Trial and terror

I turned 33 last weekend. A youngster to some but old enough to be aware of a few changes: like having more patience but more prominent frown lines; like drinking less but taking up to 48 hours to get over a hangover; like shouldering the rising cost of participating in races but becoming less and less motivated by whether there's a medal at the end (unless it's longer than a marathon, in which case I fully expect a diamond-encrusted unicorn testicle hanging from a platinum rope chain).

"Robocake"- @lazygirlrunning

This month, I've ventured back into a sport I haven't competed in since my mid-20s: cycling time trials. Known in the cycling world as the "race of truth", time trials commonly form part of a stage race, where riders leave the shelter and tactics of the bunch to ride as hard as they can against the clock; except, that is, in the UK where a curious breed of cyclists make this an event in itself and chase courses around the country to improve on their PBs.

Time trialling bucks the trend in escalating race costs and you can enter an event for just £8.50: there's no memento but, instead, you trade in your number at the end for a hot cup of tea to enjoy as you make excuses for the day's performance with fellow competitors.

The PB-chasing means that many of the most popular races are held on flat, straight pieces of road and the presence of traffic is considered, by many, a bonus. In my 5 year absence, the slower courses have become so unpopular that it has become hard to find an event in our local area than doesn't take in a dual carriageway, and, this morning, I found myself preparing to race along the A40 Witney bypass. Waiting in a lay-by on a piece of carbon fibre as trucks rumbled past at 70 mph, I noticed an alarming difference in 33-year old me: I was utterly terrified.

"Is this worth it?" I thought, as the timer counted back from 10. A car surged past, much too close for comfort, as he reached 5.

"Go careful!", yelled lovely boyfriend, waiting to start a few minutes behind me.

3... 2... 1... Go!

Fifteen pedals strokes in, I was safely on my aerobars, breathing deeply and listening carefully for approaching traffic behind me.

2nd "women"

Funny things start to happen when you're racing, don't they? The harder my legs pushed, the more my fears were being replaced by the adrenaline surge of competition; a self-preserving respect of traffic was being accompanied by a childish urge to pretend I was racing on my own little motorbike. The halfway turn circled a roundabout and sent me back into a tailwind. A quick glimpse of my GPS showed 29 mph at one point: maybe not quite a motorbike, but a pretty nifty pizza delivery scooter.

I returned to the race HQ to find my ride had secured some unexpected silverware. In the interests of full disclosure, there were 3 women in the race: a podium place was guaranteed from the start, even if survival wasn't.

Of more interest to me than this, however, was that the winner was at least 15 years older than me and fear was most certainly not standing in her way. There is definitely hope for me yet.

 I don't think I'll be making a habit of riding along a dual carriageway every week. That doesn't mean I'm growing up though. I mean, seriously, how many real grown-ups get to dress up as a bicycle-riding robot on a Sunday morning?

Flow writer

50 lovely bloggers, 12 inspiring speakers, and 2 wonder women: even 300+ words seems barely enough to do Sunday's Write This Run event justice. Instead, I've taken some of the day's nuggets and intepreted in them in only way I know how: a diagram.

 

Thank you, Liz and Laura, for organising a truly brilliant day. 

You really do make good things happen.

Stranger things have happened

"Hello," said a little voice, as we approached the 5 mile marker, "is this your first marathon?"

"No, it isn't, but is it yours?" I replied.

"Yes. I just want to finish it. I really hope I can."

"Me too." I sighed.

Four months have passed since setting out my manifesto for improving my running manners; approximately the same amount of time you're supposed to spend building up to a marathon. Except I didn't. I won't bore you with the reasons; I'm lucky if you're still here as it is, poking through the remains of this derelict blog, without being subjected to that. What I did do, in a feat of will over reason, was go from zero to 19.4 miles over the course of a three-week training binge and turn up in Manchester last weekend with 3 main aims:

1. Finish with a smile,
2. Avoid, if possible, being trampled to a gory death by the 5 hour pace group,
3. Photobomb as many pictures as I could.

Up the road were blogging chums and running rockstars, Laura and Liz. The out-and-back sections early in the course provided reassurance that they were pacing it well for their respective targets and I felt proud watching them race purposefully past in the opposite direction. We may have only met once previously but we've followed each others training and racing electronically for some time within the online running community; the value of which they recognise to be so powerful that they've put their hearts, souls and technicolour compression socks into making the UK's first running bloggers' conference, Write this Run, happen next weekend.

Our paces matched comfortably so our conversation continued and I discovered that my new companion's name was Jill. Not because she told me but because she had the foresight to have it printed in huge silver text across her vest and because the loyal supporters of Manchester marathon were so happy to cheer. Over the course of the miles that followed, I learned that she was running her first marathon, aged 50, to raise money for a local cancer trust. She hadn't run previously but she had prepared methodically, overcoming injury, and was determined to finish the marathon. I grew instantly fond of her conviction, which glimmered from beneath her warm and modest demeanor. Neither of us had any reason to speed up or slow down so we continued on our way, step-by-step, together, towards the finish line.

