The Scribbler

19 October 2009

Catching up

Filed under: run — The Scribbler @ 22:06
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So my early morning fretfulness disappeared after a good sleep and deciding not to put so much pressure on myself. And I return to my routine of running and training and enjoying the adrenaline buzz. It’s definitely a sanity saviour as well as a physical boost.

Wednesday boxercise is always a good marker. Half way through the week and a time to sweat it out, punch it out. I always come out smiling.

Thursday training
Thursday morning is damp and grey. A fine wet early morning mizzle delays the daylight as the sea retreats far from the shore.

Ian puts me through my paces. Double kettle bells, deadlifts, swings and clean to press. Then the long walk with them lifted high. Soon I can’t tell whether I’m just wet or sweaty. My glasses join the discarded hoodie on the sand.

It’s tough and challenging. There’s one point where I stop then try again. Push ups, burpees and the plank. But I’m in more control this week. Core braced tight and feeling strong.

It’s a race to get back in time for work. My hair stays slicked back and damp for the rest of the day.

The intervals I would like to fit in on Thursday or Friday have to wait. I have a friend to wish goodbye to and want everything to be right for this parting.

Saturday intervals
By Saturday I’m itching to run – even though it’s intervals and I haven’t chosen the best Friday night supper. You can just hear the excuses already, can’t you?

It’s chilly as I venture out. I wonder how many more days I can manage short sleeves and capri tights. But after a quick stretch I’m on the move. Struggle to settle on the warm up. Realise I’ve forgotten my heart rate monitor, but get going anyway.

The plan is several sets of 1 min run, 30 secs recovery with a warm up and cool down to take me to 30 mins. On the second sprint I come to an awful choking stop. Scratchy panicked panting for air, tears in my eyes and all hope abandoned.

I jog through the next interval set as my Garmin beeps like an excited puppy. I pick up the ball and try again. Better this time as I find my rhythm. But it’s still hard.

I let myself off another sprint around half way through, trying to control my breathing, then push on for another few sets before the relief of a cool down run.

Patchy and not glorious. But I’m pleased I didn’t let that first panic stall me. I stretch and head home for a shower.

Sunday run
Sunday is a glorious day for a run. Well rested and well fed I’m eager to be out again. This time it’s a 10k target and how much closer can I get to that magic 50 mins?

I’m off and the pace is good, smiling at the runners who are out in force today. Running my old familiar route, not shirking the inclines.

I’m a bit flat footed. I keep trying to roll my feet and stretch out the pace, rather than faster, shorter strides, but again it’s a bit patchy.

I run along the nice flat promenade on the way back and have to do some serious talking to myself not to stop. It’s all in my head. Nothing hurts, I can breathe. Just that evil little voice has filled my head with black doubts. I push on, knowing I’ve beaten this before.

Somewhere later it starts to feel good again. Not brilliant. Not quite that wonderful euphoric sense of everything working perfectly in time. But better, more positive. The evil little voice defeated once more.

I know I’ve slowed, but still feel like I’m putting the effort in. My Nike+ counts down the metres to go and I try to ignore it, clinging on until the Garmin lets me know I’ve really finished with a welcome beedily boop. 10k in 54.41 – faster than last week, but still quite a way short of where I want to be. Putting the miles in is the only way I’ll get there.

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