April's Fool

Following my last post in mid-January on the next run I did I pulled up after only a mile and a half. My calf went tight and my knee was really hurting. I’d powered through and ignored my body for the 6 miles previously. But this time I had to listen. I was broken. I found it really annoying that this has been the fittest I have ever been and I couldn’t walk down stairs anymore without wincing and yelping like a pup. I had a moment at Hoxton station where an old lady asked me if I was alright as I clung to the handrail, that encouraged me to go to hospital to have it looked at. Having provided a little entertainment at the reception desk of Guy’s NHS Drop-in centre on a Saturday afternoon I had my pants down and a nurse had a poke and a rub. I was told to rest and do some exercises. Funny that, more exercise. Apparently my legs, the same legs that had just run six miles a few days earlier, were weak.

I didn’t like that one bit. So I had two weeks doing nothing and then got back to it. After two weeks the same problem. Two more weeks rest and only a mile and a half I pulled up again. This was a low point.

I pulled this face as I looked out over the Thames worrying that blind stubbornness might not actually get me to the finish line. Then I limped home.

At the right time, when I needed it, both my fiancée and my best man, put their heads together to get me an early birthday present. New legs. Seriously these trainers or running shoes are the most uncool things I have ever had on my feet, but it feels like I’m walking on air. Just like nothing at all! These ugly little beauties came into my life after the public humiliation of having to run on a machine in the shop and having my feet filmed in slow motion. Imagine how slow that video was. Anyway after being told off for flirting with the lady in the shop, who had gone into a self-satisfied coma induced by the distant memory of her last marathon, I was walking out of the shop with bionic legs. Nothing could stop me now. The Marathon was back on!

Now I had to make up for lost time, but before I went back to sweating, I met the mayor of Southwark who invited me for tea. I joked with her about hoping to finish the marathon. Her face dropped and she said: "You'd better! You are running for one of my charities". So I stole a few cookies and got out of there before she could scare me anymore.

That week my doctor’s appointment came around. The one I had booked before my new shoes. I shall not name my doctor, but let’s just say he is a very shrewd man. I sat across from him at his desk and he took one look at me and said: “whatever I tell you, you are going to run this marathon aren’t you?!” to which I smiled and nodded. He did the doctor scary story bit and then saw that I didn’t flinch so he agreed to give me a pain killer a week before if I need it. That’s my kind of doctor. He laughed at me and told me to get out of his office.

Further assistance in my rehabilitation came from a combination of Lidl, colleagues at Lambeth College and the lovely Nadine. Lidl had a running week where they palmed off some kit in the isles of crap, so my dutiful fiancée bought me energy gels. They live in my pocket every time I run now and have an incredible effect. In so much as I’m so sure they will taste horrific every time I feel tired and that I can’t go on I threaten myself with the promise of actually opening one and I soon feel as though the next few hundred yards will be fine. She also bought me some brightly coloured Kinesiology tape, which apparently will support my muscles. Another placebo that I’m happy to humour as long as I keep kidding myself that everything will be alright on the night; even if I end up running the marathon looking like a raving mummy. My enemies at work kept the pressure on my training too. I would call them friends, however they made me get a foam roller, for which I cannot and will not forgive them. Such a simple looking thing that causes so much pain. Although without it I would not be running. 

A massive boost to my training has been doing Yoga with Nadine. She gets all my bits in a happy place. For someone who cannot touch my toes I have been surprised how much I have enjoyed these sessions and particularly like it when I'm folded into shapes Nadine suggests for idiot runners like me. 

Having taken on too many jobs recently I found making time to train increasingly became more difficult and so I took the drastic decision to run home from work. Once I had ensured my students had gone home I snuck into my running gear in the gents toilet and then crept out of the building, stretched very publicly like a PE teacher and then ran home. It turns out running has another use other than exercise. It can actually get you to places. As in, it is a mode of transport. Who knew?

Further to this bombshell I am pleased to announce that I successfully hit double figures and ran for ten miles without stopping.

I was spurred on by a running companion, my 67 year old Dad, who cycled the entire distance at a very steady 5 miles an hour. Me not him. He was struggling to balance at times because of my tardiness, however we finished 30 seconds over 2 hours. Which means that if I can maintain that pace for two and a half times more, and a bit, I will finish in about 5 hours and 15 mins. Although I have to be honest there was something left in the tank, but two and a half that distance? Seems like a long way. However my Grandma the infamous ‘Babba’ is so dismissive of my distances I’m motivated to silence her, as in my opinion she is a bit overly trivialising of my fitness for someone who has just moved in to a bungalow.

In the last week I moved house and so today I went on my first run around Hampstead Heath. Heath doesn’t mean gently undulating pastures. HEATH MEANS HILLS. Running up hill is like urinating into the wind. I hope there are no hills in the London Marathon. Catching an old lady having a widdle in the bush with her dog cheered me up tremendously though. As a gentleman I thought I should ease the tension of this uncomfortable moment as she hastily pulled up her pants so I trumped loudly as I ran by. What a guy! A lap complete though and feeling fit. I couldn’t help but get a twinge of excitement in my stomach when looking back at London on the Heath as it’s April now which means only 23 days until race day and I beast this town.

I have realised that I was wrong when I thought this marathon was just about me and running. It’s not. It’s us and running. All the support, advice and encouragement I have been given by everyone has helped me get to this point and will carry me on race day. However without it I would struggle, with that in mind it’s time to get your debit card out and get online to support the wonderful work Solace Women’s Aid do. They give support, advice and encouragement to those who need it most. Remember this money isn’t funding my ridiculous kit, but the lifesaving work done by this ground-breaking institution that helps brave people who need it. Fun though it is watching me sweat like a BEAST this only becomes worthwhile if you dig deep and give money today. Please do not wait. Donate!