Tag: Running

Canal Adventure #14 – Eldonian Village (Liverpool) to Maghull

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Today we completed the west side of the Leeds and Liverpool canal (well nearly, there’s an intentional gap in the middle earmarked for the final run of the project). This was one of our proper adventures involving a drive to Maghull, catching the train to Sandhills, walking a bit to the very start of the canal and then running back. All in, it turned out to be 11.5 miles.

The end of the canal is a bit disappointing. It just ends. There are no statues, fanfares or dancing girls. Just some particularly nowty geese (the one on the right of the photo was spectacularly grumpy).

Guard geese at the start of the canal

Before today, we had done some humming and haaaaaaing about where to start the run. I’d thought that we would end up on the waterfront with all the iconic scenery, but when we peered more closely at the map, we realised that section is an extra bit of canal that is joined to the Leeds and Liverpool by the Stanley Dock Branch. I have nothing against branch canals, but when I started this I decided that they weren’t essential parts of the plan, so I don’t have to run them (yet).

This is the top lock of the Stanley Dock Branch. It is also where things started to go a bit tits up (to use a technical term). After a mere 2 minutes and 37 seconds, I caught my foot on something; there was a bang (from me), a loud expletive (from Ginge) and I lay sprawled across the (nicely maintained and good to run on, but also quite gravelly) towpath. Somehow I had managed to graze my right calf, my right little finger (now sporting a lovely  bruised knuckle), my right elbow and (most bizarrely) my right shoulder. I sat up, slightly dazed and gathered myself together before standing up and nearly fainting (after a number of falls over the past few years, I recognise what’s happening and try my best to stop it). We could have walked back to the station and caught the train home (thank god we had enough money to do that if we wanted), but decided to carry on. If you find yourself in a similar situation and have the option of not running 11.3 miles home, take it – you’ll thank me for it.

The second lock was the scene of my actual and metaphorical downfall

Property prices have rocketed round here

They knew how to make a plaque those Victorians

This was probably the most urban of canal runs that we’ve done (round Blackburn was at the top of the leader board before today). It’s daft to think of the canal as a picturesque rural idyll (even though large sections are rather rural and idyllic) because it was built to link two industrial cities, via various busy, industrial towns. The first few miles were surrounded by residential areas, scrap yards and (mainly abandoned) warehouses, while the  lily pads that grew along the edges of the canal were sifted up with flotsam and jetsam that suggested a very specific type of recreational binge drinking. I didn’t take photos of these (or the dead cat).

But I did take a photo of the sunken shopping trolley

The remains of old industry - boats would have been able to sail into the warehouse through the arch

In the midst of all this, we were slightly surprised to see bee hives on the opposite side of the canal. It turns out that these are community hives installed by British Waterways, Art for Places and local people who have been trained in the art and science of beekeeping.

To bee, or not to bee

The bridges along this section of the canal are all lettered rather than numbered (I even took photos of bridge I, just in case it was bridge 1), but eventually we reached bridge 1.

Bridge 1

Onward we continued, through Bootle and towards Litherland. I had needed the loo before we set off (and hadn’t been helped by my dramatic crash landing), however despite being bordered with bushes, the residential nature of the route meant that any sneaky wee stops would be hidden from the towpath, but would result in me flashing my bum to a whole cul-de-sac. Sensibly, we decided to hop off the canal and have a cheeky comfort stop at Tesco, Litherland (I may not have been a customer today, but I reckon I have enough Clubcard points to entitle me to pee in any of their branches). Whilst avoiding any Tena lady moments, this did mean that we had a break of 15 minutes or so, which messed up our rhythm quite a bit (note to self, don’t take a 15 minute break during the race next week).

The previous milestone had been amended to read "Everton 3 L'Pool 2"

After Litherland, things went much more rural. If nothing else, the route of the canal is a reminder of how much green space we have on our doorsteps round here. We also figured that, despite the litter, the water must be relatively clean to sustain all of the wildlife that you can see along the canal.

King Heron

At around 8 miles, I was a bit knackered. There were long stretches of nothingness, half of my body ached from the fall and I found my posture becoming more and more hunched, while my steps became more and more shuffling. I managed to keep up a semblance of pride until we passed Aintree racecourse, but it all went downhill from there.

A distant Aintree. If I was a horse, they would have shot me out of kindness.

We limped on and it was with a huge amount of relief that we found ourselves back at bridge 11b in Maghull. We invested our emergency fiver in some chocolate milk, Oasis and a packet of Jaffa Cakes and drove home with the intention of doing nothing all afternoon but ended up repainting the bedroom.

