peeking over the parapet

I had a real hissy fit the other day.

As you can see, if you're really interested, from earlier entries, my fitness journey went in waves. Having spent around 44 years messing around with dieting but little exercise, in January 2007 I finally cracked it, and got a PT; six weeks later, I started running; and for eighteen months, life was good. A couple of minor injuries were overcome, I always got back in the swing of things, and the lost 20lb or so stayed off.

Plantar fasciitis kicked in during the autumn of 2008, and wrecked everything. And yes, I guess I let it. But it hurt. Lots. And that feeling of freedom, of running without ouch-ouch-ouch, which I found just occasionally, was lost. And I panicked. And the weight went back on. And so on, and so on.

Let's be fair to self: the weight didn't quite all go back on - it was all bar about 4lb. Given that in any previous existence I'd have leapfrogged over my previous heaviest weight, I guess I can put this down to the fact that I've at least managed one gym session per week, on average, during that fifteen months or so since I was running regularly. I've managed to stay within a size 14, rather than giving in to the sixteens again - but oh, the twelves were so much better.

So the hissy fit? Well, I'm in a play right now - rehearsing for a production of Come Back to the 5 & Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean at the Sewell Barn Theatre in Norwich, last two weeks in February. My character is Sissy - who, if you've ever seen the 1970s film, was the part played by Cher. I don't have her waistline, hair, eyes or money, but I sure as hell have the tits - and always will do, no matter what my weight.

Well, we had publicity photos taken the other night. I need a wig (my own hair is much too short for the period) and the only one they could source for the occasion looked awful - more width on my face I really do not need. And when I saw myself next to the actresses playing Mona (dainty, petite) and the younger versions of Mona & Sissy (gorgeous teenagers) on the screen on the back of the digital camera, my heart sank. Elephantine was not the word. Well, it was, actually.

I got home, and found an comment awaiting moderation: from the lovely gymbunny21, asking ever so nicely where my updates were, and saying how much she'd enjoyed this blog in the past. She's lost two stone - good on you, girl. She's just started her blog, and is newly motivated. Had I kept my weight off, was I still running?

Well, I just sat down and howled. I'd been ignoring the blog, ignoring the scales, and trying not to remember how good it used to make me feel, because I felt so ashamed. And here was a complete stranger caring what had happened to me.

So here we are again. I tried to run back in April last year - and gave up after a couple of tries; and again in August - ditto. Now the Race for Life 5K beckons once more. The heel might hurt still, but when I said to my darling friend and erstwhile PT, Kim, "I can walk for about half an hour before it starts to hurt" she wisely pointed out that if I could walk, then I could run for that time, too. The resting hasn't helped it, as far as I can tell, so I may as well put up with the discomfort.

And if I can get back to one or two runs plus one or two gym sessions per week, I know that those twenty pounds will be behind me. (No, I don't mean on my arse.)

I have just turned 47. I don't want to get any nearer fifty with the same image problems as I've had virtually all my life. So... here we go again.

I have just got back from a walk-run. My old, favourite route, down to Morton Hall: 1.75 miles round trip, flat-ish (this is Norfolk, after all) but a few undulating bits that make it slightly harder work on the way back. 200 steps walking and 200 running on the way there; the same on the way back but alternating every 100 steps. CV: not too bad. Leg muscles: despite gym sessions, clearly wondering what the heck I'm up to. Heel: not actually painful, but clearly something is still out of kilter. Not sure how much of that is psychological. Don't know how long it took me, I forgot to time it, but I think it was around about 22 minutes - so at least a bit faster than a straight walk would have been.

Weight: 11 stone 10 lb. Weeks till RfL: just over 15.

Thank you, Kim. Thank you, husband. And thank you, gymbunny, for the kick up the substantial arse that I needed.

Try again

My last attempt at a run was back in April. I have, to be fair, done a few reasonable gym sessions in the interim, some alone and some with Kim, but by no means enough to make up for the lack of running.

It was (and still is) the plantar fasciitis, which has not gone away and still plagues me daily; it makes me feel old and unfit and frightened.

