When you train for your first marathon you have to find yourself a plan.  Your plan will help you through the weeks, building your miles and your fitness as it goes.  About three weeks out from the big day you will have run your last big 20 miler and the distances you run will reduce as time counts down.  Having joined various running forums to pick up tips from those in the know you will see that around this time people begin to talk of tapers.  Once you realise that they're not talking about endangered South American mammals as some kind of new runners super food you stop trawling the internet for a butcher who stocks it and sit down for a bit. 

In fact you sit down for quite a lot during the taper.   The science behind the whole thing is that you've conditioned your body for the task ahead, that you need to give your body a chance to recover and for your stores of muscle glycogen, enzymes, antioxidants and hormones depleted during your training to recover to optimal levels (yes, of course I got that from wikipedia).  As well as reducing the mileage on the road, your diet is supposed to change to to include less protein and more carbohydrate.  Hence I had extra chicken fried rice last night, but went easy on the chicken.

The other thing you are supposed to do is worry.  OK. maybe you're not supposed to do that but it's hard not to.  Every sneeze is flu, every twinge is a pulled muscle and any work colleagues within 96 hours of a declared illness are directed to hold their half of your meetings from the doorway of your office lest they infect you with something deadly (and yes, I really did insist she stayed just outside the office door).  I'm downing vitamin C like there's no tomorrow and every food stuff that can have chia seeds added to it, gets it.  I'm worrying about getting the right kind of pasta at the hotel the night before (do you think they'd cook up my packet of Tesco's finest if I offered them corkage?) and am most definitely sneaking some peanut butter down for breakfast on Sunday.  Will it be cold enough to warrant a long sleeved layer next week or will I overheat and collapse in a heap at the 20 mile marker.....worry, worry, worry.

Amongst all of the worry I did at least manage a long run this week, but it was capped at 10 miles as part of the taper.  For the first time in a while the weather was almost pleasant (everything is relative) so I headed for the coastal route around the eastern and southern side of Portsmouth.  Under instruction from the plan to make it an easy run I plodded along and enjoyed the view as the sun glinted off of the water and the first yachts of the spring enjoyed themselves out in The Solent.  As always I got to ponder, and I pondered just how weird it was to think of a ten mile run as an "easy" one.  It's not so long ago that running that far at all was my holy grail.  I can remember the first time I completed 5k and how (rightly) proud I was.  I can remember lining up for that first 10 miler in the Great South Run having never been that far and totally in fear of what might happen.  I can remember running into the stadium finish at Reading in my first half marathon, totally spent and with a realisation that I could never run a step further than that distance.  Yet here I am, two years on and ready to run the 26.2.  

By this time next week it will all be over one way or another.  One of you will be the proud new owner of an iPad mini (if it's the person who guessed 13 hours and 33 minutes you can collect it from the reception desk at A&E) and I'll be sitting down again, not as part of my training and most definitely for a long while...

I haven't so much as looked at an easter egg yet.  Such is my dedication to the task ahead that I couldn't even consider letting a morsel pass my lips........
OK, so that's a load of bull.  Anything that I call dedication would never have me skipping some chocolate but I haven't indulged at all this weekend due to a case of the lurgy.  Well, it was that or the after effects of eating at a Harvester (it's why they always ask if you've ever eaten there before by the way, as they rarely meet survivors).  This diversion from being a human being also means that I haven't got a great deal of training to report on this week.  

I managed a good paced 7 miles on Friday night (this is either dedication or having no social life) and was all set for the first weekend of my taper which would have entailed something around the 16 mark at a very easy pace.  Having missed this I was faced with the dilemma of whether to try and make up the miles today when I eventually felt like something approaching human.  As it was sense got the better of me and I stuck to a very sedate 35 minutes on the treadmill and even that left me feeling knackered.

Funnily enough this lapse in my training not far out from the marathon isn't bothering me too much.  Going through 20 weeks of training there was always going to be good and bad patches, injuries to overcome and the chance of getting ill (when you've got a two year old in your household who has a permanent trail of snot from one nostril the chances are higher than average!).  If anything I think that if there was a "right" time to get ill in the run up then this weekend was probably it.  My big runs are all in the bank and from here on in it's a case of keeping myself ticking over whilst cutting back on the miles so that I'm fresh on the big day.  

As well as the tapering in my training I will be making efforts to ensure my body is the temple it needs to be.  I've had my last beer (at my age a hangover now could last me for a week) and I'll not be letting anything spicy pass my lips from next weekend.  On top of that, I will be starting the pasta fest around the same point as I increase my carb intake and ensure my glycogen stores are full for when I need them most.  

So there we have it - train right, eat right and think right.  What could possibly go wrong?  Now somebody pass me that chocolate, I've got Easter to catch up on.....