Miles run = 11.5
Canal miles completed = 11.5
Total canal miles = 86.85/127*
Bridges = C-11b

How not to train for a half marathon

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At the beginning of July I embarked on a half marathon training plan. The timing was perfect – 12 weeks between the end of Juneathon and race day. I was grumpy about following a plan, but optimistic that it would help me to do a half that I could be proud of. That was eleven weeks ago.

Today, the countdown on my phone tells me that the number of days before Folkestone is in single figures. My training can best be described as haphazard. Compare and contrast the training plans at Runner’s World and 2:09 Events (my plan was a Frankenstein’s monster of the two) with what has actually happened.

Week One – Broadly completed as prescribed. Apart from substituting the intervals for Audiofuel intervals. And doing the sessions back to front. And skipping a 3 mile run.

Week Two – Intervals, done (well I did 7 reps instead of 8 because I programmed Miles wrong). 6 miles, done. Two 3 mile sessions, done (including my first Parkrun). Little giddy dance that I’ve done a proper week’s training, done.

Week Three – The plan demanded an 8 mile easy run. I did a 10 mile (because I got my weeks mixed up) hellish nightmare of a run. My niggling knee and hip pain left me trotting along like a lame Shetland pony. A lame Shetland pony with a leg length discrepancy. Wearing a stiletto hoof. I did a 5 mile run that was equally hard and ordered a foam roller.

Week Four – After the nightmare of week three, I didn’t run for a week. I wanted to run, but wise blogging and tweeting people advised otherwise. I asked twitter to recommend me a physio and spent part of my friend’s wedding tweeting Andy from Summit Physio. An appointment was duly booked, attended and I went off with the instruction to roll my legs as much as possible (and as agonising pain allowed). I did manage a three mile run at the end of all this – woo hoo!

Week Five – Hills, 6 miles, fartlek session, 10 miler. Ha. I ran twice. For a total of 6 miles.

Week Six – It was my birthday! I celebrated with an undulating 6.5 mile canal adventure. Later that week, I did 3.5 miles and an 8 miles. The 8 miles boosted my confidence by want of me surviving it. Unfortunately, the plan asked for way more miles than that, a bit of fartleking, and some intervals. It did not mention canals or scones.

Week Seven – Should have been the same as week six, but with longer intervals (still no scones though). I nearly ran a half marathon distance, unfortunately there was a two day break between starting and finishing. Looking on the positive side, I did successfully run the ten mile route that heralded the beginning of my downfall.

Week Eight – I actually did more miles than I should have this week… Plan said 2 x 3 miles, 5 miles, 10 x 200m intervals. I did some lovely Audiofuel intervals, a 3 miler and, whisper it, 12 bloody miles! There was probably some technical reason why the mileage dropped this week, I will never know.

Week Nine – Incredibly complicated intervals, 6 miles and 4 miles or Audiofuel pyramid intervals, and a 5k? You guess correctly. The only thing I did right this week was doing a 10k race – I enjoyed this more than I expected.

Week Ten – Woke up with a scratchy throat the day after Blackpool, went home early from work the day after that, snuffled, sneezed, snotted, coughed and spluttered for the rest of the week. Dyed some wool. Could have run on Sunday, but chose to be lazy. No running was done.

Week Eleven – I stopped looking at the plan weeks ago. I am still snuffly. I’ve done 4.5 miles and 3 miles so far and we are planning to do a 9 mile canal adventure to Liverpool on Sunday. Having re-checked the plan tonight, I can say with some confidence that the plan does not include canals, taking photos of swans or eating baked goods this week.

Next week I am supposed to taper. How am I supposed to tell where the taper starts and my training ends?

Oh heck.

A goal post

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After England had beaten India on Saturday, I found myself listening in awe to the post-match interviews on TMS. The gist of the a lot of what the players talked about was yes it’s nice we’re number one in the world, but come Monday we’ll be setting our next goal. I think it was Swanny who described how they’d sat down and plotted their way up to that position, identifying goals that would take them one step nearer to the desired outcome. I’m rubbish at setting goals and can’t imagine the mindset and confidence that goes into plotting world domination.

In the spirit of trying, I set a goal for today’s run – Run 8 miles without crying or either leg dropping off.

