Marathon training: An update

So. How’s my marathon training going? Honestly? I have no idea. My original plan (increase my long run distance each week or so) was going ok, I was up to 12 miles, but there was a lot of walking and no consistency to my pace. I was also horribly aware that there was little to no consistency to my training and that I was entirely focused on “must do my long run”, but was neglecting my training during the week. And then I got talking to Kat at the Spitfire Scramble, who told me about her training plan which is flexible and designed to get you to train smarter, not just blindly claw out ever increasing distances. I trust Kat because she signs herself up for a ridiculous amount of ridiculously long races. Clearly she’s mad, but she must be doing something right with her training.

I ummed and ahhed about it. It sounded scary, but intriguing and after a couple of days, I gave up and asked Kat where I could find out more. She pointed in me in the direction of TrainAsOne, an app that is currently at the beta testing stage. I took a deep breath, sent off an email, signed myself up, filled in my training requirements and lo and behold I had a training plan. Admittedly it was a training plan that started on the wrong day because I got my days mixed up… Don’t worry, said Kat, it will just readjust itself. So I did my first assessment run, uploaded my TomTom Tim (have I mentioned that I’m calling him Tim? RIP Miles,  my sweet Garmin) and lo and behold, the whole thing had shuffled itself along and rejigged itself to accomdate my thickery.
It doesn't get much more hi-tech than this.It doesn’t get much more hi-tech than this.

There is lots of science and evidence behind the plan, but I do not know about this and quite frankly, I do not want to know about this. If I understand (or worse still, think that I understand) it, I will be tempted to try and tweak things because I know best. However,  I do not know best. I am an idiot. If I do not understand it (and basically treat the whole plan as if it some kind of witchcraft) I will follow it to the letter. This is mainly down to blind fear that if I do not follow it to the letter then it will all go wrong and I will find myself making an even bigger arse of myself in Dymchurch.

So how is my training going? Well I’ve alarmed myself by being able to go faster than I ever thought possible (in my assessment run, I did 2 miles at an average pace of 9.04 minutes/mile – to put this into context I am normally chuffed to mintballs by doing 10 minute miles). I’m definitely working harder (evidenced by the fact that I’m returning home sweatier and more red-faced than ever) and I’m going out 3 times a week (and wanting to go out more). My pace is consistent and I’m hitting most of my target paces there or thereabouts (weirdly, the hardest one is my very easy pace). And you know what, I’m enjoying it.

So I don’t understand what I’m doing, I’ve no idea how long the marathon will take me and I haven’t a clue if I’m progressing in the right direction. But I’m enjoying myself, so I must be doing something right.

Running birthday

It was my birthday a few weeks ago and it turned into a bit of a lovely running fest. I am now the proud owner of a running diary and a special pen in which to record my efforts (must try harder with my appalling handwriting) AND some sweatshop vouchers to spend on some proper kit (instead of scratting around the bargain bin at Sports Direct).

  
I have also been entered into two races, one real and one virtual.

  

And I treated myself to Tagnix id bracelet so that when I next fall over, I can be retrieved from the gutter and returned home safely. I had mentioned my birthday to the lovely people at Tagnix and when I got back from the Spitfire weekend, I had an extra little treat in with my order!

This was my second set of Event Clips that weekend (technically my third as I lost my first set within hours of being given them) as I sported by UK Fitness Bloggers set for the whole weekend and they are rather good. No more stabbing yourself with safety pins. Oh, that’s just me then…

All products mentioned in this post were either given to me by lovely people cos it was my birthday or were paid for with my own hard earned cash.

What did I learn at the Spitfire Scramble?

Well a week has now passed since I completed the Spitfire Scramble and I have just about stopped grinning. I may or may not have worn my medal for a bit yesterday (it needed taking upstairs, alright?) and I have gleefully devoured each of my teammates blogs (Alma, Andrew, Corey, Helen, Kat, Mollie and Sabine if you want to collect the whole set) as a lovely reminder of what a brilliant weekend it was. But naturally I am a reflector, so what have I learned from the weekend?

