Tag: Running

A better day’s shopping

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Last week’s miserable attempts at shopping have been completely forgotten. The mood in the house has changed to giddy excitement, tempered with a little bit of finger crossing and optimism.

Today we ventured north on our biannual trip to the New Balance factory shop at Shap. I love the New Balance factory shop at Shap. Apart from a brief but disastrous flirtation with a pair of Brooks (which turned out to be so heavy and over stable that they put me off running for months), I have been entirely faithful to NB since I started running. Luckily, they forgave my infidelity (honestly it meant nothing, I’ll never stray again) and I’ve been back in them ever since.

As I’ve mentioned before, I wasn’t really built for running so I need the shoe equivalent of a hug from a matronly dinnerlady – nice and squashy, but also solid and supportive. It turns out that this really narrows my choice of shoes (how I envy all of you with neutral, dainty lady sized feet). My first purchase from NB was a 1225, then an upgrade to 1226, then back to a 1225 because they were cheap on Amazon.

So, today in the shop, I announced confidently that I need a 1226 in a 7 and a half in a B width, but didn’t know where to start with trail shoes. Due the aforementioned wonkiness, it turns out that I have to finish where I start as there is only one shoe for me (obviously there are two shoes, a left and a right, I believe that’s the standard arrangement). I tried on the trails, paced around, prodded my toes, did some nervous bouncing, all the essential shoe-trying behaviours. They felt good, no obvious ankle rolling, comfy around my foot, not too high on the ankle…but my toes were right at the end. Into an 8 I went… Lovely.

749 - my new trail shoes

But all this made me doubt my trusty 1226 sizing. On they went and lo and behold, too snug. “Your feet must have grown” suggested Ginge. “I’m 32!” I yelped back. No problem. Apart from the fact that they didn’t have an 8 in a B width. I was given a wide fitting, which I thought would be ok (what I haven’t admitted is that my trail shoes are a men’s 8 and thus wider fitting), but no. Despite me tightening my laces tighter than a swooning lady’s corset, my feet slid around in them. Another shoe was produced, it had the same stability as my precious 1226s but less cushioning. I peered at them suspiciously. On they went, I paced, bounced and prodded. Something wasn’t right but I couldn’t put my finger on what. I paced, bounced and prodded again. My heels felt weird.

The lovely assistant advised me that I should leave it if I wasn’t 100% certain, especially as the 1260 (the uber souped up new version of 1220s) would be in their shops very soon. OK, I sighed and abandoned the quest. This is where excellent customer service kicked in. I must have looked heartbroken because he offered to ring the Keswick branch for me (they will post shoes out), oh and he knew they have had some 1260s in. He rang. I held my breath. No joy. He rang Flimby. They had a 1225 AND A 1260. Or did they? It went quiet. They just had to check something. It wasn’t a B width in the box. It went quiet again. The B width was in the D width box and the D width in the B width box! Panic over. They will be mine!

My beautiful new 1260s. Take care of them Mr Postman.

I finished up with my trail shoes, Ginge got some road shoes and some trail shoes and my shiny new 1260s will be in the post on Monday. Best of all, there was 50% off all shoes, so my shiny new Runners World reviewed 5 star in every category 1260s cost me just over £60 including postage.

I just hope they fit.

573 - Ginge's new trail shoes

Ginge's 1080s - I have taken to calling him Dorothy

New Balance Factory Shops are at Shap, Keswick, Flimby and Murton. I would heartily recommend them for their friendly, knowledgable and generally lovely staff, their range of kit and their bargain prices (even when there’s no sale on). They have not paid me to say any of this, but if they want to send me some stuff I won’t argue.

On the trail of trail shoes

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Lots of people I know (in real life and via blogging/twitter) are great enthusiasts for trail running. I have never knowingly run a trail. Well there was that time I got lost in a wood during Juneathon, and Ginge periodically makes me run through a field or two, but I don’t think those experiences count for much. Despite this, I find that I have a strange fascination with having a go. I love the idea of running through wooded glades, bounding giddily across the countryside and coming home all knackered and muddy. Having said that, I like the idea of lots of things, it doesn’t mean to say that I’ll actually do them.

The point to all this is that I decided to invest in some entry level trail shoes so that I could have a dabble, but not waste too much money if they end up living in the bottom of the wardrobe. At Saturday’s Parkrun, we were handed a flyer for 20% off trail shoes at Sweatshop, which combined with the £5 voucher for doing the Folkestone Half, seemed like A Sign. And so on Sunday, I popped down to my local branch.

At this point I will confess that I’m rubbish in running shops. I’m fine if I’m buying a top, but if I’m looking to invest in something more complicated (like shoes. Or a hat.) it’s as if I’ve only ever heard about running from the friend of a friend of someone whose sister’s mother-in-law’s, cousin’s nephew’s godmother’s next door neighbour once ran a fun run dressed as a chicken.