I even did good goal setting by ensuring that this was a SMART goal – was it…
SPECIFIC? Yes, definitely.
MEASURABLE? Miles confirmed the 8 miles, crying was a simple yes/no and basic counting skills covered the leg goal.
ACHIEVABLE? I thought so, I’d done 6.5 with Ginge last week, even with some dented confidence it was doable.
RELEVANT? Well Folkestone is in 6 weeks, so yes, running further is slightly relevant at this point.
TIME-BOUND? Yes, if I didn’t do it today, I suspect I never would. In the event, I was home in tome to listen to The Archers.

Hurrah! I achieved a goal! I feel ever so proud.

Just a walk in the park

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I’ve been aware of Parkruns for ages, “…if only there was one near me…” I would sigh. Then a few months ago I realised that there is one near me. Did I start going? Did I heck. So when I went down to the Juneathon picnic and Hels and Louise enthused about them, they  shot down pretty much all of my excuses and anxieties (the list is too long to go into, but I’m sure that you can guess the bulk of them).

Suddenly (and soberly) I heard my voice saying that yes, I would do one the weekend after. The plot thickened when the peer support/bullying/can’t-back-out-for-the-shame-of-it side of twitter emerged. If I would do one up north, Sue would do one at the same time in Cardiff.

Before I knew it, Saturday morning was dawning (I say dawning, it was belting down with rain, I’m just assuming there was a dawn somewhere behind all the clouds). I’d printed out my barcode and lovingly wrapped it in sticky tape to waterproof it, my bag was packed, my Garmin charged and my Parkrun picked. I had a choice of two runs, but opted for Pennington Flash because I know where it is and that at least removed one aspect of my stressing. With windscreen wipers swishing at full pelt, I set off down the M6, parked up and immediately I was intimidated by the sight in the car park.

Flash, I love you...

There was a large huddle of lean, athletic looking types in matching yellow tops. They looked very serious. What had I done? It emerged that they were a team from The Stragglers running club who are running from John O’Groats to Lands End to raise money for Macmillan (you can read more about them here and sponsor them here). An extra twenty serious proper runner types joining us? Excellent.

As I followed a less intimidating couple to the meeting point (all of the Stragglers bounded past, warming up effortlessly) I was struck with the horrible thought that I had forgotten how to run. I called myself an idiot and carried on trying to work out the mechanics of how the run worked, before giving up and asking a friendly marshall. The course is described as, “a 400m run along a bridleway to a 3 lap clock-wise loop (1400m per lap) consisting mainly of a gravel trail with a grassy downhill section towards the end of the loop. Runners then finish with the same 400m run down the bridleway back to the start/finish”.

What goes down, must go up

With hindsight, I realise that the downhill section would inevitably involve a corresponding uphill section and, given that we run three loops, there would in fact be three uphill sections. This, combined with me setting off far too fast, combined with the wind and rain, made for a more challenging run than I had expected. Later that afternoon (after several hours of clicking refresh on the results page) I discovered that I had finished in 29:53 – 50th out of 61 and second in my age group (on closer inspection, second could also acurately be defined as ‘last’ – clearly all the rest of the 30-34 year olds have better things to do on a rainy Saturday morning, they’re probably all hungover or raising children or something).

The thing is, I know I can go faster. I’ve gone faster in my training runs. I want to go back and do it again to prove that I can go faster. I suspect that this is one of the purposes of Parkrunning and I’ve fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Here is the prerequisite photo of a duck

Redefining my body

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Regular readers (hello both of you) will know that Wednesday night is yoga night and tonight was indeed that.

We spent most of the session doing quads work to build up to doing a bridge posture in three increasingly strong positions. I say three, it was actually four. The fourth version had us all gathered around our teacher, marvelling at how amazing the human body can be and returning to our mats with the intention of doing any version but that one. It was not to be. “You can manage that”, she said to me, “get two blocks and have a go…”. Unconvinced, I followed her instructions and up I went. My arms went a bit wobbly, so down I came. After a minute to recover, I went for it again… Up I went, no wobbles, strong arms, strong legs and very proud of myself.

Apparently I looked shocked. This had something to with the fact that  I was shocked. My explanation for this was that I didn’t expect to be able to do it because I have pathetically weak arms. “No you don’t” she said, “you have strong arms. Redefine your arms!”.

Many of us run the risk of being defined by our own perceptions of ourselves – you know the sort of thing: I don’t do hills… I’m a slow runner… I’m not a racer…  It’s only when someone challenges us (or we challenge ourselves) that we realise that we can be something else.

I am redefining my body every time I run.