  1. If there is a Tesco nearby, you do not have to pack food as if there is an impending apocalypse (even if you have a gannet-like toddler in tow).
  2. Even if there are food vans, it is highly likely that you will want to eat something that is not served in a bun. Although there was the option of pasta or jacket potatoes (and I managed to keep missing the jackets) , the rotation of burger/sausage/bacon onna bun has its limits. When we arrived home, Ginge asked if we could have vegetables for tea. I have never known this to happen in eight years of marriage.
  3. I LOVE RUNNING IN THE DARK! I am not foolish enough to think that all night runs are like this one, but this one was pretty near perfect and I loved it. As a woman, I don’t often get chance to run alone in some dark woods and feel perfectly safe, so it’s great to be able to do this. I am toying with investing in a headtorch, but can’t help thinking that it would be wasted for training runs. My theory is that if I’m running somewhere dark enough to warrant a headtorch, I probably shouldn’t be running there alone (mainly because my mum will be cross). I am however frantically googling the National Trust Night Run (I promise that I’m not sponsored by them, but I enjoyed last year’s so much that I want everyone to do one. Having said that, if they do want to sponsor me, I’m well up for that…) and wondering if there are any more local events that I can brave in the dark.
  4. I suspect that I am capable of more than I have been doing. I wasn’t sure if I could do Spitfire, it turned out that I could. I wonder what else I can do….
  5. I shouldn’t freak myself out with pacing. During the night run, I barely looked at my pace. I felt strong and steady, whereas in the afternoon I was aware of going off a bit too fast, checking my watch and then having a walk. I have taken people’s advice and changed the display on my TomTom (who I am currently calling Tim) to show constantly show my time and distance, which means that I have to make a conscious decision to have my pace displayed. This seems to be a nice compromise as my new training efforts require me to have some awareness of my speed.
  6. I should probably invest in some nicer kit. Until not long ago, I was still running in the men’s T-shirts that I bought from Sports Direct when I was 6 months post-baby. They served a purpose, but they don’t do a great deal for your self-esteem. When I saw photos of myself in fluorescent pink and yellow, I barely recognised myself.
  7. I like being part of something. Maybe it’s harking back to my days in the Brownies, but I loved being part of a team for the weekend (and during all of the before and after stuff on facebook and twitter). Yes the prospect may have made me a bit anxious, but I wore my pink headband with pride!
  8. You can learn a huge amount from other runners. I am not really a kit junkie, so I didn’t really have much to contribute to conversations about watches, trackers, hydration packs etc, and I don’t really know what I’m doing, so I had nothing to add to discussions about nutrition, training and so on. However, I did get to run alongside some brilliant people and absorb their knowledge. A chance conversation with Kat has led me to embarking on a whole new training regime that I am finding terrifying and exciting in equal measure.
  9. Embrace the post-event massage. On the one hand, it did make my legs feel sore for 24 hours and I did end up with a little bit of fingertip bruising on my left thigh, on the other hand, it did make me feel like a Proper Runner Who is Hardcore.
  10. Do not agree to ANYTHING in the 24 hours post-race. Well maybe except doing it again next year. But do not get swept along into agreeing to sign up for something like the Trailblaster 12 when someone like Helen says “wouldn’t it be great to do this as a pair?”. Similarly, don’t get distracted by a lovely shiny Ultra medal while you’re trying to find a link on the race organiser’s website…

Spitfire Scramble 2015

Where to begin? Over the past few weeks I must have had half a dozen posts that I’ve meant to write, but they’ve all been shunted down the list after my most recent adventure. This weekend we packed up our troubles (well our tent and several changes of running kit)  in our old kit bag (well the boot of Ginge’s car) and headed off down South to meet 6 virtual strangers (and Helen) who made up the UK Fitness Bloggers team at the Spitfire Scramble. On Thursday, stuck in the office all day, I had been giddy with excitement, but come Friday morning, the anxiety kicked in with a vengeance – I was meeting up with people who I didn’t know, who all look like Proper Runners and I had no idea whether or not I could actually manage to do what was been asked of me.

