A Life Aquatic

Over dinner on Saturday, Steve offers his advice on marathon training. Steve is a man with a 2:50 mara under his belt, and a knee surgeon on speed dial.

"It's all about the long runs, time on your feet," he says. "Just do three runs a week. Tuesday, Thursday and a long run on the weekend - you'll be fine."

Sunday rolls around, and I wake to the sound of howling wind and pouring rain.  Conditions are definitely not conducive to a long run, but I know that if I can't get out and do it now, I really ought to be ashamed of myself.  Luckily a glance at the forecast shows the sun coming out later in the afternoon, so I postpone until then and enjoy a lazy morning.  And of course, if the weather doesn't improve, that's clearly the forecaster's fault, not mine.  What you going to do?

Sadly, right on cue, the sun makes an appearance, the wind drops, and I no longer have an excuse. I use the time to take the new electric car for its first visit to a charging point, just to get an idea and set things up. With the car (eventually) successfully sucking down power in the hospital car park, I head out for a route along the River Stour, a nice way to quickly get out of the town and into countryside.

The conditions are actually very pleasant considering the state of things earlier in the day, bright sunshine in a clear blue sky. I follow the country lanes out through Holdenhurst and Throop, before the road gives way to a gravel footpath that runs right alongside the river.  The river is high, and it's not too long before I reach a point where river and path become one.  It's fortunate that another path exists just to the left, a couple of feet higher, that allows me to continue on, albeit that it's along the grass bank and therefore is pretty muddy.  I'm worried for the state of my relatively new trainers, that to this point haven't seen any winter action.

Having pranced my way around the mud and puddles, I eventually arrive at a full-on flood.  I only have two options - to turn back, or plough through the water regardless.  It doesn't look that deep, and it's only water, and I hate turning back, so in I go.  It's up to my ankles, so the trainers are thoroughly soaked, but it's a fairly short stretch and I'm quickly through it and on my way.  Until the next one.  Which looks deeper, and disappears around a corner, so I have no idea how far it goes. In for a penny, in for a pound though.

It goes a long way.  I wade ever deeper, still unsure whether I'd be going for another 2 minutes or 20 minutes.  The water is pretty cold, and by the time I emerge from the depths after 5 minutes my toes have gone a bit numb.  But this proves the last obstacle along the way, so a few minutes of getting back to running warms them up again.

The route back gets off the river and on to the roads, and I take particular pleasure in finding a lane I've never been down before, particularly pleasing because it gives a view, with scrubland bordered by a line of pine trees atop a low ridge, that looks like nothing else in the area.

Eventually I'm back at the car, just shy of 10 miles and with still soggy trainers.  It's been a relatively easy run, although to be honest I wouldn't have wanted to have gone much further, but it's a little boost of confidence that I'm not going to entirely hate the Dark Half in just 3 weeks time.

Countdown

One hundred and ninety six days is a long time, if you were waiting for, say, your cat to come home, or a man to fix your boiler, or an especially exciting holiday to come around.  It's not a long time if an email has landed in your inbox telling you that you've earned a place in the London Marathon. Only one of these events is likely to have me writing this blog again, so I'll give you a moment to decide which one it is.

Picked one?

Great. 

It comes as a bit of a surprise, having entirely forgotten that I'd made my sixth attempt in the ballot, and it's a simple ping that brings the news to my inbox. As I read it my heartbeat quickens, and I'm simultaneously delighted and horrified - delighted that I'm in, horrified that just as the days start to darken and the heating comes on that I should have committed myself to 6 months of long runs. 

State of the nation: not entirely terrible, but not great.  The Bournemouth Bay Half in April was slow going, a career worst 2:20-ish, thanks largely to wearing really bad socks that chewed up my feet.  A 25 minute Parkrun, once a sign of a bad day, is a bit of a dream right now.  On the plus side, I've not given up running, albeit I'm a little irregular, but occasionally an 8 or 9 miler happens.

To try and keep motivation up, I've entered the Dark Half, a half marathon in the dark, naturally.  Unfortunately, the usual happened - instead of motivation its become a reason to rebel, and so I find myself 3 weeks away having done very little to actually prep myself for anything even approaching 2 hours. The little email finding it's way to me refocuses the mind, and suddenly the Dark Half, rapidly heading towards a no-show, becomes a must-do. 

So, Garmin out, trainers on, this could be interesting. As soon as the rain stops.