It had to happen I suppose. Lately when people have been asking me how my training is going I've been using phrases like "unnervingly well" or " surprisingly good".   My training was on plan, I'd been stepping up the miles and most of all enjoying myself as I progressed along the path to being a marathon runner.  

Of course when you give up a long term career as a sofa slouch to take up running the chances of injury are always higher and you're always going to be managing niggles.  Rounded shoulders from years at a desk, moving moobs that rub on pretty much any known fabric, toes that go numb at the sight of a trainer and knees that can predict the weather.  Up to this point though all of these things had remained just niggles.  Each week I've been able to work that bit harder, run that bit further and my body has responded.  Distances that seemed like holy grails two years ago are now covered mid week in my shorter sessions and longer and longer runs are covered each weekend.

Whilst I've probably been lucky I've also been careful.  OK, maybe I don't generally stretch as much as I should but I'm careful to warm up thoroughly before runs and stretch after.  Post long runs I go through the painful rigmarole of running a cold bath and sitting in it for as long as I can bear whilst whimpering like a schoolgirl (the water is so bloody cold I probably look like one too!).  After that the post run gear goes on and I walk around in public with calf guards or compression socks secretly in place.  On Monday lunchtimes I surrender myself to the healing hands of Judy the sports masseur and, whilst it feels like she pummels my legs to a pulp, I emerge bouncing and ready to run again.

Last Saturday I retraced my steps on the Around Portsmouth route.  Not making any navigation errors made it 2 miles shorter but, more importantly, it took me 30 minutes less.  The sub four hour marathon it would sees is not a pipe dream for me.

So how did this all derail?  

Well it wasn't yesterday at Bordon Heath where I took part in my second Brutal 10k.  My plan had me down for a weekend run of around 18 miles but the Brutal runs are just too much fun to miss, in any case I could always add a second run in on Sunday night to make up the miles.  On a cold February morning with snow falling and the wind beginning to bite it's not necessarily that easy to explain just why you're doing this, even to yourself.   There is though some child like cathartic release in the whole thing.  Whatever life responsibilities you've saddled yourself with, whatever projects you were supposed to complete by yesterday, whatever bills you haven't paid aren't at the forefront of your mind when you're waist deep in freezing mud. It really is good fun and everyone who is able really should try it at least once.

So, it wasn't that.  As is often the case with injuries one moment of not being careful was all it took.  Fishing about in the back of my wife's car, which had a flat, leaning over a little too far and then attempting to pick up a tyre was not a good idea.  The resulting back injury is probably not terminal to my marathon ambitions but it has come at a very inconvenient time.  Next week I'm booked into the Spitfire 20 at Dunsfold, my first "proper" race of the season and my first attempt at that distance.  My injury is probably only a 5 out of 10 on any scale of seriousness so I could still make it to Dunsfold but I'm far from certain right now.  Lots of stretching, lots of walking and heat patches and I might be in a position to try a little running by Tuesday, we'll just have to see.  Wish me luck !!

There have been others before.  Ferdy Magellan, Chris Columbus, Jim Cook, Franky Drake, Dora Explorer and The Stotts.  Great men and women who have pushed the boundaries, who've broken new ground, who didn't worry about what others thought could or couldn't be done, they just went out there and did it.  And now they are joined by a new name.  A man who didn't care that it was raining (it covers up the fact that I'm a sweaty git anyway), who didn't worry that his new trainers might get pretty damn muddy along the way, a man who made sure his nipples were well protected with en extra rub of Body Glide (god that stuff works miracles), a man who joined that exclusive band who've completed the circumnavigation of Portsea Island.  There's only one other member of this club that I'm aware of, she gave me the Garmin maps of the route, which could feasibly mean I am the first male to conquer the island!

Of course such explorations are never without their dramas.  Getting lost numerous times around the Eastney tip of the island probably added a mile or so to my route and the Tipner Foreshore being closed for roadworks forced me into a detour that meant I had to run amongst the residents of Pompey, in the daylight, in Lycra tights.  A sight best kept away from Saturday shopping areas! 