Pushing through mile 19, Jill announced she was struggling and that she would need to slow for a while. I asked if she'd like me to stay with her and finish together. She took some convincing that I would be happy to do this but accepted the offer with a smile. Little did Jill know that I was in uncharted waters here: I had never run this far with another runner for company, let alone a stranger. In fact, I hadn't broken wind for nearly 3 hours, concerned my new running companion would think it rude. But what Jill had given me was a purpose to keep on running and a new target for this marathon.

Approaching the finish, we saw Jill's husband and 15-year old son; they couldn't have been more proud of her and rightly so. I feel I ought to issue a public apology at this stage; unaware who they were at first, I simply saw a camera phone and pulled out my best jazz hands, thinking momentarily of my own race aims from earlier in the day. If I spoiled a cherished family memory then I am genuinely sorry.

We upped the pace for a final sprint and finished together with arms aloft, grinning widely. She hugged me and thanked me for the support and I filled with pride for what she had achieved that day. Who knows why Jill chose me to start chatting to, but I will always remain glad that she did. There is every possibility that we'll never meet again, or maybe this funny little running world will ensure we do - either way, thank you, Jill, for letting me be part of your day.

With the completion of marathon number 7,  I believe I may have stumbled upon lesson number 5 for being a better runner: take genuine joy from other people's achievements, even if that means you have to stifle a fart for 21 miles.

Being a better runner

What is a good runner?

A fast one? A regular one? A lean one? A winning one? 

I've run for a long time without ever being what I consider a typically "good" runner; however, I've started to think that it all depends on how you define it. Amongst my regular goals for the year, one is to become a slightly "better" runner but probably not in the way I've thought about it until now. 

Here some simple aims and ideas for being a better runner in 2013:

A new year revolution

January can be a frustrating time of year if exercise is already embedded into your lifestyle. Many of us lucky enough to be in this position can be heard asking, “why wait til January?”, whilst TV advertising shifts from Brad Pitt wittering on about the inevitability of buying a perfume that would sell itself if poo were smeared on the bottle to a new year blitz of diet plans and anti-smoking campaigns across our screens. Instead of whining about it, let’s capitalise on this time of year. Already tired of hearing about new diets at work? Why not offer to join some colleagues on a little run? Encourage them to count miles rather than calories and give yourselves something new to talk about over the water cooler. So what if the gym and pool are full of new members on a January training binge? Don’t despair that your lucky treadmill is being used by someone walking in deck shoes, or bitch about them on Twitter; congratulate them instead. They’ve already done the hard bit and got out of the front door; with some friendly support, they may well continue to build on that. We all started somewhere and would do well to remember that.

Smile: it might happen

It takes 17 muscles to smile but 52 to roll your eyes and mutter as you plod away, feeling dismissed once again; this is something I will aim to remember in 2013 on the regular occasions when my runners’ nod goes unnoticed. Like Sheldon training Penny with chocolates, stick with it and encourage the behaviour you want to see more of. This year, I shall smile and nod regardless of reciprocity and hope that it catches on.

A race of two halves

I've heard it said that you should run the first half of a marathon with your head and the second half with your heart; this wisdom extends beyond a sensible pacing strategy and, whilst the first half of a race can be every runner for themselves, the second half offers an opportunity to be a better runner. Whatever the distance, as the field spreads out, lend some support to the person next to you: a word of encouragement as you pass another runner takes little extra energy from you but could make all the difference to someone questioning whether they can hold onto the chances of a PB. Likewise, be gracious if overtaken and offer a nod or raised eyebrow in return; this can be done, whether or not your teeth are gritted.

Marshall the troops

Fact: races don’t happen without awesome people who volunteer their time to organise and support the event. It’s time to say thank you. Literally. As you pass a marshall, thank them for marshalling. If you’re running full tilt, this may not always be possible but if we all thank one marshall* at each race, hopefully all go home feeling a bit more valued for giving up their Sunday morning. Likewise, an e-mail to thank the organiser will give both you and them that warm fuzzy glow that helps us keep going with this pastime. What could be better than that? Ah, yes, actually volunteering to marshall from time to time; something I plan to do this year in my quest to become a better runner.

*When I say, "thank one marshall", I’m hoping we’ll each choose a different one; otherwise, you know, we might make that marshall paranoid and not want to do it again.

How will you be a better runner in 2013?

2012 in tan lines

Happy New Year! 

Before getting too stuck into plans for this year, I thought a little summary of 2012 was in order. A combination of sun-seeking and race tourism made high mileages possible whilst training for the race formerly known as the race than dare not be named, so my summary of 2012 is brought to you through the medium of melanin (and minor abrasions).

Countdown to Christmas: Day 24

So it's time for my Christmas countdown to come to an end. Thank you for following. Inside the final door is a little something for you to use on Christmas day.


Merry Christmas!

Countdown to Christmas: Day 23

We don't have a Christmas tree this year for two reasons: (1) the little tree we normally dig up from the garden looks a little worse for wear, and (2), for the past month, there has been half a bike sat in corner of the dining room where the tree normally goes. Still, the fairy needs to go somewhere...