New Trainers!

On Sunday, when I'd sort of calmed down a bit from my triumphant and smug mood after my Big Long Run (8.3 miles) on Saturday, it finally occurred to me that I should go do something about my trainers.

I was in Harrogate to see Jem, and she was ready to test out her injured knee with a gentle walk, so we went for a wander around the town centre. After a surprising visit to the fantastic library, where Jem ended up getting a henna pattern on her hand to celebrate Diwali, we made our way to the shops, and found ourselves actually passing our favourite cookware shop with only a brief but longing glance at the mini Le Creuset dishes in the window. These places sell the paraphernalia that cookware fetishists like us crave (she's worse than me - she uses every utensil within reach even if she's making a bacon buttie - egg whisk, garlic press, at least 2 spatulas and a spud masher...), and even if we weren't buying, we would go for a quick perv, focussing on specialist equipment and fantasising about making rude, fabulous tasty stuff. We still both love cooking, but at least we're running off the results these days, so we hurried past and went straight to Up & Running.

I finally got my gait analysed, and in the process found that I am completely unable to run on a treadmill. Out there on the early morning roads, after a few miles I might be making weird noises and doing something that barely resembles running, but on a treadmill, I run like Phoebe, feet out to the sides, arms doing flapping movements to try and balance. How this could lead to an accurate view of my gait, I was very unsure, but apparently it's not where your feet go on the way down that matters, it's how they hit the ground, and it turns out I am a neutral runner. The very helpful assistant made recommendations for the type of support I might need for my heel pain, and listened to me telling him all about my Big Long Run the day before and how I'd practically killed my NB trainers since starting to run in them in February, having shrunk from 15stone to 12and a half. He looked at them and agreed they're dead. Then he brought me 3 pairs of suitable trainers and let me try them on. And these are the ones I chose:

Today I went out for the first time in my new trainers to get them warmed up for Sunday's 10k race in Scarborough . I only intended to do 10k, but once I had set off, I found it was such a gorgeous, cold and bright Autumn morning that I just wanted to keep going. Along the canal, despite feeling fine and enjoying the run, I found myself wishing that instead of running, that I'd gone up there with my camera to capture the golden misty light, the lances of sun striking into the mist through the orange leaves, the ducks and moorhens splashing in the misty patches on the water. There are some occasions when the 2 things I love so much cross over, and unfortunately they're incompatible. You can't take photos like that whilst actually running, and I had to remind myself that sights like that are also a reason why I love running, especially in the mornings. A good run or walk always throws up something beautiful and surprising. Yesterday, I saw a bloke carrying what I thought was his lunch in a bread bag, but I was proved wrong when he dipped into the bag and threw the contents in handfuls to the greedy ducks at Lock 6. Something about it made me smile, I'm not the only one who still loves to feed the ducks.

Just before the Kirkstall Marina, I asked myself what I wanted to do. Was I going to run straight down to Lock 1 at the canal basin, which would have been about 6.5miles, possibly run back up as far as I could? Was I going to run to the viaduct and run back up Kirkstall Road and get a bit of route practice for the Abbey Dash? What I heard coming out of my mouth as a reply (yes, I do talk out loud to myself when I'm running and there's no-one there to hear) was "I'm going to do what I did on Saturday," and that was my answer.

As I came toiling over the peak of the hill where Kirkstall Lane turns onto Morris Lane, a man getting out of a van saw me and asked if it was really worth it? I answered "2 stone off says it is!" and then I spent the remaining 30 minutes of the run kicking myself that I'd got my weight-loss wrong. It's 2 and a half stone at the moment, hopefully 3 by the end of November. Probably because I was thinking so much about this, I barely noticed the rest of the run, which means it was much easier than Saturday. I even made it back to the garden wall 7 seconds faster than last time.

My feet feel great, the trainers were really comfy and I can appreciate the difference good cushioning makes. I'm now set for the final 2 10ks of my 5 race challenge, and should be ok to get through the first few runs of the 200 Mile Macmillan Madness next year.

The longest I have run... yet! Prepare for 2012!

#Rocky Theme Tune#

8.3 miles. 93mins, 32 secs. Average 5.38mph

Yes. I. Did.

I feel AWESOME!

And now I know I can do that, I'm well up for getting to 10miles by the end of November, weather and attacks of the snot lurgy permitting.

