Britain's flagship marathon in what is the lung-equivalent of a sewage swamp?
Mind you, according to RW magazine's feature this month, Birmingham isn't much better. "...the city is almost the most polluted in term of asthma-causing PM10 diesel particles". Note the "almost", please. When, as someone with an irritating lung condition who normally lives in a relatively clean-air area, you take a foray into a city centre, you certainly notice the difference.
In the world of respiratory medicine, a recently emerging concept is that of "One Airway, One Disease". Put basically, if inflammation is present in one part of the respiratory tract (which extends right from those lovely nasal cilia to the base of your alveoli in the lungs), then that can also mean inflammation in another. Relate this back to the splendid Black Snot, and you can see that this might result in a few problems.
So anyway, back to the actual running. This week it was 12 miles - the second-longest distance I've ever run. I gave into my insanity and ran down, and subsequently back up, the Hagley Mile. Disappointingly, I confirmed what I had previously suspected - the current entity known as the Hagley Mile isn't actually a mile. It's 0.7 miles. And when you're running back up it, it's 0.7 miles of not-so-sophisticated torture. Mind you, I didn't do too badly, considering the weekend dose of Black Snot. And the fact that I'd already run up Portsdown Road (incidentally, I realised I hadn't properly purged my MP3 player at the point, whilst turning puce and gasping, it started playing "Take My Breath Away". Not funny. Stop laughing). Got round the lot in 2hrs 10, not bad considering it was at "LSR" pace and the two hills.
Running a long distance does slightly funny things to your psyche. Getting through the first 30 mins is a challenge - it's a bit like making a truculent toddler do something it doesn't want to do. Namely, it spends a while throwing a strop, then settles down and grudgingly complies. Then, a few miles later, you get insidious thoughts leaking into your mind. "This is daft, I'll never make it. Stop it." If you manage to circumnavigate those, you're rewarded by a little boost a while later with a rush of those friendly endorphins, who envelope you in a lovely warming glow. "Well done," they seem to say. "You've made it this far. You can do it, just keep going." Then those 'orrible thoughts break through again (usually co-inciding with a hill, or similar), and we're back on the roller-coaster again. Given the fact that you're already running, going on a roller-coaster is just a bit rude. It just shows that sometimes, running is as much a mental battle as a physical one.
Monday, 9 February 2009
Neglect - On So Many Levels
I'm sorry, I really am. I've been a thoroughly rubbish blogger over the past week or so. Sorry. Etc.
Well, snow, eh?! What about that, then. Well, I'll tell you what - it's brought my training to a halt, that's what. I did consider going out for a run - for all of about ten seconds. Then my "sensible" gland kicked in and told me "Don't be stupid, that would be foolish, you'll fall over and break/twist/rupture something". Thankfully, for once, I listened to my sensible gland. Frankly, it seems to be becoming somewhat over-developed nowadays.
So, whilst watching the snow fall and the pavements ice up, I have been consoling myself with the thought that it doesn't really matter how long it takes me to get around London, as long as I get round. And slipping over on black ice would seriously jeapordise that.
Fundraising - we're now up over the £400 mark, thanks to my incredibly daft but lovely husband. Thank you all!
In other news, I have my running jacket now. I still hadn't heard anything six days after placing the order (estimated shipping time - 2-3 days), and neither had any money left my bank account, so I dropped them a little email enquiring as to my jacket's whereabouts.
Roughly 30 minutes later, I received the following response:
Hmm, anyone else thinking that's an "Oooops, we forgot that one"-kind-of-email?!
Anyway, it duely arrived the next morning. Opened it and proudly brandished it to show Mr Steve.
"Hmmm...," quoth he. "That's......bright".
Somewhere, I think he's missed the point a bit...
(Attractive photo of me wearing the new bright jacket with my suit. Do you think it's a fashion that'll catch on?!)
Well, snow, eh?! What about that, then. Well, I'll tell you what - it's brought my training to a halt, that's what. I did consider going out for a run - for all of about ten seconds. Then my "sensible" gland kicked in and told me "Don't be stupid, that would be foolish, you'll fall over and break/twist/rupture something". Thankfully, for once, I listened to my sensible gland. Frankly, it seems to be becoming somewhat over-developed nowadays.
So, whilst watching the snow fall and the pavements ice up, I have been consoling myself with the thought that it doesn't really matter how long it takes me to get around London, as long as I get round. And slipping over on black ice would seriously jeapordise that.
Fundraising - we're now up over the £400 mark, thanks to my incredibly daft but lovely husband. Thank you all!
In other news, I have my running jacket now. I still hadn't heard anything six days after placing the order (estimated shipping time - 2-3 days), and neither had any money left my bank account, so I dropped them a little email enquiring as to my jacket's whereabouts.
Roughly 30 minutes later, I received the following response:
Hmm, anyone else thinking that's an "Oooops, we forgot that one"-kind-of-email?!
Anyway, it duely arrived the next morning. Opened it and proudly brandished it to show Mr Steve.
"Hmmm...," quoth he. "That's......bright".
Somewhere, I think he's missed the point a bit...
(Attractive photo of me wearing the new bright jacket with my suit. Do you think it's a fashion that'll catch on?!)
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