What was being asked of me was to be part of a team who would be running for 24 hours, doing three laps of a 5.8 mile course on paths and trails with some kind of hill in the middle of it. Friday night was time to get the tent up and meet half of the team before a bit of a chill out as we pondered the prospect of the next day. On Saturday, I politely declined the prospect of doing the local parkrun, preferring a gentle morning eating a sausage butty and chasing Mini-Ginge around the campsite (which quite possibly involved a similar mileage to actually doing a parkrun).

I'm not the only one in the family who looks slower in photos.

I’m not the only one in the family who looks slower in photos.

You know the weird sensation of waiting for  a race to start? Spitfire was like this but multiplied by, oooh ,at least twenty-four. Even when you weren’t running, you were aware that you were going to have to run and that someone else was about to go out or be due back and would need cheering on. I have to thank Helen for planning the schedule to send out the slower runners first, this meant that I was second on the list (at about one o’clock) and wouldn’t have long to wait for my first lap. As I was following Helen, I knew that the sun would shine upon me as I would have the residual effects of her blessing/curse which brings warm weather to every event that she runs (Half marathon in Folkestone? 30 degrees? In October? Of course she can make that happen).

The first snapband baton handover - I did get faster at these.

The first snapband baton handover – I did get faster at these.

I was paced beautifully by a man in a jaunty yellow cap for the first mile and a half, but then I acquired a stone in my shoe and I lost him until the water station at three miles. The nature of the race means that unless you set off with someone running at a similar pace, you tend to be on your own for a lot of the time. I was passed by speedier runners any number of times (who were all very generous with their shouts of “well done!” as they legged it past me. In the later stages, I would pass the occasional solo runner, but quite frankly there is no satisfaction to be gained in overtaking someone who has already been on the move for half a day.

My first lap gave me chance to get to know the route and decide which bits I didn’t like (the winding, steady, energy sapping hill; the stretch along a field with the afternoon sun beating down; any of the potentially lethal trip hazards) and which bits I did (the water station; the shady, wooded bit with a lovely downhill that made me feel like a mountain goat as I hurtled down it at an unsafe speed; the two short steep uphills, because at the end of the day I am nothing but contrary).

Whilst I enjoyed myself, these were not my ideal conditions. The heat wore me down and I felt that my wheels fell off halfway round. My pacing was all over the show – setting off with wild abandon and then having to walk (my mile splits show a difference of about 2 minutes 25 seconds between my slowest and fastest laps). However, as I rounded the final corner I spotted Corey bouncing and yelling at me, and quite frankly I didn’t dare slow down. The route to the finish took you alongside two sides of the campsite which meant that there was always a lot of support from other teams as well as the welcome sight of our own team (who were easy to spot by the fabulous bright pink headbands that Corey had bought for us).

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Our fabulous team, easily identifiable at a distance of several miles.
Via Mollie at www.ptmollie.com

Normally my running kit is incredibly dull and ninja-like (possibly so I blend into the tarmac) but somehow I ended up wearing a riot of neon with my headband and my new fluorescent yellow #bloodnotmoney vest (which I will talk about more in another post as I still have another two laps to bang on about).

At least I look like I'm moving!

At least I look like I’m moving!
Via Mollie at www.ptmollie.com

In between laps, I grazed on the vast quantities of snacks that people had brought with them to the race. Talk about the kindness of strangers! As well as everyone ensuring that no one would starve over the next 24 hours, Trespass had donated t-shirts, headtorches and glowsticks to the team, we had matching water bottles from Sistema (mine will enter my endless cycle of bottles that I regularly fill up and forget to take with me to work) and a Flipbelt for stashing essential bits and bobs.

I can confirm that we did have enough to eat

I can confirm that yes, we did have more than enough to eat. And this was only the start of the buffet.