My weight has gone back up to 11-7 (14lb up on my best maintained weight of 10-7), about 80% of my wardrobe doesn't fit any longer, and I'm deeply depressed about myself. A lovely holiday in France had some very dodgy moments when I gave way to fits of the poor-mes, and I can't let this go on any longer.

During four days' catching up on paperwork and laundry post-holiday, I went to the gym on Friday and managed 45 minutes' CV on various machines, plus about 15 minutes' weights. Today, I took the bull by the horns and went for a walk-run. Remembering my desperation the last time I tried to run it, I took my self right back to the level I worked at when I first began running in March 2007, and deliberately ran for two minutes, walked for 2-3 minutes, for the whole route (1.75 miles). A pathetic 13 minute pace, but as more than half of it was walking, I suppose that's fair enough. Oddly, the heel doesn't hurt at all, but the unfit leg muscles knew all about it! And, of course, terrible CV.

But it was a good thing to do, and it's the best I've felt about myself for ages. If I never run further than 5K, or faster than a ten minute mile, ever again, I honestly won't mind - as long as I can get back to doing around 5-7 miles a week, which is what helped me to become the person I want to be again.

Oh, dear

That was much worse than last time.

OK, I've been getting rather hay-fever-y, and so my breathing was all over the show; and I shouldn't have left it two weeks since the last try; but oh, dear.

At my best, I was doing the whole 1.75 miles in one hit. Sometimes, it was with a pause at the halfway mark. Last time, I stopped at halfway and then at the top of the drive before the last half-mile. This time, I stopped three times - before finally giving up and walking the last half-mile. Everything now aches.

I find it hard to believe I ever did this for real.

How does it feel today?

Interestingly, heel not too bad - or at least, no worse than it usually is first thing in the morning. Worst aches are front and back of both thighs. No surprises there.

Next job: get the exercise bike that I've just inherited from a decluttering client in its place, tried out and used!

The first run in six months

What struck me this evening was that when I'd made the decision to go out, and put on the gear, I was aware of feeling excited about the prospect - in a way that a visit to the gym, or getting out the Wii, has never managed to do.

So... I did it. The old favourite route to Morton Hall and back, past quiet fields and confused cows, a pinprick of red sunset through the trees. Cool after a beautifully warm day.

The way there always was easier - it's mostly downhill. Did that in one hit, but stopped at the top of the long drive on the way back. The final stretch was very hard work. Kept going; managed 1.75 miles in a total of exactly 19 minutes' running time (10:51 pace); breathing extremely heavy by the end.

The breathing was ragged. The muscles in the front of the thighs ache. I was pretty wobbly on my return.

But I did it. And I had missed it so, so badly.



Oh, and if you're wondering where the blonde has gone... the hair has been coloured for The Play. The blonde will be back in a few weeks' time!

Six months on... an honest retrospective

... so what happened?

During August 2008, I was triumphant. I'd kept a moderate amount of training during our three-week holiday in France; managed to break into a sub-10 minute mile in training; achieved a 31:45 PB in a 5K race - a pace of not too far over the 10 minutes; I was loving what I was doing.

September wasn't so good. I was very preoccupied with helping my parents with their house-move from London to Norfolk - as they'd never moved house before, I took care of all the details - solicitors, builders and the like - and they stayed with us for the 7 weeks until their place was ready. Not surprisingly, the training regime went to pot - not their fault, mine - but it meant that when I reached the Sandringham 10K at the end of September, I simply wasn't ready.

In hindsight, I shouldn't have run it; I should have admitted to being ill-prepared. It wasn't fun; it hurt; I felt unfit and out of sorts. I raised my money for Cancer Research again, and didn't let my sponsors down, and was very glad for that; but physically it was a disaster.

I went out for a run with Kim a few days after the race. Tired and fed up for various other reasons, and feeling out of sorts, I had what was effectively a panic attack in the gym during our warmup, and our attempted run had to be curtailed after less than two miles (out of an intended three).

Two days later, I was in London on my usual business trip. I took a long walk to the tube station via some shops on my way home, when I became aware that my left heel was suddenly, intensely, painful. I had no idea why. The pain came and went - but mostly came - across the next few days. I read up, I visited the doctor. It eventually turned out to be plantar fasciitis.