And that would be a cracking end to a year in which my life has changed completely. At the end of my run, as I speed-staggered back to my garden wall, grinning massively, my neighbours were out on the back street. I had to go pull the bins back in from the road, and as I did so dripping with sweat and probably steaming gently, my 2-doors-down neighbour asked if it was really worth all that extra effort.

"Two and a half stone off since February says it is," I said. When she congratulated me and asked how I'd done it, I went on briefly to tell her about my walking, as she said she and her daughter see me setting off every morning, and I told her how losing the weight, and the act of running, have made every aspect of my life better. I explained about my motivation and the fundraising for Macmillan and other cancer charities. As it happens, her Dad is ill and being treated for cancer right now, and she's receiving loads of great advice and friendly help from Macmillan, and her Dad is finding their services invaluable.

It's everywhere. You really don't have to look far to find someone who is dealing with cancer, or relatives who are helping them fight and worrying every day and night. The work Cancer Research UK does is vital, and the Race for Life series is a brilliant opportunity for people to say thank you, and do something for themselves and their loved ones to help battle the illness. Macmillan pick up where the scientists leave off - they are there for the emotional and practical side, providing the essential support that people need to get from one day to the next to get through the illness, or deal with the grief.

This year, I set myself the goal of running 5 races. 5 is loads to a 15stone, 35 year old woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders. 5 is a lot, especially to someone who used to prefer to do absolutely nothing at any given opportunity rather than exert myself. 5 seemed like a long shot to that person I was in February. Behind all that was also the knowledge that this time I wanted to keep up the running for as long as I could whilst the weather was good. This time I wanted to make running a permanent part of my life, not just something that drops in every few years, stays for a few months until I've done a quick fun-run, then drops away leaving only a medal or t-shirt behind, as the pounds start to creep back on.

The result is that I'm now planning the maddest, most exciting challenge for 2012. Jem, a fresh convert to running, who has sustained a really cruel and nasty injury just as she was realising that the bug had not just bitten, but completely savaged her, came up with a wild and dangerous idea for her to run 100miles of races next year, when her knee heals. My honest first reaction was "If she can, I can," and so I said I'd do it with her.

In the next few weeks we'll be planning 5 and 10k runs all over the country between February and the end of November 2012. We'll each complete 100 official miles of races, some together, some separately. Jem will be starting from zero again, as an absolute beginner, as she was only a few weeks into the 0-5k plan before falling and injuring the bursar pad under her left knee. It's incredibly painful and virtually invisible, unless you count the horrible yellow colour all around it even now, 4 weeks on. I will hopefully be starting training again from 5k after a 2month break. We'll each start with the early 5k runs, and then get stuck into the 10ks and longer until we reach a total of 100miles each. There'll be plenty of geeky stats and a little competition between us: fastest average running speed over the year; most improved; furthest travelled to get to the runs, anything that can be logged and compared will be food for the competition. And, as a great big massive ending, we're trying to get ourselves into a half Marathon by the end of the season.

We're having an initial look at what we might do tonight, and Jem's setting up a dedicated blog for the challenge, so I'll publish more details when they're available. It's all ridiculously exciting.

I can already see where this might take me. I'm beginning to think 2013 might be my marathon year.

Goodbye to old Running Partners.

Last weekend, I finally had to say goodbye to the trainers that did so much to get me to where I am today. It wouldn't be right not to say a few words about them, and give a dignified send off to two old friends.

In 2006, when I had got to 13.5 stone and was disgusted with myself, I purchased a pair of trainers, as a desperate act. I'd just got out of a pretty nasty relationship and found myself in a precarious state of mental health, and so I threw myself into training, knowing that if I recovered my fitness, I might find a little bit more sanity along the way.



Note the holes, the worn down heels and gripless toes, the stretched and savaged air pads. This is a pair of trainers that worked hard.

These baby-blue Nike -Bowerman Series Air Pegasus trainers cost me £45 (I think) and they have served me ridiculously well. I started running again from scratch in February 2006, downloaded the Up&Running 0-5k plan, and ran my first 5k Race for Life at Skipton in the May, and another in London in June that year. I'd been out for a run in these on the day I was knocked off my bike and broke my collarbone (November 16th 2006) - I may even have been wearing them at the time. They sat in the wardrobe for a few months until I was able to get out again, and then they got me through another spring and summer of training and up to my first 10k at Harewood House on 16th September 2007.

