Thursday 9 December 2021

Flat and Fast for Fun

I’m currently training for a 43 mile race, so perhaps unsurprisingly, “flat” and “fast” aren’t a big part of my training schedule. Long, easy miles dominate, sprinkled with hill and speed sessions. This is to build endurance so that my legs (and my brain) can hold strong for the duration.


However when a friend said she was doing a flat and fast 5 mile race in December, I couldn’t resist joining in. If there’s anything I learnt from training for a 50k race earlier in the year, it’s that I need to keep doing the fun sessions. When I’m out there on the race course hitting multiple walls after hours of pounding the terrain, I need to remember why the hell I’m doing it. During the 50k race, the best answer I could come up with was that I needed to get home somehow. This worked - I completed the race - but a very loud part of my brain believed that instead, I could just live the rest of my life under a nearby bush.


I want a better answer this time. 


So I signed up for the Perivale 5 mile race. I love running 10k and 5 mile races because it’s just long enough to use your brain, but short enough that you can really go at a lick. The kilometres arrive in digestible chunks. A quick bit of maths will tell you whether you’re going to catch up to that woman in the pink leggings (no). But will you overtake the man in the sunglasses before the end? (Yes.)


In the first two kilometres or so, I sat tight in the pace I knew would work, and paid no attention to anyone overtaking me. I smiled to myself. I had time. Most of all, I had experience. As the next few kilometres ticked by and I increased the pace - just a little - I started picking off those people who had flown past me in the beginning. Hey, people have different strategies. All I’m saying is that I know the one that works for me, and I knew I had a devastating kick in store for the final 600 metres. 


It helps that I didn’t care too much about performing well in this race. I really was just there for the fun of it. Running can be really hard. We put pressure on ourselves to do well because we care. But life itself has a lot pressure. Sure, training is a satisfying kind of pressure. But sometimes it’s good to run fast for the sheer fun of it.  


At the end of the race, I met a woman who had run so hard she threw up. She did well, but she looked a bit traumatised. I’m sure when I’ve finished a session of hill repeats I don’t look great either, but that’s just my territory at the moment, and this was hers. 


After this ultra marathon, I’m having a procedure on my cervix which will mean I will be out of running for 6 weeks. (Growth found in routine smear test = ladies, get your smear tests.) Realistically, this means I won’t be back up to speed before April or May. I’m trying to view this as well-deserved recovery time, rather than fearing for my mental and physical health. 


But if there is anything that I should have learned from sitting tight for 5 miles, or holding on for 43 miles, it’s patience. I think I mainly wanted to do this fast race because it will be a while before I’m this fast or strong again. I had such a brilliant time and I hope that memory will keep me going, through the ultra and beyond. 


Tuesday 9 November 2021

Dartmoor - The Way of the Runner retreat


I’m running in the middle of a group of men across Dartmoor. The route is unknown to all of us except our leader Adharanand, but it seems to me like we just keep running further and further away from the car. In which direction? I don’t know, I’m too busy trying to soak the views into my skin. Besides, these men all seem lovely so far. I’m in no danger. I turn my cap backwards and think, this is just the break I needed.

We pause beside a tor and I climb on top of the rocks. I feel medieval, I feel powerful, I feel like I’m in pursuit of something important and marvellous. I raise my arms above my head. My lungs enjoy the extra space to breathe. My ribcage expands, and I don’t want to make it contract. Never, ever again. I want to stay there for longer, but I know the group will want to press on.


At least, I think so.


I go back and chat to Gavin about using the tors to shelter from extreme weather. Then I notice Jonathan disappear behind the rock and I think, it’s not that windy or rainy…and then Adharanand leaves the group to stand behind a different corner of rock, and I think…and then Heath takes Jonathan’s place, and yes I think they’re weeing. Yes. That is what’s happening. They return to the group as if it’s a normal part of a Saturday morning run: climb a hill, wee on a tor. 


For women it’s not as casual as this, because it’s not as straightforward. Within my running club, the women often share news of public toilets we’ve found on our routes. One of the women once squatted in a bush, not realising there was a public toilet on the other side of the fence. She got some strange looks from the staff. 


I’m sure no one would mind if I found my own corner of tor to squat beside. I feel like we know each other well enough already. Not through any of the small or large conversations we’ve have before now, rather from learning how each other runs.


