Doing A Bit Of Running

I was so anxious the night before the half marathon. I just couldn’t sleep. It’s my first half marathon race and although I know I can do the distance I’m still ridiculously nervous about it.

I gave up trying to sleep at about 5 o clock and got out of bed and ate some weetabix. The cats looked at me askance. They thought that all this moving about stuff was a silly idea and I should be laying down in bed stroking cats rather than pacing restlessly from one side of the room to the other.

Richard collects me at about 08:30 and I start to relax slightly. We’re on our way and it’s going to be great.

We park up and jog down the hill to Midsummer Common. The sun is shining and we’re surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of runners all making their way to the start. I’m still feeling desperately anxious but also tremendously excited.

We meet with the rest of our running gang near the Fort St George. Lloyd is there as is Darryl from the Cambridge running shop, ‘Up And Running’. John joins us a little later. It’s really good to see John there. He’s been suffering from so many injuries this year that we had seriously doubted whether he would be able to run today.

Eventually 09:30 arrives and we split up to go to our separate pens. I’m in red pen which is the folk who expect to finish slower than 2 hours and 15 minutes. This seems to make a lot of sense as my best time so far is about 2 hours and 25. The idea is that you run with people who run at a similar pace to yourself. that way you are unlikely to be held up by people slower than you. The rest of the gang are much faster than me so they are all in different pens nearer the start.

A great cheer goes up but we don’t really know why. Several minutes later we start to move forward, very slowly. Eventually we’re moving fast enough to begin a gentle jog. We cross the start line but still the pace is very slow. There are so many people all around me.  I know I should be starting reasonably slowly but it’s frustrating not to be able to run at the pace I would like to do. We turn left along Elizabeth Way Bridge. We have an entire chunk of road to run along but still it isn’t enough. We spread out across the pavement and fill every possible space. Turning left on to Chesterton Road there is slightly more space. It’s starting to feel a little more comfortable now and I’m beginning to relax and enjoy myself. I suddenly hear someone shout “Go Jim”. I’m confused for a moment. I look around wondering who it is that has recognised me. I see someone that I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen before. I’ve forgotten that my name is on my chest and assume that she must know me. I nervously wave back at her.

We turn left on to Bridge Street and then right on to Trinity Street. There are a lot of spectators here but also some early morning shoppers who are more than a little bemused (and possibly slightly irritated) at thousands of runners swarming down this tiny street. We turn right and head out across the bridge toward the Backs and Queen Street. We arrive at Silver Street and do a weird little up and back down this street. Then it’s onwards to the Fen Causeway. There are beautiful art deco apartment blocks to the left here and the green where Charles Darwin used to catch butterflies to our right. We then turn left past the Fitzwilliam Museum toward the glorious Kings Parade. I grab a bottle of water here and a gel. Both are very welcome indeed. The gel is a nasty sweet sticky thing but it’s got a lot of energy bundled up in a small package.

The noise on Kings Parade is absolutely astounding. There’s so much screaming and shouting. It’s just an incredible atmosphere and I’m really loving it.

We keep going along Market Street and soon we’re back by the Round Church and yet more cacophonous noise. I hear my name again many times but I’ve figured out what’s going on now. People pick out a name and shout randomly to cheer you along. It may be random but it does feel really good.

We turn on to Jesus Green and it feels good to see the river. It looks absolutely gorgeous. I hear the words “Go Jim” yet again and I hear the same woman who had shouted to me on the other side of the bridge on Chesterton Road. I’m not as surprised this time and quite delighted that I seem to have a supporter of sorts. She’s taken the trouble to cross the bridge to cheer me on once more. It feels really good.

I’m just leaving Jesus Green when a motorbike comes roaring past asking us to move out the way. Soon after, the lead runner follows the bike moving at an incredible speed. Aaron Scott came in first as he did last year. His 2015 time was an incredible 1:08:49. Second was Chris Darling who we see regularly at the Cambridge Parkrun several minutes later at 1:12:28.

I’m now into the second lap and am feeling strong. The field has strung out a little and I have room to run at the speed that I’m happy with. Back on Elizabeth Way Bridge I hear someone saying my name. John is here and we run together for a little while. He tells me that he had intended to just run until Bridge Street on the second time around but he’d managed to run 14K the previous week so was hopeful that could actually do the distance. We chat for a while and then I move on. I’m feeling absolutely great along Chesterton Road and have increased my speed a little. Further down I hear a manic cry once more. “Go Jim” she cries. It’s my supporter again. I smile and wave back. It feels great to have been picked out as someone to cheer on.