The rot set in. I managed some gym sessions, going in fits and starts; if I did 3 sessions in a week, I felt fine; the weeks when I did nothing, I felt lousy. No surprise that my weight went up. I rested the foot, had massages, stretched it, sat rolling a tennis ball under it while working at the PC, all to no avail. Our January holiday was a few days' sightseeing in Brussels, and I found that more than a couple of hours' bimbling around was enough to crock me - I found myself hobbling like an old woman.

For the last few weeks, I've at least got myself back on some sort of track using the gym. I've been rehearsing for a play (more about that later) and, on most weekday rehearsal evenings, manage to get to the gym before driving into Norwich, doing usually about 40 minutes' CV and the occasional weights. My weight had soared dangerously close to its previous high (having started in January 2007 at 167 lb, got down to around 147-149, then finding myself back at 163 was too horrible to admit). Going back to buying size 14s wasn't great, either. I've managed so far to get back down to 159, so feel that I am back on track.

However, the plantar fasciitis still seems to be with me. Fine most of the time; a bit tired after standing for any length of time (an hour's ironing, two hours' rehearsal); very painful after much walking. Nothing much seems to shift it.

Today, I lost my temper with it, and with myself. It was exactly four years to the day since we'd moved to Norfolk, and today as then, it was a stunningly beautiful, warm, sunny spring day. I was in Norwich, first for a business meeting and then to do some shopping, and as I drove home, I thought I am not putting up with this any more. I'd been due to go to the gym with Kim tonight, but she wasn't able to join me; and that did it. I was going to run again.

So I did.

First 10K

Run10K 2008

(click on the image to see the whole album on Picasa)

This had been planned for months. However, the training in the last six weeks had been pathetically low - two gym sessions and three runs. That's all. To be fair, this can be blamed on a combination of parents' move to Norfolk (going well), large amounts of work (great for finance, lousy for training), and insanely bad weather earlier in the month. But by the time the Cancer Research Run10K event arrived, I was deeply depressed about my lack of preparation.

In the event, it could have been much worse. To begin with, this was not an easy course. Sandringham - yes, the Royal homestead - is very beautiful, but the route was (a) surprisingly hilly in places and (b) much of it was coming close to cross-country in the amount of grassy, uneven ground and stony, tree-root riddled paths. The continuous concentration to avoid a turned ankle meant that I was even tenser than I would have been, and not surprisingly, this messed me up big time.

My dear friend Kim kept with me throughout - she'd have got a much better time if she'd done it at her own pace - and we went across the line holding hands. She would nag me, get me to breathe deeper, and at times when I felt I would never finish it she ensured that I did.

As it was, I completed the route in 1:16:0, which at 12:13 was still faster than my pace at my first 5K in May 2007 (12:32). Given that I had to take a few brief walking breaks - ranging from a few steps to a minute or so - this means that my overall pace when running was probably at least sub-11 minute, which given the out-of-training, the course and (as I discovered at the end of the race) the spectacular blisters - one on each big toe - wasn't as bad as it might have been.

It's brought me up short, though. I dreamed a night or two back that I was running easy, without pain anywhere. That's what I want. It's also what I did achieve last year, and even occasionally during this year when I've managed more than two sessions per week.

Most of this race was, in fact, without any specific pains - the discomfort from the blisters only really kicked in during the last 2K. No particular pains in hips, back, hams or anywhere else: just those leaden legs that made me feel I couldn't take another step walking, never mind running. Now, of course, I also have sore ankles because the blisters are causing me to stand awkwardly, but that will sort itself out before too long.

I'm also fairly fed up to look at the photos above, and to know clearly that I simply don't look as toned here as I did even during my first R4L. My weight is almost identical - I was 150 then, 151 today (3 lighter than on my return from holiday) - but the last few weeks of less workouts mean that I just don't look fit. And having once achieved it, I hate to backslide. (Although in my defence, boobs like mine crowned with a race number will always give a Michelin man impression!!)

OK. Let's get these blisters healed, and then it's back on course.

PS: Anybody still want to sponsor me? Visit this link!