I was strangely looking forward to my second lap which I was due to start around half ten. However,  due to the general speediness of the team, we had made up twenty-odd minutes which brought my start time forward a bit. It was still dark mind you. The Trespass headtorch wasn’t quite strong enough for the middle-of-the-countryside-pitch-black darkness and I had been planning to run with that and my trusty handtorch that had got me around the National Trust Night Run. However we had been joined by the Amazing Abradypus (TM) who tried to give me her spare headtorch, only for me to go all polite and protest that no I was fine, I could manage with what I had. Eventually (on the start line, literally as Corey was coming into view for the handover) Ginge told me to just take the torch, Louise stuck it on my head and off I went.

If anyone ever offers you a really bright headtorch as you’re about to run off into some woods, just say yes and take the bloody headtorch.

It was dark. Very dark. The head torch lit up the path in the distance and I used my handtorch to sweep the ground in front of me for tree roots, uneven paths and foxes (I spotted two glowing dots in front of me, thought it was the reflective bits on the heels of someone’s trainers and then realised that I could just make out a foxy pair of ears). Parts of the route seemed familiar, but I managed to convince myself that I had missed a turning and then got cocky, thought that I was feeling much stronger as I ran along my dreaded field and then realised that I had misjudged the location of the field by a mile and a half (when I ran my final lap, I couldn’t figure out where I thought the field had been the night before).

The weird thing about the night lap was that one of the hills completely disappeared. Clearly the secret to running hills is to run them in the dark as invisible hills are much more managable. Other than the vanishing hills, I think that the highlight of this lap was passing a well-lit marshalls’ station, embracing my inner Northerner and exclaiming “ooooh, it’s like the Blackpool Illuminations down here!” before running off, playing an imaginary ukelele and singing “when I’m cleaning windows” in my best George Formby voice. I really hope that nobody heard me.

Headtorch selfie!

Headtorch selfie!

It turns out that what my running has been missing is darkness. I completed my second lap two minutes faster than my first lap and at a much more consistent pace. Getting back to camp, I was bouncing with excitement and was almost offering to go out again. Almost. Instead I had a beer and a chocolate milk, talked a lot and crashed into bed for a few hours sleep before my next lap.

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Tea the colour of David Dickinson, my favourite kind.

I am quite a morning person and was probably annoyingly cheerful to anyone who crossed my path on Sunday. I brewed up with Mollie’s brilliant Primus Lite stove (I spent a lot of the weekend suffering with kit envy) and stuffed her peanut butter flapjack down my neck before walking to start line with Helen. At this point I discovered that I may be cheerful at 6am, but I am also massively incompetent. Having forgotten her number, I nipped back to collect it from Helen’s tent, misidentified one of two orange tents (and bear in mind that I had helped Helen put her’s up) and it was only when a poor slumbering Alma rolled over that it dawned on me that I was in the wrong tent and I beat a hasty retreat…

Anyway… An hour or so later and it was time for my final lap. Feeling fine on the start line, as Helen handed over the baton and my foot hit the ground, I soon realised that someone had been beating my quads with a mallet. This was going to be a very plodding run. As I reached the long, slow winding hill, I found myself catching up with a power-walking solo runner and realised that if I ran past him, I would inevitably end up walking and look a bit of an arse. So I walked up, we had a nice chat, wished each other well and I bounded off down the other side.

I decided to embrace some walking and took the opportunity to thank the lovely marshall at the water station who had been there for all three of my laps. We both marvelled at the leader of the solo male category who bounded past us looking as fresh as a daisy (he would eventually complete 20 laps, running for a total of 24 hours 15 minutes. Utterly insane) and I plodded on. I was determined to run up the two short hills and as I came through my favourite wooded downhill, I spotted Mini-Ginge shoulder-riding his dad to say hello and cheer me on. This was great until I had to keep running past them and could hear a “mummy…mummy” fading behind me. Luckily I didn’t have far to go and I trotted round the campsite, crossed the finishline and took myself off for a restorative bacon butty.

