And that's it! The stabilisers are now off and stowed. No more walk-breaks. I'm off to play with the big kids.
Week six, runs one and two are strewn behind me like a trail of debris and have been banished to that moist, dank section right at the back of my brain which is reserved for the deepest, darkest memories. Like the time I misjudged a pump in public.
That never happened. But if it did, it'd be back there, padlocked in a splintery wooden crate alongside those last two runs.
I'd read a lot on this forum about how the first couple of runs of week six catches a lot of people out and I can see why.
Running and walking? Pfft! I just went and did twenty minutes straight. That's nearly a marathon.
I was wrong, It was bloody hard.
During W6R1, and for the first time in this programme, I had a couple of seconds of forced stoppage mid-run whilst trying to cross a road. That’s more frustrating than stubbing your toe. So I decided it was time to get cosy on the couch with my inner geek and Google Maps and devise a new route that covers my current distance, has room for extension and provides the least amount of road crossings. I even categorised each crossing by potential. i.e. cul-de-sac: low chance of car, call it a Cat1. Main road: dead cert. Cat5.
I don't like change. I shaved my wispy beard off over the weekend (under much duress) and I'm still screaming like a choirboy with a lungful of helium when I catch sight of myself in the toilet mirror.
"Arrrrgggghhhh! Pervert!"
I liked doing the same route. It gave me a sense of progress. I had my markers: The pub, Pervert's Pass, the other pub, the pub after that, the chinese takeway, the house with a washing machine in the front garden and the pub. I used to think, "By next week, I can run past all this. That probably just needs a new motor. I could murder some shredded beef. Last week, I was walking past here. Oop. Mind the dog poo."
As I was increasing the distance, I kept having to tack extra bits onto the route, like Frankenstein assembling his monster, thinking, who wouldn't benefit from a fifth leg? But in doing so, I was creating more and more turns, crossings and cars. Runners should have right of way. I've just decided.
But, anyway, I've now got a shiny new sleek and efficient run-route to terrorise.
There goes the neighbourhood!
I can imagine an estate agent showing a young couple into a potential starter home. She's six months pregnant, he's in a Burton's shirt and tie, he's also a millenial so he's not wearing any socks, they're gazing up at the sprouting shrubs of their new lives, their eyes welling up with hope, expectation and dreams. You can almost taste the imagination as it oozes through their pores and wafts around them, propelled by the thought of what they can do to make this humble little abode Their Home.
Then, in the near distance, a soft but heavy rhythmic grunting is carried by the wind. It gets louder.
And louder.
And then He appears around the corner.
He is more sweat than man. His nose is snotting almost down to his chin. There is a string of dribble-cum-spit, weaved like a spider's web down to his chest. The ground thuds with every footplant. He passes by in a haze of horribleness and slowly disappears around the next corner. The grunting subsides.
The estate agent looks nervously into the disgusted eyes of the prospective buyers.
"Er...don't worry about him. He's harmless enough." She turns back to the house, "Did I mention there is generous storage spa..."
She is cut off by the sound of a car door slamming and tyres screaching for traction as the young couple's Ford C-Max scrambles away and off into the distance.
That's how it goes in my head anyway.
It's a strange thing, my head.
Yesterday evening I did my W6R2 which is ten-three-ten and the final walk-break of the whole damned shebang. I'm going to miss them. So many happy times.
For the first ten minutes, I felt great, prancing along like a Gazelle. I really felt my progress coming along. I was trying to judge my conversational pace by singing along to my music. Don't ever do this to Beck, will you? Especially when you're running past teenage girls. There's a good chance you'll inadverantly tell them to get crazy with the cheese wedge and run off. I was dodging police cars for the rest of my run.
When I worked out my route, me and my geek-side worked out my spilts. 1K is at this corner. 2K is at the end of Dog Sh*t Alley. 3K is turning onto the harbour-front, 4K is on the bridge...
I usually walk 0.5K in the warm-up, and I'll do 1.5K in 10 minutes (or thereabouts) so I'll be just past Dog Sh*t Alley, and then I'll be walking. Or scraping. Depending on how good my reflexes have been.
But for all my algorithms, DSA comes and goes and I'm still running. I got almost to the harbour before MJ gave me permission to slow down.
Including the warm-up, warm-down and interval, I did 5.1K.
No wonder I'm back to constantly managing niggles again. I remember this from playing football. I used to just patch myself up, rest between matches, get my legs back into a space where they're not tighter than the last parking space in the multstorey and then go again. Even if they are.
After every run now, I can't bend my knee unaided. I have to grab hold of my ankle and handball it up to do my stretches. Because of this, my whole left leg is slightly off-kilter and I'm feeling it in my calf and hamstring. I'm stretching it out on rest days, keeping the mobility up and getting the pain down, convincing myself that it feels OK and then going out again. It becomes background, like a white-noise, and just part of life. I call it niggle-tolerance, trying to nurse myself through. I'm worried that if I go to a physio, they'll tell me to rest up for a few weeks, and I've got a Tiger by the tail here.
So, if I don't go, they won't know about it, it won't concern them, right?
Man logic.
I've got my Vimove thingy tomorrow on the dreaded Treadmill (spoken over ominous sound effects). I'm hoping super-shoes and an articulated knee brace will iron me out a bit and my little complaints can improve on the go (they're not getting worse).
I didn't feel ready for W5R3 when it came about, I thought I'd have more chance of having a dry toilet seat after my morning pee (any women moaning about men not straight-shooting down the hole have no notion of the inexplicable sidewards stream) than being able to conquer that challenge. I feel exactly the same after W6R2. I was begging for MJ to tell me it was all over. I would've given him jewels to tell me I'd nailed it five minutes earlier than he did...
...I've just had a thought.
I reckon that this programme has made me a high potential case for Stockholm Syndrome. I'll be turning up at MJ's house with a heartshaped box of chocolates and a bottle of Rose.
But I'll give the W6R3 a go, I suppose. I'll have my super-shoes by then too, so there's no chance of slow-and-steadying it. I'll be out to see what those bad-boys can do.
Happy running people!
Week 2, Run 2 - crazy migraine-o-vision is back
Must be my week for getting stood up 😂
Getting there...slowly
Crazy lady alert!!!!