Soon after this I arrive again at Fen Causeway. My energy just suddenly flaps its wings and callously departs leaving me staggering along the road feeling distraught and desperate. John catches me again and sweeps past. I stare at the ground watching it lurch back and forth. My sense and ability to reason have suddenly left me.

I don’t know how far I have left to run and this seems to me the most tragic thing in the world. I feel helpless and hopeless. How on earth can I possibly finish. I stagger on to Kings Parade, looking forward to another gel and a bottle of water. They have water but they’ve run out of gels. In my disoriented state I take this as a personal slight. I’m very miserable and very upset. It doesn’t make any sense but I was completely incapable of anything like rational thought at this time.

I battled across Jesus Green and on towards Midsummer Common. I can see the common but there’s all sorts of weaving about seems to go on before I get to the finish line. We wind around the common and I’m beginning to despair that I will ever see the finish. Eventually I turn the corner and there’s the great inflatable Saucony finish arc. I keep pushing on and hear Richard off to my right hand side cheering me on. I cross the finish line and stop running. My legs have ceased to function and I stagger from side to side. I’m channelled through a tent thing and someone leaps out and hangs a medal around my neck. A plastic bag is thrust into my hand as is a bottle of non-alcoholic beer. I look at it with what must have been a very confused look. “There are some folks just around the corner who will open it for you.” I still can’t think straight and certainly can’t walk straight. I wobble forward like a drunken sailor outwards and onwards. Eventually I find Richard and we exchange stories of pain and triumph.

Later we meet up with more folks and stagger up the hill. The Castle Pub is waiting for us where we will drink Adnams Ales and eat Castle Burgers.

Life is good.

This was my first half marathon race and I was aiming for around 2 and a half hours. I actually managed 2 hours, 12 minutes and 42 seconds so was absolutely delighted.

 

I have a somewhat odd relationship with this half marathon. It’s going to be my first and emotionally it keeps doing the roller coaster thing to me.

A year ago I stood on the street, cheering folks on for the 2014 Cambridge Half Marathon. I joined a bunch of friends in the pub afterwards to congratulate them on their run. I was greatly impressed with their feats of speed and endurance but couldn’t imagine that I would be able to run that kind of distance. However, as the year progressed I ran a few more 10K runs and thought well, maybe it might be possible. I just need to run 10K twice and then a bit more. That doesn’t sound too much does it? Well of course it does and I vacillated endlessly between a whiff of hopefulness and oceans of despair.

The pendulum swung back toward the positive just before Christmas (2014) when I went out one day, felt good and so just kept on running. By some miracle I had managed the 21K so knew that the half marathon couldn’t frighten me anymore. The dark despair would be vanquished and I could skip happily on my way to a triumphant finish in the Cambridge Half Marathon. A couple of weeks later the pendulum has swung back and so I set off out once more to see if I could repeat the feat. Sure enough I did manage it (as detailed in this blog post ) but suffered for several hours afterwards from what must have been either water or nutrient deficiency. I’d done the distance twice but still wasn’t sure I could do it again so had to strap on the running shoes and prove that it wasn’t just a couple of flashes in the pan.

I prepared myself for the cold (running tights, long sleeved top, jacket and hat) and ventured out. There was a bitter cold wind and occasional flurries of rain. It was anything but a cheery day but I was a man with a plan. I had my map of the Cambridge Half Marathon route so intended to run down to the city centre, once around the route and then back again. It felt rough at first but it always does. I went over the cycle bridge cursing the biting wind and preponderance of grey and dismal clouds. I was also cursing the nagging pain from the hamstring injury at Parkrun yesterday and hoping that it didn’t get any worse. I trotted down the other side down the road and turned left toward Chesterton. I was trying to decide whether to cross the river at the Green Dragon bridge or the new bridge further down. I decided on the one further down and then looked up and found myself by the Green Dragon pub about to cross the bridge. Oh well. Down the side of the river there are lots of people running even now at 08:30 on a  dismal Sunday. They are all going much faster than me. I try to kid myself that maybe they are not running as far as I am but with the Cambridge Half Marathon only a few weeks away it’s a good bet that most of the people I see are also training for the same run.

I run on to Cambridge and stumble across what will be the start of the half marathon at Victoria Avenue. The route stays quite close to Cambridge City centre. It’s 6 miles long and we’ll be doing it twice on the day with an extra twiddly bit at the end to get the extra mile. I’m feeling good and eating up the miles. I hesitate as I run up Kings Parade. Do I turn right at the Senate Building. I pull out the map. It looks like I do. Running toward Jesus Green I decide to try out the gel. Richard has given me a gel to try. These are the ones that they will be handing out at the drinks stations during the half marathon. I rip off the top and suck down the contents. It tastes incredibly sweet, sticky and fairly unpleasant. I know there needs to be a lot of sugar in these things but surely there’s some way of disguising it a little. Ah well – I’m pretty sure it’ll provide the energy I need but during this run I’m wishing that I’d brought along some water with which to wash it down.