Down rocky trails and along boggy plains, we’ve all yelped at the unexpected depth of a puddle, or nearly slipped down a bonus stretch of scree. A particularly sociable branch of bracken whacks me in the face after Adharanand has flown through it, and it hits Nigel after me. We call over our shoulders, “Sorry, sorry, don’t worry.” On the steep descents we’ve tried not to fall into each other, and on the steep ascents, we’ve run unnecessarily close to each other. We’re not racing, and it’s not like we’re going to get lost, so I don’t really know why. I think we’re just enjoying running together.


The distant trees and the close camaraderie make my everyday life feel silly and small. My anxiety, its triggers and the giggles of depression seem so far away here. It’s probably just because I’m on holiday, right? I’m sure they would manage to find me if I was here for long enough. I’d be running up a hill towards Haytor and they’d be skipping and dancing right there at the top. There’s still emptiness, there’s still alienation and fear. It just looks a bit prettier on Dartmoor.


I’ll enjoy this escape for what it is for now. But maybe there’s something I can take home with me - some deep and meaningful message about running between the tors - the goal is in sight, the distance is manageable. I hop between rocks and mud flicks up my legs and it’s all magnificent, because I am able to keep moving. I get tired, the clouds change, the wind throws hair into my mouth and threatens to steal my cap, but I stay firm. One tor and one wild pony at a time. 


Back at the ranch, I hold my socks beneath the shower to try and rinse out the mud. I squeeze and squeeze them, but the water doesn’t get any clearer. Are they just more mud than sock at this point? As for the mud buried in my toenails, I know that’s going to need some firm scrubbing. I decide not to bother. We’re all friends here, and it's comforting to keep a bit of the moor with me. 





Thursday 13 May 2021

Early Bird Catches the Hills

I’m not an early morning runner. A lot of people in my running club are, and I look at their start times on Strava with deep confusion, blinking wildly through my bleary eyes. 


I should be clear here: we’re not talking crazy-early. But I marvel at my friends who are capable of not only running at 7am, but meeting each other to do so. I imagine their jolly, witty selves galloping along together, basking in the early morning light, flying through interval sessions and bouncing up hills. 


Before 8am, I just won’t make any sense.


This is a luxury of having a job which doesn’t start until 10am. I hear you, maybe things would be different otherwise. But at times in my life when I have had an early commute to work, I would just run in the evening instead. 


So grew my love of evening runs. Nowadays I get so buzzed I can’t sleep, so I don’t do them very often. But there’s nothing like finishing the day with a good stretch of the legs. I love that you don’t need to save energy for anything else: there are no more tasks, no more places to go. It’s just you, the run and an endless darkening sky. A side of the world is winding down for the night while you and your rebel feet are stirring it up. The faster you run, the more endless it becomes.


With the lighter mornings of spring and summer, I do naturally get up earlier and feel more energised. Recently, I was wide awake and restless at 5:30am, so I headed out for a 5k. My watch was so confused I had to set the time manually. The GPS took ages to find me, and still ended up as a squiffy, drunken line.


I think I enjoyed it…? But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was coming home from a big night out, and subsequently had to go back to bed, nursing a phantom hangover. I also felt a deep, quivering anxiety that I couldn’t quite place, until I remembered going to work at Wetherspoons for a 7am start and putting the heavy garden furniture out on my own. Usually while it was raining. Usually hungover. 


Shudder.


So I won’t be making a habit of it. But there is something about moving your body before your brain has fully woken up that’s quite fun. The quiet streets and uninterrupted birdsong are definitely a perk, and I can see the appeal in getting the run done so you still have an entire morning left to play with. But some days, just running can be hard enough. And I love my lazy mid-morning run. I love being able to call it “lazy”. 


I also love sitting up in bed and scrolling through the hard work my friends have already done. They make me feel excited about getting out there myself. They inspire me no end. I’ll just finish my coffee first. 



Thursday 18 February 2021

Yoga for Runners

Yoga provides a framework in the mind of how the body aligns and feels in a variety of positions, as well as in neutral. It expands on those positions to give you insight into your body’s potential and also its range of motion. It is the best way to know whether the hips are tight, the shoulders have been hunched for too long or the back is stiff. In practicing regularly, you can see your body progress through this tightness towards a more efficient, healthier set of limbs, muscles, joints and fascia.



That’s my completely unscientific precis on the physical benefits of yoga. But I’ve been doing it for a decade, and it has helped my body stay strong, no matter what I’ve thrown at it. (Worst of all, sitting at a desk for 6 hours of the day, unable to move because of the nature of my job.)


For these reasons, it is the perfect companion to running. When we run, we’re using the same muscles continually, with a bit of variation for uphill, downhill and leaping over dog leads. Calves, hip flexors and shoulders get tight. IT bands are agony on the foam roller. The front of the ankles and the feet take a beating, and the glutes will beg for a bum massage. The tops of my hamstrings currently feel like a ball of wool after a cat has been at it.