I ran 20 miles yesterday.  Who cares?  

Well unless you're me, my wife or maybe my parents there's nothing that says you have to.

When you're running long distances, especially if you run without music as I prefer to, you get to ask yourself inane questions like this and time to work out an answer.  I had to ask myself this question yesterday because there was a severe danger that my 20 mile run was going to be about a tenth of that size.  After last week's efforts in the cold and rain at Reading I'd only run once, on Tuesday, and my legs had felt empty.  Two weeks before, when I last attempted 20, I'd literally run myself off of my feet and felt not well at all.  So adding this to the fact that Saturday morning was wet, grey, cold, windy and generally pretty shitty and my spirits as I set out were not high.  I suppose getting out of the door at all was a good sign, but by the time I'd finished the first mile I was already telling myself that I didn't have to carry on any further.  In fact maybe I couldn't.  It was just too cold, running 20 miles is just too far for me.  I should probably just forget this whole marathon malarky, get over myself and go and sit in the warm.  Who would care right if I didn't do it anyway?

As I say, you get to ask yourself some inane questions when you're out running.  You also have to answer them.  Not only that you have to answer them at times when you feel low, when it's painful and when the easy answer would be a whole lot.....easier.  You can also get quite emotional, so forgive me if I come across as all a bit high maintenance here, but here was my answer..

I do care.  Caring is, I worked out, about 99% of what's good in the world.  If you care about the job you do every day, you will do it well and you will likely prosper.  If you care about your fellow man (or woman), you will help them when you can and they, if they care, will do the same for you.  If you care about your environment, you'll keep it tidy and clean, and others will follow your lead.  If you care about your health then you'll treat yourself well, set a good example for your children and they will follow.  If you care you'll have the right attitude to your life and it will be a more pleasant existence.

Pretty over the top for someone who is just out for a run right.  And all of those things above are in a different league to the subject at hand.  Well maybe, but when you're in an adverse situation you have to find out what kind of a person you are. I found out that I wanted to care whether I made it round yesterday.  Not only have I put in a huge effort to this point but many people have supported me.  The response to my sponsorship pleas (at the time of writing the total is around £850), the generosity shown by a friend whose business put up the prize without a second thought, the advice and encouragement I've received from fellow runners, the interest in what I'm doing from everyone who I talk to about it.  All of this has been amazing and shown that people really do care.  

And so I ran.  

I ran 20 miles yesterday and ticked off one of my major goals in my preparation for Brighton in three weeks time.  More than that though, I ran 20 miles yesterday and I was pretty fucking pleased with myself afterwards.


By the way, if you have to ask what the other 1% is that's good in the world the you've obviously never seen the video to Spinning Around by Kylie Minogue.  Have a good week wherever you are.  I'll be in taper, reducing my training volume and a whole lot less emotional by the next blog I'm sure (and you hope).

I didn't manage a post to my blog last week.  I did run, another 20 miler in fact, but I just didn't have the wherewithal to think of anything positive afterwards.  

When I set out it was all so different.  Full of confidence from my positive experience in the Spitfire 20 at Dunsfold the previous week and merrily penning blogs in my head about how far I'd come since this time last year as I trotted up Portsdown Hill 3 miles in.  For the first 12 or 13 miles things seemed OK and I ran at a pace consistent with the week before.  By 15 miles I'd started to realise things were a whole lot harder than before, even though my route was flatter.  By mile 16 I was slowing and by miles 19 and 20 I was nigh on crawling.  When I eventually made it through the front door my legs felt like they were on fire and I did not feel good at all.  The obligatory ice bath passed in a haze and it was a good hour and a large helping of beans on toast before I felt even near to human again.  

At best lesson learned, at worst confidence shot.

Having taken stock, and some advice, I realised that I was probably pushing myself too hard with two 20 mile runs in 6 days with too little fuel in the tank.

This weekend saw a welcome step down in distance as I took part in the Reading Half Marathon.  The idea, after last week ,was to take it easy for the first 8 or 9 miles, get my confidence back and then push on if I felt OK.  I also tempted fate and had a little breakfast before the race.  For some time now I've been very conscious of a delicate stomach when I run and have avoided all food before a run.  It was this lack of fuel it seems that was a major fact in my bonk last week.

Conditions where horrible, though the crowds still came out in droves, and I bowled along with the general flow of the 18,000 runners.  After 3 miles I realised I was going way too fast for my plan and slowed myself down, but my pace kept on creeping up.  Looking back at my mile splits ( I won't bore you with the numbers) this carried on for the whole of the first 10 miles as I slowed only to speed back up again.  By this point I realised my plan was shot so I just went with it and ran the race.  I was obviously over whatever troubled me last week and felt good the whole way.  A couple of quicker miles at the end as the road rose back up towards Madejski Stadium and I ended up only 30 seconds outside my Half Marathon PB.  If I'd run with a plan to beat it I could have smashed it.  