All over Morley, Churwell, then Meanwood and as far out as Alwoodley, together we laid down some serious footprints. These were the trainers I conquered Dunny Hill in, the achievement I class as my official qualification as a Runner. Until I had battled the same monster hill as my Dad, and won, I was just playing at it.

This year, having purchased a pair of cheap New Balances in the sale, just to get back into running with, I demoted them, and they emerged from under the stairs to become my main vehicle for getting to work in: these helped me walk 40miles a week on average until I recognised that there was more of my socks showing through the mesh than was respectable.

They have been forlornly sitting by the back door for weeks, as if knowing it would only be a matter of time before I plucked up the compassion to do the decent thing and move them the final 5metres into the black bin. I did that last Saturday morning. But, in order to mark their passing, I took a photo.

Farewell then, old friends. We came a long way together.

It won't be too long until the NB's have to go the same way. They're coping very well indeed to say that they've now walked approximately 500miles AND they have been running with me since I started this year. I plan to invest in some properly measured and supportive trainers to get me through the next few months because I have a very exciting new running project on the cards for next year - more of which in the next post.

ONE MORE THING...

Finally! I've found the missing race. There's nothing like leaving it late! Tonight I've signed up to run the McCain Yorkshire Coast 10k Road Race next Sunday in Scarborough. Whoohoo! 5 races.

And that was far too easy..... watch this space for next year's big challenge.

The Zen of Running - Part2.

Another in an irregular series...

3) Never judge your fellow runners.

And especially do not compare yourself to them. When I first started out, desperately trying to co-ordinate my limbs and regulate my breathing on intervals of 1minute of running and 2 minutes of walking in a 10 minute block, I remember seeing lycra-clad, long-legged, healthy and gorgeous looking people striding confidently past me. They didn't even notice the velocity they were clipping along the street at, leaving other pedestrians in their slipstream, as I puffed and heaved and sweated. I thought I'd never get there.

How could I? They must have been born running. They were genetically different from me - look at their legs, the total lack of fat, the ease with which they attained such speed. It must indicate a bigger than normal (or, at least, bigger than mine) lung capacity. It was almost enough to make me want to give in.

But now that I need to run for at least an hour every couple of days, and now that I've lost 2 and a half stone, it's all become so much easier. My legs aren't any longer, but they are a bit less wobbly and more muscly, and nothing has changed my genetic make up, but my heart and lungs are used to putting in this work, and the oxygen and the blood pumping round my body makes my brain feel good. And today, I realised that I'm now putting in faster sections, where I can, just because I can.

Those runners I saw at the beginning may not have been sustaining their whole run at the pace I saw them at, maybe they were just enjoying a sprint section. I know for a fact that they must have been through the same process of struggling with their bodies to get to a point where they were running more than 5 minutes at a time, and you can't tell from looking at someone what stage they are at in their own run. Maybe they'd just left the house, they may have been off for their own big achievement of just one mile, but they might well have been out for a long slog. Who knows how long it had taken them to get to that pace and distance. And who can say what their reasons for running are? My reasons are about maintaining my mental health and improving my physical wellbeing, as well as raising funds for cancer charities. Like my Dad noticed at the Jane Tomlinson run, something has to make people get off their backsides and do such a difficult thing. There's as many reasons to run as there are runners, and no matter where you are along the way, it's all progress, and if you have put your gear on and set off to go running, you are a runner.

This morning, I ran for exactly an hour on my fairly new 8.5k route, and I saw another runner I see occasionally when I'm out at about 7ish. I usually see her up near Hawksworth Woods, but today we were both along Kirkstall Road. We smiled at each other, because we were both clipping along and couldn't speak. I'm convinced she's a veteran of some awesome long races because I'm sure I've seen her wearing the t-shirts, and she seems as fit as a fiddle. When I first remember seeing her, I remember thinking the smile was an encouragement to the newbie fat lass she must have seen heaving towards her, covered in sweat, but this morning, her smile actually seemed like recognition. I can and do run 10ks, and I wear the t-shirts.

I'm a runner. I run.

WINNER!

It's Sunday night, after one incredibly busy weekend. I shot a wedding yesterday, and went back to enjoy the evening reception as a guest, and today, despite the vicious hangover (my first in months), I went out to photograph 13 kids under the age of 10, and their 6 mothers. The condition I'm in right now is far from the general mood in which I usually update this blog. Usually, I come crashing in from a run, have a shower, then smugly type up my latest achievement making sure everyone knows whichever milestone it is I've just strode past.