Stretching is important. A bit of a quad and hamstring stretch after a run will do wonders for general maintenance. But in the longer term, this is where yoga can really make a difference.


Let’s go back to that framework. In doing yoga, I know how my body is supposed to feel, so I know when something isn’t right. And surely if something isn’t right, that’s going to affect my running gait. I could end up with an injury, and/or developing bad habits. In noticing these things, I can nip problems in the bud so I’m not struck down by a tight calf 6 miles from home. For example, if I’m in half moon pose and I suddenly can’t reach the floor, I know something’s gone askew, so I’ll spend extra time on my calves and hamstrings until I’m back to “normal”: running efficiently and injury-free. 


My main takeaway from Shane Benzie’s fascinating book ‘The Lost Art of Running’ was that the best way to run is relaxed. There’s a great scene where he goes to see a training session in Kenya, and bursting with anticipation, he’s flummoxed to see the athletes running 12-minute miles around a track. This isn't even a warm up for a harder session. So why are they running so slowly? They're practicing running relaxed. I read this to mean they were running in the most neutral position possible for their bodies. The most normal, the most natural. 


This is where the more spiritual side of yoga comes in, because if you can find your centre and be present within your body - if you practice that and make it a habit - you’ll find it in your run, too. And when the miles get tough, it’s a place you can always pull the run back to. In yoga, you learn where your edges are and you breathe through them to push a little more. If you can use that technique in your run too, you might just make it to the 50km mark.


(That’s what I’m hoping, anyway.)


As I said, this is not based in actual science, just experience. But with the benefits I’ve found, I can’t recommend it enough. It’s not just about the stretching. It’s about knowing your body and being aware of what you’re doing with it, so you can keep running for many years to come. 




Wednesday 17 February 2021

Double Knots


I suffer with anxiety. With or from? A year ago, I would have said, “from”. I was completely floored by chaos, indecision and an overwhelming lack of grip on the world on a regular basis. Now, I’d say, “with”. 

Running is a big part of that shift. I can step outside and nip it all in the bud, feeling powerful and easy for the rest of the day. I can set aside those twitching, screeching sensations in my body and arrive at a sense of humour and clarity about things. In short, I can feel more like myself.


But if it’s a bad day and I miss that window, if I don’t get out for a run before the anxiety arises, the idea of even planning a route can feel unbearable. Which shoes to wear? What are the right clothes for the weather? What if I get it wrong? Should I try to combine it with a speed session, some hill work, a food shop? Long run or short run? Why do I even bother. What’s the point of running? Surely it’s just a waste of time. I’m wasting my time. What should I be filling my time with? I’m wasting my life.


And then a lump appears in my throat. Not like I’m about to cry, just like… like my nervous system is in agony. I lie down under a blanket for an indeterminate amount of time. The radio burbles in the background. It’s best if it’s in a separate room, so I don’t have to engage with it, but I can still feel less alone in my vortex. I feel like I’ve drunk too much and the room is spinning. I aim for sleep.


Eventually I’ll get bored, or feel better, or both. I’ll get up and I’ll put my easy trainers on. I’ll wear my favourite outfit and I’ll run an old favourite route. The training schedule doesn’t matter for today. Or maybe it does, and I’ll set out for a nice, clean session of 400m laps of a square at 1 mile pace, and the order of it all will soothe me. I’ll enjoy the simple pursuit of accuracy and achievement. 


When I come home, things won't have changed. The causes of my anxiety - if any - will not have been magically solved while I was out alternating my feet. I still have to find work, tidy the kitchen, contemplate my future and decide what to have for lunch. But maybe now I can ignore one of those tasks. Maybe I’ve managed to completely forget it’s a problem. 


And that’s it until the next day, or the day after that. On one of those days, I’ll feel strong enough from cumulative endorphins and a bit of sunshine to deal with the larger tasks. But right now, tying a double knot on my trainers will be the extent of my mental exertion. One step at a time. 


Tuesday 16 February 2021

Nostalgia for the Perfect Shoes

The best running shoes I've ever had were a pair of Nike Free 5.0s from around 2015. They were black, lime green and orange, had a split sole, and were as light and comfortable as running in bare feet. They followed the craze for barefoot running, but in an accessible way. In terms of “support”, They didn’t have any of the fancy energy cell or cushioning of shoes of today. Certainly no carbon plate. They simply stopped my feet from getting hurt by stones and roots underfoot. 