I finish the 6 mile section around Cambridge and head for home. I’m flagging a little now and I know my pace has dropped quite considerably. I’m still confident I can get home.

Several kilometres later I arrive home and it’s much less of a drama than last time I did over 21 kilometres. I ran 22 and a half kilometres but I’m still standing and have enough energy to do my stretches and then go to soak in the bath. For now I’m happy and confident as regards finishing the half marathon but I strongly suspect that those doubts will creep back in once more.

Footnote – The hamstring injury didn’t bother me much at all during this run. I kept my stride short and the pace was fairly gentle. I must do a little searching on the net to find out how to look after this injury and hopefully strengthen it to stop it happening again.

You can view the details of this run on Strava

There were many balloons, lots of fancy dress and, of course, cake.
This was January 31st 2015 and the 5th birthday for Cambridge Parkrun.
I had completely forgotten about it so that my state of dress was far from fancy.
The large number 5 balloon strapped to a speaker amplifier combo alerted me to the fact that there were goings on going on. We all sang happy 5th birthday to the Cambridge Parkrun. Weirdly, we were asked to sing it in the style of Marilyn Munroe singing to the US president. Various chaps had dressed up in sequinned dresses and blonde wigs to lead us in the singing. Strange as it was, it kinda made sense somehow.
It was an icy day and the course was muddy, mucky and downright treacherous. Undeterred we surged on and skidded our way around the park. I was feeling good and making great time when I landed awkwardly in the middle of a puddle. I yelped and then hopped and hobbled out of the way. ‘Orrrible pains were stabbing away at the back of my leg. It was about half way between the back of my knee and my bum. I strongly suspect it was a hamstring thing. It was certainly jolly painful. I limped disconsolately all the way back to the start and took a few photos of the excellent costumes and  other parkrunners who had managed to make it all the way to the end without straining/spraining/breaking anything.

For your delight and delectation, I offer you a few of those pictures here.

Christmas has been and gone and sometime during the festivities my wife handed me money and says buy some running shoes. I’d been fairly happy with the Asics I’d been wearing so tried to find something similar but maybe slightly better. I tried Sports Direct. My original shoes (Asic Gel Blackhawk) had been bought there. They had two pair of Asics and both were well beyond my price range. I was very tempted to buy from a proper running shop such as ‘Up and Running’  but looking around there I couldn’t find anything under a hundred pounds and my budget was 50, that could possibly stretch to 60 if I saw something absolutely amazing. I decided to go to the

Internet and found Gel-Hyper33 for only just under 48 pounds. They looked to be just my type of shoe. They had a gel cushion to try and absorb some of the impact of my 14 stone crashing down on them and that cushioning was in the middle which is where I tend to land. When I received them I tried them on in the house and ran up and down the stairs in them. Not the most conclusive test in the world but they felt quite good and seemed to fit. Today I decided I would give them a proper test trial outside in the big wide world. I also wanted to try out a new running route. We’ve been having the showers refurbished at my place of work so I’ve been wondering about running there and back to work so that I can try to fit in some extra runs.

Today, both the shoes and the route would be under test.

My route is one I’ve cycled many times but I was interested to see if I would enjoy running it. I go over the cycle bridge from Milton and then cross the road near the entrance to the Science Park, then to the busway and turn right down there. I go to the second bus stop and then cross over Kings Hedges Road and follow Kirkwood Road to the recreation ground. I’m finding it fairly easy going and the shoes feel good. They’re very light and let air pass through them. In fact at this moment my feet are feeling quite cold.  The route is not exciting me though. It may be that I’ve cycled this route so often that I now feel jaded by it. I very rarely take headphones with me, preferring the sound of my own thoughts and allowing myself to soak up the sights and sounds of the places I’m passing through. I wonder if I start to run this route regularly whether I should bring along my Ipod and a few podcasts for the purposes of Jim entertainment.

I continued along Cameron Road, Northfield Avenue and did a bit of a wiggle onto Mere Way. This leads onto Carlton Way and then it’s just straight on to Shire Hall. So, hello workplace, pleased to see you. I’ve run 5 and a half kilometres and am feeling nicely warmed up. I trot around the front lawn for a while. I’m thinking of running back along the route I’ve just done but it isn’t really calling to me. I then look down the hill and see Cambridge spread out in all its glory. It’s just too enticing.  I should run around there for a bit. I have no plan now. I’m just running and I’ll decide where to go as things progress.