I will admit, on this occasion I was a bit of an awkward customer. Let me explain. Leg-wise, I am a bit of a wonky donkey. (I over-pronate, my ligaments are a bit lax, bits of me stay still when they should rotate and rotate when they should stay still… Trail shoes are not renowned for support, cushion or stability). I was looking for something at the lower end of the price scale and I have have no experience or knowledge about trail running (as I’ve already said). Ideal trail shoe shopper, I am not.

So I explained what I wanted (as well as I could do) and off the assistant popped to bring out a couple of pairs, which is where it all went a bit self-service. Unfortunately, he was caught up with a phone call while bringing me my shoes, so I just helped myself to them. The first pair of Adidas were far too small (in a bloody 8! For what kind of hoofed creatures are these people making shoes?) and far too pink. The second pair were Inov-8’s and felt lovely, although something wasn’t quite right. I was brought a pair of men’s Adidas, shown how to use the treadmill and off I went, wishing all the while that I had worn either (a) a sports bra or (b) a more modest top.

After a couple of minutes on the treadmill, the Adidas had set off my hip and knee more than the whole half had done. I figured that this was A Bad Thing. Off with the Adidas, on with the Inov-8s. These were lusciously comfortable, except…. they rubbed around my ankles. Bah. Last chance saloon was a pair of Asics, but these were way too big and didn’t even make it onto the treadmill. At this stage I decided that trail shoes and I were not to be acquainted.

I bought a top.

Parklife round two

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Amidst much excited tweeting, I ran my first Parkrun back in July. Unfortunately the week after saw the start of my hip/knee issues and I hadn’t been back since. However, last week, I was tweeted by Abradypus (who is part of the tribe of nomadic Parkrunners who travel near and far, visiting as many different events as they can) as she was up north and offering a bit of company on a Saturday morning. Both of my nearest runs are about a 40 minute drive away from my house, which is a bit of a contributing factor to my Parkrun laziness. What Abradypus was proposing was driving from London to Leeds on Friday night, and then crossing the Pennines to be at Leverhulme Park in Bolton for a 9.00 start. Phew.

Bolton Parkrun includes an incline described in the route instructions as That Hill. Normally, the route takes you up That Hill twice, but this week the running track was being refurbished and so we would have to run That Hill not once, not twice, but three times. At the start of the race we were informed that we would know when we were on the third lap because “our legs would be screaming”. Yay.

Initially I managed to keep up with Louise whilst still being able to make conversation (albeit slightly gasping conversation at times), but halfway up the first hill I realised that my lack of hill training (oh alright, my lack of much training) would scupper any chance I had of maintaining my early pace. At this point, I released Louise from her supervisory role and off she went while I strolled up the last part of the hill. At this point, I was overtaken by a woman running with a child and a dog. Soon I would overtake them because I am a finely tuned athlete.

Oh alright, her dog stopped to drink from a puddle.

The hill came around again far too quickly and I hate to admit it but I wussed out of running it, deciding to put more effort into the flat bits and try again with the hill on the next loop. I’m not sure who I was trying to kid – I walked most of the third hill as well. Ooops.

I finished in the aesthetically pleasing time of 33.33 and once again was the first woman to finish in my age group. I say first, it would be more accurate to say ‘only’, but I take accolades wherever I can. Looking at the results of the regular Levehulme Park runners, the change of route put about 2 or 3 minutes on people’s PBs, so I was quite happy with my time given how much I had walked. Conditions-wise, it was slightly odd that my July run was completed in the cold and wet, whereas October’s was done under blue skies and sunshine. It was lovely to meet with another Athoner and I’ll definitely be running Bolton again in the future, but maybe I’ll wait until the normal route is resumed.

My very first half marathon – 6th Folkestone Half

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I have completed my first half marathon and lived to tell the tale.

SATURDAY
The weekend started with some last minute list crossing off and minor panicking before marvelling (again) at how easy it is to get from Wigan to London on the train. This was followed by a short mooch around St Pancras (posher than most shopping centres I’ve ever been to) then hopping on the high speed train down to Folkestone. Before we knew it, we were sitting outside the hotel in the sunshine drinking a pint (Ginge) and drinking squash but looking longingly at a pint (me). We had left grey, cloudy Lancashire behind and enjoyed the novelty of basking in unseasonal warmth. It was so sunny, I even showed a bit of ankle. After a spot of lunch with my aunt and uncle, we wandered into town, sized up The Hill (bloody big), wandered back to the hotel, neatly laid out all of my race gubbins (nothing had been forgotten, phew), had a bit of a snooze and met up for tea with Helsie, JogBlog, I like to count and Helsie’s mate Helen 1, where we gorged ourselves senseless on carbs (surely creme brulee counts? No? Really?).

SUNDAY
Race day. More carbs (including my shameful little bag of homemade muesli rather than hotel variety pack cereal). Plenty of fluids. Lots of nervous excitement. Emptying bladder. Sock knitting to take my mind off the nervous aspect of the excitement. Lots of tweeting – I really enjoyed being part of the nationwide pre-race nerves instead of just watching from the side lines. Emptying bladder again. Slight panic that I’d forgotten my socks, despite knowing full well that I had packed my socks. Looking out of the window trying to convince myself that it was about to cloud over. Attempting to empty already empty bladder. Race number pinned on. Jelly babies crammed in back pocket, despite the fact that my pocket suddenly seemed half the size it normally is. Off to the start line.