So it's about time I set down the 2 things which made me so proud of myself yesterday.

I've been back up to running around 10k every other day for the last week or 2, and it feels fantastic. I'm down to about 12 1/2 stone, and delighted. Everything is so much easier. I look in the mirror and I recognise myself again. These things are fabulous, but they fall into the shadow cast by what I managed yesterday on a nice hour long jaunt in a fairly new circular route I use occasionally.

1) I finally killed the hill.

You know the one. The one that creeps up from the main road, with the woods on one side. The one that doesn't look so steep, it's nothing compared to Kirkstall Lane, which I now do about every other day in the middle of my 9 0r 10k. The one I've had so many fights with in the past. The one I've avoided since about April.

THAT hill.

Well I DID it. HA!

My breathing did sound like a seal yelping an alarm cry by the time I landed on the wall outside my house, but I flipping well did it! And now I'm going to have to do it again to prove it to myself. Next run. I know I can do it now.

And:

2) I had to buy a belt yesterday. To hold up the trousers I started wearing for work again about a month ago, which I fitted back into again for the first time in 3 years (my old size 18 work trousers have no beltloops, and my hips, tummy and bum are now no longer able to hold them up). Because they're falling down. And the belt I bought from Primark for £2 was a medium/large. At first I didn't think it would go round me, after years of knowing this would be true. But it fastened, and not even on the 1st hole. Or the second. I am on the 3rd hole.

Now that might be the reason why when I got back to the reception, I ended up spending about 2 hours on the dance-floor last night, getting sweaty and silly and loving every minute of it. And that's not happened for a very long time, if ever before. Proper, daft, bouncy, noisy dancing.

I'm healthier, I have more energy, I'm slimmer, and I'm far happier.

I love what running has done for me.

The Zen of Running - Part 1

I've always meant to get round to this, but so far haven't.

When I've been out for a while, I somehow reach a state of mind where I realise all the things I have learned from running that have had useful applications in the rest of my life. This could be a growing collection.

Here's a couple:

1) Whenever there's an up, there's a corresponding down.

This has a few resonances. I have suffered from depression, at varying intensities, on and off for the last 13 years, and running has become my tool of choice for managing the condition - it's cheaper and the side effects are better than medication.

I've learned that life is usually pretty balanced, overall. "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make," which has to be the best last line to leave fans with by any band, ever. For every moment of utterly terrifying, isolated, unspeakable sadness I've suffered, I've had another of amazing pride, delight and love. For every great boozy night out, there's the hangover. For every penny I've found, one's slipped out of my grasp. No big deal, that's the way it should be.

And so it is with hills. They're horrible. I don't like any of them. I toil up them, hating them steadily. But when I get to the top, whether it's a flat plateau for a while or a peak with a direct descent, I know I'll get a chance to get my breath back while I'm still running, and then there's the reward of the run back down. It's an instant reward - my body reacts immediately, gravity welcomes back my co-operation and thanks me by pulling me back down again. I can run faster, longer strides and my breathing's easier on the downhill.

No matter how hard it is, it will get easier. I will survive, and I will get better. I've learned to be nice to myself. If no-one else does, you should recognise your hard work and congratulate yourself for it.

2) "Hoo" breathing is better than "Aah" breathing.

I usually let my breathing do what it wants to as long as I'm keeping my strides regular and my speed at a recognisable running pace (not looking like fast walking or speeded up lurching). But when I hear myself making "aah - hiss...., aah - hiss.... aah - hiss" noises (exhale-inhale), I know I'm getting tired and not giving my body what it needs. It's asking for more oxygen. I try to get a grip and get back to controlled hard breaths out - "hoo... hoo...hoo..." and better breaths in.

Again... this has something to do with not letting events take over and overwhelm me. Learning to relax, step back and take a better control of my part in the situation.

I tend to remember these when I'm out, and forget them in the shower. If I remember any more, I'll blog them.

Oh, and one more thing - today I'm very pleased - I did my 5k route in 35.55 - my best time yet. I then got on the scales and discovered that for the first time in 2 and a half years, I'm under 13stone. This has put me in a great mood.

And Dr Who is back tonight. Awesome! Excellent day!

The Switch

Forgive me, for it has been over a month since I last blogged.

I must also admit that in these quiet weeks, I've only been out for 2 or 3 runs.