Confidence back and feeling good again.

Next week sees me back on the big miles as I attempt my last 20+ miler before my tapering starts and I wind down towards the big day (only 4 weeks away now!!).  Let's hope I feel as good as I did this week and let's hope the peanut butter on toast does it's magic again.  If not, let's hope the council haven't shut all of those public toilets in Southsea that  they're threatening to yet!

I'm mighty glad that one is in the bag.  After the scare of my back injury last week, and the rest days it forced on me I was somewhat worried about my first road race of the season and my first ever twenty miler.

My trepidation was heightened as I drove the lanes on the way to the venue and every road name ended in the word "Hill".  I'd included Portsdown Hill in my training plenty of times early on but have been enjoying the pan-flat routes around Pompey for the last few weeks, so I'd no idea how my legs would cope with the inclines.  

The Spitfire 20 starts and finishes at Dunsfold Aerodrome, site of the Top Gear test track, and the first couple of miles of each lap were on the track itself.  Clarkson wouldn't have been too pleased to see his track taken over by Lycra clad weirdos preferring power provided by energy gels rather than turbo boosters.  Not a chain smoking petrol head in sight.

Once we left the circuit the course headed out into the countryside and "those hills".  Each time I tackle a longer distance it's total guesswork as to the right pace to choose so I tried to sit around the 8:40 per mile on the first circuit and decided to see what happened after that.  To my (pleasant) surprise I found the hills more manageable than most and was often able to glide past others as they began to toil when things steepened.  Certainly a confidence booster as was my ability to maintain the pace I set out on.  The first 10 mile lap took me roughly 1:28 and the second was very slightly faster for an official total time of 2:54:43.

Of course this is very pleasing (I have a celebratory Doombar in hand as I type!) but there were enough signs that tell me the 26.2 will be a whole new ball game.  It's hard to explain, but everything got a bit "fuzzy" during the last mile or so and I had pins and needles in my right hand most of the way back in the car.  I can take some confidence from this but running this far is definitely pushing the edges of the limits my body can take.

Anyway, massage tomorrow and back on the treadmill Tuesday or Wednesday ahead of another (solo) 20 miles next week.  No rest for the gel head.

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.

What a difference a week makes.  It may have been a tad fresh down at Southsea this morning (if a 30mph wind can be described as fresh) but the sun was out, the freezing temperatures gone and I found myself actually enjoying a run for the first time in weeks.  With my new best friends (Brooks Ghost 5's) safely broken in during the week I ran an easy and generally pain free 13 miles in just under two hours.  

Today may have been good, but I've been struggling in another way this week...... time.  When you decide to take on a challenge like this one you add pressure to the age old love triangle that exists between work, family and training time.  The work end of the trio is a high maintenance, hard hearted, jealous partner who does not want you to see the other two.  Using any means possible she'll track you down with her latest "crisis" to ensure you stay with her as long as possible and ensure you're thinking of her at all times.  With such a demanding partner in one corner it leaves you with less time to deal with the other two. 

The thing about running is that it's not something you can often do with the family.  Runners toil away for miles and miles to selflessly raise money for charity, on race day the family can join the fun, and will get a massive sense of pride from seeing you cross that line, but most of the time running is a relatively selfish thing to do.  As the weeks build the runs get longer and what used to be just popping out for a run turns into a half day extravaganza.  What used to be a couple of days a week threatens to become every day, gels and powders fill the cupboards, only certain foods can be eaten on training days  and worst of all sweaty, smelly lycra needs washing.  

The training program I intended to follow suggested I should be on the road five times a week.  I always new this wasn't going happen so I've aimed at four, but truth be known that between a hectic period at work and life in general I've managed that only once in the first nine weeks of my plan.  A week ago this was adding to the general malaise that I was feeling around all things running.  But I'm managing my long run distances with comparative ease and have yet to pick up anything other than a niggle so there's no need to panic. In fact, maybe I'm better off being relatively fresh.

Of course I may think that I'm not running enough but I'm still out of the house for a fair few hours a week.  A fair few hours that my wife Emma gets to spend looking after the kids alone, just like she does all week when I'm at the office.  A fair few hours that I very much enjoy. A fair few hours that I'm very grateful to her for.  So thank you Emma, your support so far is very much appreciated.  Only 11 weeks til this madness is over and we can get back to our usual routine.............. Remember, no sugar in my tea, make sure you boil the egg for exactly the prescribed four minutes and just leave the tray beside the bed if I've decided to lay in past ten this week.