Early doors

Blue skies returned

14.05.2014

Not as early as the title would suggest, I emerged blearily from a troubled night, beaten down with self loathing and the sharpening realisation that my bold resolve is being eroded by little matters like work deadlines and domestic duties. Humdrum, but intractable. Still, small triumphs should be counted, like spilling out of the door and running a quick 15 minutes circuit around Ladywell Fields, covering a couple of miles or so and diving into Tesco to buy a still warm chocolate croissant for dear daughter, who has her Spanish GCSE today. So I am trying to stick to my promise in the teeth of unpromising home conditions. I will do my utmost to nail that 5k PB and try to find ways of upping protein and sleep levels. It's easy to make these promises when the sky is blue. I have cycled to work with unwashed hair and a belly full of illicit cereal. There is much to be addressed. Small steps.

Fit for strife

This is what I did before work

13.05.2014

This is what I did after work

My day was topped and tailed by fitness goals of very different complexions. I suppose, for brevity, the morning was one the truer to this record, since it has the better chance of netting me some results. Erik at Shape-U has his clients bashing tyres and flinging medicine balls around to fire glutes and adductors, hip flexors and various unnameable core muscles. We work, we sweat, we ache the next day.
The Fitness Writers' Assocation, however, with  whose members I convened this evening at a Finsbury Park Health Club, exists to allow those who want to make career in this beefy world to network. So after a day's jobbing content writing I betook myself there, to network. I felt adequate among the ultra runners, PTs and nutritionists, and jealous of all who had better fitness writing stamina than me. The chap to the right had a PhD and Masters Degrees in sudying the gym industry and had completed various exhaustive studies into people's fitness goals, routes to achieving such goals, and staying power in the process. What people want to see, he stated, is Results, as we can see on the whiteboard here. They just don't want to put in the effort. That's how I feel about freelance journalism. Too much networking. A sub 3:50 marathon looks more achievable, by comparison. 

Old boneshaker

The dear old Pashley is hard work and no mistake

12.05.2014

On a Monday, having done the Long Slow Run on the Sunday, my only training is my 14-mile round trip to the office on The Strand. Cycling is useful cross training. It gives your running muscles a bit of a break. When my daughter borrows the white bike, I ride this baby. My eternity bike (ie given to me on the birth of my first child, 25 years ago).
It was windy and hard work on the way to work; rainy on my return. It takes me a very long time and involves one hard-work hill, Vicar's Hill. Other cyclists shoot past me but don't seem to be expending any energy. I pedal hard but can't seem to make the bike travel any appreciable distance. It's a vicious cycle. Riding a bike is supposed to strengthen your glutes, isn't it? But with my pathetic, unmuscly arse, my performance on a bike is as slow as ever. I suppose at 51 I can never hope to have the muscular lower half that makes a body good on the pedals. Yet one of my best friends, exactly my age, is pedalling up steep dirt tracks in Peru. I bet her buns are quite steel like. You can find her, Ruth, on Contours of a Country, on blogspot.

Sea breezes

If you can see Old Harry rocks, it means rain to come. if you can't, it's already raining

11.05.2014
After an evening of excessive eating and drinking with family to celebrate Eurovision, another sleepness night plagued by cramps and gut turmoil as recoted in previous blog. I slept in snatches, then rose at 7am to run. When I am by the sea I love to do my long slow run along the promenade. I managed eight miles, ignoring the bloated stomach and breathtaking stomach pain that seems to wave like peristalsis. I know I should starve my body to clear this germ of whatever it is, but I still feel a hunger of sorts, or an appetite for the lovely food available at every turn. Teresa's fruit cake, Celia's brownies, roast potatoes this evening, ice cream, chocolate. the sugar and fat are feeding the problem, but I feel miserable and eat mindlessly, then am doubled up in pain and making for the lavatory. I wish I had more willpoer. I did one fast mile (7.30m/m) a couple of 8s/8.30s and the rest were slow. Sort yourself out, woman. You've had your mini break, now back to work.

Running backwards

 from my faster days

10.05.2014

Parkrun is not supposed to be a source of misery, and I do love it dearly. However on an off-Saturday, which seems to be most of them these days, you can feel gutted when those you usually overtake effortlessly are steaming past you. Gutted is an apt expression. This morning I woke before 5am in need of the lavatory. I visited the smallest room a further 5 times before jogging blearily up to Hillyfields. I did not feel ill, just rather scoured out. It's all to do with these few days of IBS I get every month. Hormonal changes, I suppose. I am stil in perimenopause, but periods aren't as reliable, and other symptoms are coming to the fore. I refuse to let them interfere with my passion.
So I ran my 5k, and Aimee, Kirstin and three other women overtook my. My days as 2nd or 1st chick are a memory. I tired, I sweated, my bowels stood up, but my time was poor. I doubt I managed under 24mins, which is shocking. I need to get in under 23 on that hilly course.  Will my visits to Erik help? I'm not sure. When I ran my PB last August I'd put in heavy mileage weeks, training for Berlin. Now I am scarcely covering 30m/week. And so, so slow.

Seeking Sanctuary

The soon-to-close Sanctuary Spa, Covent Garden

09.05.2014

Last night's carousing took its toll today: walking was an effort. I did a little yoga on waking, and after breakfast took a walk to blow away the hangover before settling down to work. Thank goodness I had scheduled this afternoon to take advantage of a friend' gift to me: half a day and a treatment at the Sanctuary Spa. Amusing that after 30 years in London and many promises to test this legendary place, with its Koi carp pool, hamam, treatment rooms and oft-photographed floral swing over the plunge pool, I nearly missed my chance altogether. The spa is closing at the end of the month. Another London institution bites the dust.
I was almost too tired to enjoy it, but swam about a bit, sweated and fantasised in the steam room and enjoyed a delightful rose oil facial  followed by a sleep retreat. I read about orgasms in Cosmo and listened to a bunch of young women who said 'like' every other word talking about hen nights and honeymoons in Bali. Was I such a cliche at that age? Unlikely. Mine was a shotgun wedding to a man I scarcely knew. We're just about to celebrate 25 years of marriage.
So, a rest and recuperation day. Competely exhausted, a little down in the mouth. A little hormonal. It's Friday.

Running up that hill

Greenwich Park has useful undulations

08.07.2014

That's the hill. The path I take is to the west of it. When training for Snowdonia I circuited the two miles of the park four time as part of each Sunday run. It's time I practised that hill training again, for the Avebury to Stonehenge job in September.
Today I ran up Vicar's Hill to meet Erik, but he'd cancelled the session owing to heavy rain. So I ran on, beyond Hillyfields to more, hillier fields up at Greenwich Park. Hills are as good as intervals for building speed. I was desperately slow again, though. I have this deep, in-skull tiredness that shows in my face, hollowing out my eyes. I am ravenously hungry for much of the time. My guts are complaining vigorously at the amount of sugar I'm consuming and I'm feeling low-level atopic symptoms, evidenced by a constantly dripping, sore nose and stomach disturbances. A heavy work schedule for the next fortnight means I'm going to struggle to recoup the sleep and address the poor eating habits. An effort of willpower is needed. This written in a drinken state post bookclub at 1.30am. Sigh.