They were perfect for running alongside the river at Barnes, as well as for tearing around Bloomsbury and Silvertown. I definitely wore them for longer than I should have done, judging by how many house moves they went through. I even wore them for trail runs whenever I visited my parents in Hampshire. I never got the chance to, but I’d have loved to try them for speed work. They performed a mean sprint finish. 


Nike Free 5.0



The sheer versatility of these shoes is increasingly rare. I love my New Balance 1080 V10s, but on a rainy day or with even a hint of mud, I may as well be wearing bars of soap. I have spent the years since then trying to replace those shoes. I should have bought more at the time. I moved to the Free RNs in 2018, and I loved them a lot, but I had to spend 5 minutes before each run flicking yesterday’s gravel out of the grooves in the sole. 


I know, no pair of shoes is perfect. But for me, this pair was. I found them. I really found them. The problem I have now is that this sort of shoe is just not what’s fashionable anymore. It’s all about cushioning, responsiveness and big heel drops. It’s about encouraging a forefoot strike, or supporting your heel strike. I bought the Nike Free 5.0s because I’d just read ‘Running With The Kenyans’ by Adharanand Finn, and it confirmed my suspicion that I just needed something to replicate how my foot moves.


The time has come to replace my all-rounder shoes again. I have had a few pairs since the heady, 5.0 glory days, and gradually got used to not being able to feel the ground under my feet. But my current favourite shoes are my Salomon Sense 4 Pro trail shoes because I can feel everything. I don’t need a shoe to tell me I’m running sideways over treacherous, slippery ground, I am able to react by myself, thankyou, if you'd only let me feel it. The first time I ran on the Hampstead Heath in more “supportive, responsive” shoes, it was terrifying. I nearly twisted my ankle. 


Salomon Sense 4 Pro


I flit between the websites for Hoka One One, New Balance, Salomon and Nike, and decide I’m just going to have to wait until the fashion changes again. Because we know it’s not science. We know that our feet are incredibly intelligent, and can tell our brains to adjust our movement accordingly. I don’t need to be told how to run. When I first started running proper distances with those Free Run 5.0s, I had no idea what I was doing. I just ran. And the shoes came along for the ride. 


But hey. Maybe I'm just nostalgic for those free, innocent, uncomplicated adventures. 



Wednesday 20 January 2021

The Irony of Closing Athletics Tracks

The athletics tracks are closed because of COVID-19 social distancing measures. This is completely baffling, because they are outdoors and enormous, and so it is entirely possible and practical to be socially distanced. Meanwhile, people can mill and dither and horde to their heart’s content in the surrounding paths and parks.

As I said, baffling.


Within my running club, we’ve gotten creative with finding roads in North London that are quiet enough to run a speed session without pedestrians or cars, and also mimic the oval layout of a track. Bonus points if it’s actually 400m in circumference. It’s not ideal to be pounding 3:30 per kilometre into concrete roads with speed bumps, but it’s better than nothing. I guess.


And it feels good to still get the speed sessions done. Who knows when the track will reopen, after all? So that’s great. But what I’m really missing is the atmosphere of the track. There is a deep irony to the tracks being closed to stop people coming into contact with each other, when it is the very place I love being in order to get away from people. Hampstead Heath or Regent’s Park may be swarming with people, but at the track, I could be in my enclosed, special place for runners, with my own lane and my own session planned out.


I find track meditative. Maybe it’s simply due to the hypnotic act of running round and round in circles. But mainly, in focusing on my pace and form, and holding that consistently until the end of 400m, 800m or 1200m, I lock in to the rhythm, experience and inconsistencies of the way my body moves. I find its potential. Without getting too hippie about it, I find my potential. An athletics track is the right place to be for this activity: everyone else who is there is doing the same thing. I won't be in a pedestrian's way, or have to stop for a car or traffic lights. There are no distractions, besides the crows that taunt you as you pump your legs through the 10th rep at your dream 5k race pace. 


It’s my favourite place to run a no-fuss 3km. It’s faster than running on the road, which makes it more fun, of course. But it’s also an hour of nothing else. I think the same can be said for swimming pools. 


What I miss most of all is the Thursday track sessions with my running club, Mornington Chasers. The rest of the week, depending on what tier or lockdown we were in, we could only run in groups of six or two. But when it came to track, we could have fifteen people per time slot. I got to know other members of the club who I hadn’t met before and we could cheer each other on through gruelling 1 mile time trials from the sidelines. We stood and chatted in a big group before the start of the session, shaking our legs and rolling the working day out of our shoulders. Afterwards, we drifted homewards together, peeling off when it came to our turnings. 