Best good luck message ever

It is a matter of public record that I do not like running in the heat. I live in the damp and mild north of England, we mainly get drizzle. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to account for the fact that I was running with Helen “Bring Me Sunshine” Tamblyn. It turns out that Hels’s superpower is the ability to make races unseasonably and uncomfortably sunny. If you’re getting married, I would suggest that you encourage her to race in the vicinity of the ceremony to guarantee that you have decent weather.

I do love a bandstand

Anyway, the race. I set off well… And then spent the first three miles wishing that I’d worn my hat. When I saw Ginge on the sidelines proffering my hat, it was snatched gratefully from him with a cry of “I think I love you…” over my shoulderas I lumbered past.
At 4.3 miles, I overtook a man on a mobility scooter. He wasn’t part of the race and I shouldn’t really have been as pleased as I was with this.
After an alarmingly short time had elapsed, the front runner passed us (he finished in a course record of 1:08:00, 8 min 55 sec before the second placed runner) and not long after that, Shaun (I like to count) also bounded past followed by Hels’s mate Jimmy.
Around 5 miles, I started to feel sick. I know the feeling from previous attempts to run in the heat and I realised that I was faced with a choice. Keep running, inevitably feeling worse (and increasingly miserable) and possibly not making it around the course, or walk for a bit, take it easy and – as everyone had told me to – just enjoy it. Who am I to ignore the advice of wiser, more experienced runners eh?

Despite the run-walking, it was still bloody hard work. I was immensely grateful to the applause and encouragement of all of the spectators (particularly the lad showering runners with a garden hose and Ginge who just threw water over me) and marshalls around the course  – I just hope they all realised that my response to their cheers was a smile and not a grimace. I also had some wonderful psychic Shuffle random playlist action – starting the race with my motivational tune (Trinity Roots, All We Be), being told Don’t Worry Be Happy at mile 10 and singing along to Jolene (in my head you’ll be relieved to know) with the blessed Dolly as I plodded up The Hill.

Beach huts around the ten mile mark

On another day, I may have managed to own The Hill, but it was not to be and I managed about 30 seconds before resorting to walking. After that, I was determined to finish on a run and with gritted teeth, I ploughed on to the finish where I was cheered over the line in a time of exactly 2:33:00 before collapsing on the grass.

Before the day, I had set three levels of goal in my head: It would be acceptable to get round but…I would be pleased with finishing under 2:30 but… I would be ecstatic with somewhere around 2:15.

So am I happy with that result? Yes and no. Given the conditions, I was pleased to finish and in an acceptable and not too shabby time. I knew that my training hadn’t been at its best, I did everything I could to enjoy the day and the sobering sight of a runner receiving ambulance treatment near mile 10 (I hope that he was ok) reminded me that it’s more than possible to come to grief. However… I know that I can do better.

In summary – I had a fantastic weekend and it was lovely to meet up with my Southern running mates (especially as Cathy brought us homemade jam). The race was well organised and friendly, but I was undone by the general heat and lack of shade throughout the course (there really was no respite from the sun along the sea front). However, I keep referring to Folkestone as my first half marathon – this suggests that there will be more of them, so I must have enjoyed myself.

Fears and lists

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Anyone reading my blog late last night (hi Carla!) will have been treated to an untitled post that consisted of stuff that was in my head and I wanted to get rid of before bed. I was tired and could only paw randomly at my phone meaning that the following was published instead of being kept in a holding pattern overnight: –

  • Loo
  • Lost
  • Late
  • Breakfast

It’s a fairly self-explanatory list of all  (at the time) my fears and worries about Sunday.

I have solved two of them (loo and breakfast) and realised that the other two  (late and lost) are silly.

Our hotel is near the race start so I can nip back to the room for a sneaky wee if the race HQ and portaloos are too busy and I’ve read the race brochure enough times to have remembered where emergency loos are en route.

Breakfast has been packed.

I am not going to get lost. The directions for the race are comprehensive and a bit scary for someone who is (a) not local and (b) appalling with directions. I like my out and back routes to be from A to B and back to A. I do not like them to include twiddly little bits on each end to make them the necessary length. However, it is highly unlikely that I will be leading the race at any point and hopefully I will be able to keep someone in sight.

I am also not going to be late. I will undoubtably dream about being late over the next two nights (or possibly even on the train), but Ginge will not let me be late. And Hels is staying in the same hotel and I doubt she would let me be late either.

So the bag is packed, the lists ticked off (when things were located) and crossed off (when things went in the bag), the shuffle is full of happy tunes, gizmos are all fully charged, panic  has been tweeted about, positive messages have been read (thank you all!) and I’m running out of things to worry about. I am now trying to procrastinate for as long as I can so I don’t have to go to bed.

Yes. Well. Hmmmm.