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 !!
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