I’d only joined the club in October 2020, so it’s fair to say I haven’t yet had the “full” experience of what being in a running club is normally like. But the track sessions are what I’m most looking forward to getting back to. I want that space in my head back. 


And, I really want to get my 400m below 1:24. I need some cheering on. 



Monday 18 January 2021

Running Recovery



I have been training for my first 50km race. Over November and December, I was up to 80-90km a week. I was inching up my long runs and hitting personal milestones. It took me a few weeks of trying until I tipped over 30km, and then on 2nd January, hangover in tow, I made it to 36km.

The following week I was pretty tired. The aforementioned hangover, the announcement that the UK was heading into another lockdown, SAD symptoms along with just January fatigue were lingering. And surely, that long run would be enough to send anyone to the sofa for two naps a day. 


I was still managing to run, though. That was the main activity of the day, and the one I was more than happy to pour all my effort into. I hit personal records all over the pace, scaling up and down hills as if they were speed bumps. But the fatigue continued at home. I did a COVID test. Standing in the kitchen that cheerful, drunken Sunday evening with my boyfriend, I got the email to say that the test was positive. 


Whether it was psychological or coincidence, I felt horrendous the very next day, and for the following five. When I look at my running for that week when I had caught the virus, it’s so obvious now. I wasn’t myself. Yes, I was running well, but I was lazy with my routes, and my Strava descriptions are a series of shrug emojis. 


Friends at the running club called my isolation a bonus taper week, or a worthy recovery week for having completed so many miles lately. One friend said I

it must be killing me to not be able to run, but to be honest, I was just too tired. I couldn’t shower or wipe down a table without having to lie down for another sleep.


I didn’t have symptoms as badly as others have done. Not by a long shot. I am very lucky. But it's a scary virus to have, because it's still such an unknown.


By the end of that week - because I’d had COVID without knowing it - I could get back outside. In my defence, who runs a speed session while they’re suffering with coronavirus? Who does hill repeats in Tufnell Park? Fatigue has not been well established as a significant symptom, and clearly I was still managing to exert myself.


For my first run, I chose a route where I wouldn't pass anyone, and I stuck to a loop of local roads so that I could stop and easily return home if I needed to. This was a smart decision, because I couldn’t take a deep breath. There’s a pretty shallow incline up to a park nearby, usually barely worth pre-empting. That was a struggle. I had to stop and settle my breathing. It sometimes felt like I might suffocate, even when I was going slower than my normal easy pace. 


After a rest day, my lungs seemed to be a bit more normal. I headed for Hampstead Heath. It was a sunny morning, so the park was bursting with people. It was a surreal sight after my week at home reading just how contagious the virus is. I kept my distance. 

I scaled up Kentish Town Road to the Heath fair enough, but had a quick pause before the ponds so that I could confidently continue up to Kenwood House. It’s not an easy climb, but I made it! I stopped again to admire the view from the house, and again at a favourite tree after the Old Dairy Farm. I stopped at the path beneath Parliament Hill that has - in my opinion - a better view of the city scape. 


In short, I was having a lovely time. These forced stops were allowing me to see my usual route in a way I rarely permit myself to do. Or, it’s not that: it’s that I do this route so often, and I’m usually most concerned with getting out of people’s way, or not getting cold, or completing a Strava segment. 


I have never thought about my lungs and how my body feels quite so intently.


By the third run, I was pumping up the steep incline to Primrose Hill. I ran the canal and Regent’s Park before scaling it, and taking in the view was my only stop of the 12km. An achievement already! I took a selfie. I ran home.


My pace is still not what it was. I don’t know why I can’t just move as quickly as I used to, while I feel fine. As I said, my lungs seem to be back to normal. Another running friend had COVID a few weeks before me, and she’s back up to speed. She’s still fatigued though, so I really don’t know what’s in store for me. Will I bounce back easily? Will it be a struggle like this for weeks?


I have to keep reminding myself that it’s clearly not a struggle. 22km in two days at less than 5:35 per kilometre is still good going.


And of course, there’s the 50km race to think about. I need to get my distance back up, even though 10k feels like about enough at the moment. My heart and head ask for more, but I really need to be sensible. I’ve heard of people with long COVID who think they’re better, and go for a proper workout, and it wipes them out back to where they started. I can’t let that happen. 


The race has - thankfully - been delayed until 1st May. To be honest, I had always been hoping for a delay. I wasn’t climbing up those weeks of big mileage fast enough. And May will be lovely at the North Downs - spring time. I hope to be feeling and performing better, brighter and with a renewed joy in the simple movement of running.