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!

Getting better again

Managing to improve. Getting back to where I want to be.

1. Weight bounced unaccountably back up to 154 last week, but now is steadily going down. 151 this morning. Phew.

2. Ran the 1.75 miles to Morton and back on Saturday, and managed a sub-18 minute time: pace of 10:13.

3. Worked out for 45 minutes at the gym before going shopping on Tuesday.

4. Best of all, have just come back from Morton again; but this time I managed it in 17:23 - a pace of 9:56. Yes, a genuine sub-10 minute mile. For a real runner, sad; for me, it's huge.

5. And had my first sponsorship on the Sandringham 10K today. Thank you so much, Nicola. Now I'm going to start emailing everybody else...

I'm back. Sweating in a most unladylike fashion, but I'm back.

The best of times, the worst of times

I'm updating this two months after my last posting. I'm filling in a few retrospective posts under the relevant dates over the next day or two.

Why the absence? Because it hasn't been a good time; there has been too much backsliding for my liking. Not enough running or gym sessions; episodes of depression that I thought had long gone; and, worst of all, weight gain. My last posting in "real time", on 22nd June, was followed by an insanely busy work and personal period - again - and I didn't manage one single exercise session until 11th July. Four runs and two gym sessions between that date and our holiday on 23rd July improved matters slightly. However...

I've just been brave and updated my "this is now" photo and weight. This morning I weighed in at 152; on our return from our holiday last weekend, it was 154. Not surprisingly, I wasn't going to admit to that. Careful scrutiny of this blog (as if anybody else was going to scrutinise it except me!) will show that in July 2007, it was down as low as 145; spent a while at 147; then settled at 149 for several months.

So it's interesting to see that my definition of "backsliding" is still a lot less drastic than it would have been, pre-January 2007. If I take my lowest "constant" weight as 149, it's a weight gain of 5lb at worst, and is now back on its way down. I know that some clothes are tighter than they were, and there's no denying that the photos at the August 2007 Wroxham 5K were a lot closer to the way I really want to be; but compared to the start of this journey in January 2007, there's still a much fitter, healthier and slimmer person here.

More importantly, the exercise is still a very permanent part of my life. Apart from the disastrous time in June-July described above, I've managed to keep an average of at least 2 sessions per week, every week - even when on holiday. [Since we got back, I've done 6 sessions (including last night's race) in 7 days.] A session might be a run (1.75 miles to Morton and back being the most common), an hour's weights, or 45 minutes CV on machines at the gym. And, hand on heart, it's not a duty or a chore, but genuinely where I want to be - especially when I remember how quickly the black dog returns when I don't keep him at bay.

Yesterday I ran 5K in 31:45. Our training run the day before was achieved at a pace of 10:00. In May 2007 I'd never have believed either were possible - I had run 5K in 39 minutes, and my average training pace was around 11:00. Now the next target is in sight: the Cancer Research 10K at Sandringham, Sunday 28th September.

I hadn't even started to ask people for sponsorship - I was so terrified I wouldn't be able to do it. Now I know I can, and one of my tasks over the weekend is to start emailing all and sundry to ask them for their faith and their money again.

Not only am I back, but I'm relieved to know that in real terms I've never been away. I might not have been firing on all cylinders, but I have managed to stick with my favourite mantra: Half-Assed Is Good Enough.

PS: One more resolution. I've just been looking back for references to weight in diaries and blog, and realise that between April and August this year, I didn't say a word. In April I was 149; in August I peaked at 154. No prizes for guessing what was going on there: a little thing called being in denial. Records of weight each Sunday recommence from now so it can't happen again.