The main drama though came much earlier on the shores of Lock Lake as I rounded the section between The Thatched House and the Hayling Ferry.  If the tide is out it's easier to run around on the small amount of exposed shoreline.  I was merrily doing so when disaster struck!  Unseen by me one section of the beach turned out to be a thick, deep, clay bog.  When i hit it I instantly sunk up to my shins in the gluey pool.  My momentum was enough to carry me through, just not my left trainer.  Having loosened the laces to deal with the numb toe I'd been experiencing my foot simply slipped out and left the shoe behind.  Not any old shoe of course, my two week old £80 shiny Brooks Ghost 5's.  In as many steps as it took me to slow down and turn the water and sludge moved in and the trainer was gone.  In blind panic I dived back in to the and thrust my arm into retrieve it, managing to do so before all trace was lost.  I poured the pint or so of sloppy mess out, wrung my sock out, put it all back on and took a moment to collect myself before moving on.  I'm sure I'll have setbacks along the way during the marathon itself and running the last ten miles with a shoe full of mud and stones is probably not the worst of it.  

I ended up covering an unexpected 17.6 miles in 2:45 and was a gasping, muddy, Lycra mess by the time I attempted my "sprint" finish back into North End.  I suppose you don't see runners covered in mud running the streets of the city every day so I'll assume it was this and not my Lycra running tights that the two old ladies at the bus stop were staring at.  Mind you I swear I heard one of them say she'd been reminded to add chipolatas to her shopping list...

Week 10, I'm half way there!!

Bit of a weird training week this time around.  The curse of work struck again and by the weekend I'd managed only one 8 mile slog on the treadhills (during which I almost shot off the back when I shoved on too much speed for a "sprint" at the end).  The prospect of a rare night out with Emma and some Thai food Saturday night meant that my usual Sunday morning running time didn't appeal, so I switched up to Saturday.  

Once again the weather gods were smiling and I lucked in with the sunnier of the two weekend mornings.  I followed roughly the same route as last week skirting the edge of Portsea Island and covered 14 miles in this week's two hours.  In fact I'm developing a bit of an obsession with the route around the island and am planning an attempt on the full circumnavigation next weekend.  Last week I attempted to discover the best route on the fiddly bit around Old Portsmouth by following a young lady who had overtaken me at the Hot Walls and strode confidently on to Broad Street ahead of me.  The realisation that she didn't know where she was going either a few minutes later was somewhat embarrassing as she ran into a dead end road and I followed her!  Having established that I wasn't a mugger, or worse, we actually ended up running together for the next mile or so before parting ways.  Now that bit of the route is sussed the only remaining mystery is the bit along the top from Hilsea to the Eastern Road.  Luckily for me I won't need to resort to following random women joggers through the woods as I'm a member of a very friendly running group (BOSH running - and, no I don't know what it means either) and a kind hearted follow Portsmuthian has unlocked the secret for me.  I'll let you know how this cross between Phileas Fogg and Docker Hughes gets on next week!

I didn't escape exercise entirely on Sunday morning and was invited to join my first ever spinning class.  If the concept of running on the treadmill is a weird one then spinning classes take it to the next level (you can't watch the football while you do it for starters).  A whole group of us pounding away for 30 minutes and going nowhere whilst the instructor bellowed instructions about "R.P.M's", "Speedsters", "Position 2" and other stuff I couldn't keep up with. My legs were in total shock for the first half of the class and only the potential embarrassment of  quitting half way up the first imaginary hill in front of my wife and our friend kept me going.  All in all though I found it fun, I worked my legs at plenty of different angles that running just doesn't and will definitely be going back, just not the day after a 14 mile long run!

So, 10 weeks down & 10 to go.  Lots of the tough miles are ahead but I'm gently pushing the boundaries of my running ability and mostly enjoying the ride right now.  Long may it continue, but if it doesn't I suppose I can always take my bike.