Spitfire flypast – an absolutely spine tingling sight

So, three laps done, nearly 18 miles – definitely the furthest that I’ve ever run in that space of time. It’s now Tuesday and I am still grinning like an idiot at the thought of  this weekend. It was amazing to be part of such a brilliant, supportive team and to be part of this event. There were runners of all shapes, ages and abilities, and not once did I feel out of place. So many people were an inspiration and even though my times weren’t the fastest, I have been ever so proud of myself for doing this. On Monday I booked myself in for a massage and saw the therapist who treated me a few months ago for  a very wonky back that was knotted into spasm. I was struggling to get going with my running at that time and I was a bit grey around the edges, so it was wonderful to be able to go in with a huge smile on my face and ask for some post-event recovery. Poor Laura endured thirty minutes of me rabbiting on and I am fairly sure that she kept applying some extra pressure just to shut me up for a bit…

Did I mention the bling?

Did I mention the bling?

So a MASSIVE thank you to Helen for putting the team together, the rest of my awesome team mates Alma, Andrew, Corey, Kat, Mollie and Sabine just for being so awesome, Ginge for driving me to yet another event at the other end of the country and for wrangling Mini-Ginge all weekend, my mum for the loan of her gazebo and to Danny and his team (especially his mum who had the uneviable task of changing the loo roll in some not entirely fragrant portaloos) for making the whole thing happen.

Trespass, Flipbelt, Primus and Sistema sent products for the team for to review however all opinions are honest and my own.

A mixed run marking a milestone

Whenever I get in from a run, Ginge will ask me how it went. More often than not, my reply is “mixed”. Today was one of those days. My plan was to run 8 miles and I felt physically sick at the prospect. I feel like my long run training has hit the buffers a bit recently and although I know that the only way to get past this is to go out and run, I was dreading this morning.

My solution was to procrastinate until the point where Ginge was ready to hustle me out of the house with a broom. Off I went, setting off at my usual-probably-going-too-fast-but-can’t-seem-to-slow-it-down pace and lolloping along without having an actual route in mind. Despite my best efforts to distract it with The Infinite Monkey Cage podcast, my negative head was muttering away to itself and going up a hill around 2 miles I just stopped. All I wanted to do was turn around, waddle home and maybe have a little cry. Nothing hurt, I wasn’t injured, I just went very very mardy.

When I get like this, the recognised treatment is that I need putting in a bag and shaking, so I gave myself a stern talking to, had a little shimmy (in the absence of a big enough bag, I have to make do with an imaginary one) and ploughed on. At 4 miles I was going to turn round to do an out and back, but decided to carry on to the petrol station around the corner to get a bottle of water (forgetting that it’s actually a massive corner and much further away than I thought). Stocked up with water and a cheap bag of jelly babies, I made a rash decision and instead of turning around and running up a long and steady incline, I decided to go around the corner and down a massive hill.

This is despite the fact that I knew that I would have to return up the massive hill at some point. It’s basic geography and yet apparently I am an idiot. I got part of the way up the massive hill, walked a bit, ate some jelly babies, plodded for a bit, walked a bit, plodded, walked…until I got to the top and on the home straight. I did manage to pull off a fair bit of running until the last incline into the village – it isn’t actually that bad, but I seem to have a mental block about running up it. I pulled up to a walk and was immediately yelled at by a passing Ironman cyclist who told me to keep going. I did, but quite slowly. You might even say I was walking (because I most certainly was).

With home in sight, I realised that my change in route meant that I would hit 9.5miles pretty much opposite our front gate. Finishing on a fraction? Oh no, no, no… Looking longingly at the house, I tacked on an extra half mile to take me to a lovely round ten. Ten miles. Double figures for the first time in over two years (the last time was when I did the Blackpool Half when I was expecting Mini-Ginge). The little negative voice tells me that I walked a bit too much for it to really count, but my overall pace was pretty much where I would like it to be so I’m telling the little voice to shut its trap. I’m really really chuffed, it feels such a milestone to pass and makes longer distances seem a little less scary.

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After all this exertion, we walked to the pub for some lunch and to jangle our cowbells at the Ironman cyclists (who are amazing, I never fail to be in awe of them). This added on an extra 6.5 miles of walking to my day so I suspect that I will sleep well tonight.