However, since taking it slightly easier, the weight has really fallen off, despite eating rubbish and drinking a bit more. I'm now 13stone - that's 2 less than when I started writing this. I have to conclude that this is mainly down to the 40miles a week of walking I've managed to maintain since mid-March, as I've been far more consistent in this than with the running. In fact, I reckon the running started to shift it, and the walking's kept it going.

The strange thing is that when I wrote the last entry on this blog, having had a totally uncharacteristic mid-day nap and feeling completely wrung out after the Temple Newsam 10k, I was aware that something had changed. Since then I've tried to figure out just what happened, but there's simply no explanation other than it seems a switch was flicked in my head that said "That's enough now."

Until then, running was part of my routine - every other day, at least 3 times a week, I was out in the early morning putting in a few miles. On a running day, I would feel satisfied and pleased with myself for having achieved something, no matter how small and insignificant. On the rest days I would plan my next run, something a little longer maybe, or perhaps a little more demanding in hills or intensity. All the time, I was walking everywhere, and all the exercise meant that those feel-good hormones were pulsing around my system, giving me a little more confidence, a bit more of a chilled out approach to life and even a little extra reserve of patience in stressful situations. This is what I love about running - it's not how you feel when you're doing it, the effects are felt afterwards in so many ways.

Somehow, though, that switch that kept me going had flipped off. My morning would start with me waking up in bed, and the part of my brain that responds to the satisfaction of obeying routine would say "Are we going for a run, then?", and the whole of my body would reply with a straight, honest "No," and not even feel guilty about it. On the few occasions that I've been out, it's been a result of my body replying to my brain's question with a "Yeah alright then," which was definitely not its' former "Hell yeah! Off we go!" I surprised myself by managing the odd 5k, or a run down the canal for 4.5miles, knowing that practically all the way, my brain and body were arguing like the mother and daughter I wrote about before.

I had begun to worry. The urge had gone. Is this forever? Would I ever fall back in love with running again, or is this it? What would that mean for my 5 run challenge?

I did a few calculations about the other times I've taken up and forsaken running. When I first started to do fun-runs and fundraisers, it was as a motivator to lose weight after hitting what I then considered to be an obscene weight, which I believed I should never, ever allow myself to return to or go above ever again - and that was 13 and a half stone. I got down to what I think of as my ideal, healthy running weight of 11 and a half stone (I actually went as low as 10stone 12pounds, but I looked like a skeletal horse) within a few months, then at the end of that season, I developed plantar fasciitis. I stopped running then, and by the time the good weather had returned, I had started a business, and was too busy running that to get out first thing in the morning. I came to the conclusion that the switch has flicked itself OFF a few times in the past, but I've had things which prevented me from noticing it, or reasons to ignore it.

I know when the switch is in the ON position. It's usually in the early New Year that I notice that the sight of other runners engenders that swelling feeling of mixed envy and pride, and thoughts of being part of a running event put a lump in my throat, and then I look at myself, realise I need to lose some weight and talk to myself about it for a while before one day, quite unexpectedly, I wake up, put my running gear on and find myself out making dragons breath on a cold and frosty morning, and feeling awesome. It's probably fair to say the switch is probably something that will flick on and off at intervals for as long as I live -Dad says his switch is still ON, and it's terrible for him because he really can't run any more. That's a peculiar torture, and it worries me I might have to live with it.

A few days ago I decided that I needed to focus again, to have something to train for (which is why I decided to do 5 runs throughout the season), and that I would start running again next week, the start of August. One last weekend of lounging, I thought. That'll give me time to sort out this weird knee thing that's started in the last few days (a randomly occasional sharp pain behind my kneecap, as if it's bending too far forward), and see off the groin thing, which has been improving no end since taking it a bit easier. I had 3 beers last night, and a late night in front of the telly - surefire non-running behaviour. And then this morning, I woke up at 7am, and realised that I was going for a run, no decision about it.

33minutes. 4.5k. dead easy. I totally deserved my fat breakfast of french toast and fried mushrooms with a massive cup of tea. After a shower, I've logged on and registered for the Abbey Dash on the 20th November- the end of season run that is the other emotional run for me. This is the 10k that I've seen going up Kirkstall Road each year and felt the urge, the envy, the pride, and the unexpected tears welling up about taking part in. I'll finally do it this year.

Perhaps the switch flicked ON again over night. Or maybe I just like getting out on a sunny morning. I don't really care. It was a lovely run, and it was all mine.