The Backs are my first target. There is a row of colleges along the river and the backs of all these colleges display their beautiful lawns here and some of them provide convenient bridges so that we are able to cross over into the centre of Cambridge.

I cross over and turn left onto Trinity Street. The sun is out now and it’s absolutely glorious. I’m really revelling in the run now. The sights are beautiful. There are people nodding and smiling as I pass by and the sun is being ever so beatific. I realise that I’m now almost certainly on part of the Cambridge Half Marathon Route. This will be my next big run. I’ve never taken part in a half marathon before so it’s going to be a fascinating challenge. I managed to run the 13.1 mile distance a few weeks ago for the very first time so that has reduced the fear of it a little bit.  I got so excited when I did manage the half marathon distance that I didn’t just sign up for the Cambridge Half Marathon. I signed  up for the Blenheim half and the Histon and Impington Flaming June run. A complete half marathon beginner signing up for 3 of them. That’s not too many is it.

Anyway, enough of me displaying my stupidity here. There’s more running and more stupidity later. I continue onwards onto Jesus Green and straight across that onto Midsummer Common. It’s starting to get a little busier here now and there’s quite a bit of dodging bicycles and other runners going on. One of the downsides of living somewhere so downright beautiful is that everyone else wants to be out enjoying it too. I keep moving on to Stourbridge Common and hear a yell. Squinting into the sun I’m no wiser so I trot over to see. It’s Lloyd, one of the people I meet up with when I do Parkruns. We shake hands and  he says what a shame it was that Parkrun had been cancelled the previous day. The wind was quite ferocious and had brought down a number of trees. It was felt that we probably shouldn’t risk having 400 parkrunners rampaging through the country park while the wind was so determined to drop heavy duty foliage upon our heads. Apparently Lloyd went across to Bury St Edmunds and did the Parkrun there. That should help his rehabilitation.  Lloyd is yet another of our crowd who is recovering from an injury. It is unfortunately all too common. I’m keen to carry on my run so we wave goodbye and go about our business. I cut back down to the river. There seems to be a boat race there today so I decide to stay this side of the river rather than cross over at The Green Dragon Inn. I dip under the bridge and then plod off into the muddy mess that is Ditton Meadows. It’s hard going here and it’s here I find out something else about my new running shoes. They seem to be designed to let lots of air get to your feet but that also means that they are quite happy to let all the water there is slosh straight through the uppers to give your feet a bit of close up watery goodness. It was quite a shock. I squelched into the puddle and it got rather more access to my feet than I was expecting. Maybe these are designed to be specifically summer shoes. I slosh and squelch a little more until I emerge from the mud into the quaint little village of Fen Ditton itself. I’m just about to turn left around the church when around 20 cyclists all adorned in high visibility jackets emerge from a footpath to my right. I’ve never noticed this before so decided to take a look. It was a delightful path running alongside a dream Georgian mansion and then taking me on a detour around Fen Ditton. Then I wound back into the village to approach the church from the other direction. A nod of acknowledgement to the church and down the street to the public footpath across the playing fields. It was about now I started to think I must have run for quite some considerable distance. I’d run 13K and was beginning to wander whether today might be a good day to test whether I could run half-marathon distance again. I’d only need to do 3K to get to 16K and after that it’s only 5K and 5K is easy. I tend to think in terms of chunks of 5K if I’m trying to talk myself into something. Doing a 5K run itself is quite hard as you’re usually running quite fast but 5K as part of a longer run doesn’t seem like a huge challenge. I figured that I’d run to Baits Bite Lock and then up toward Milton Village and see how far I’d gone then. If I was within sight of a half marathon distance then I’d loop around the village a couple of times to add the extra kilometres.

Upon re-entering Milton Village I see I’ve done 16 and a half kilometres. Now I’m definitely within sight of a half marathon distance. There are less than 5 kilometres to go. Surely that should be easy. Unfortunately my world has just fallen in on my head. I can’t seem to lift my legs. My stomach feels incredibly queasy and I feel decidedly groggy. At this point I should have stopped and made my way home but I kept thinking, “No, no no, I’m so close. I can just stagger the last 5 kilometres.”  So, staggering is exactly what I did. I went into the country park and ran around the edge but then I found that the juniors were doing their Sunday Parkrun so I felt it best to get out of their way. I retraced my steps and then plunged into the village, winding back and around and across and over. All the time I felt sick and completely without energy. Eventually I tottered  home with a time of about 2 hours and 20 minutes. I know – it may sound slow to you folks but for me it was a 10 minute improvement on the last time I’d managed to run this distance.

I’m sat outside the house with my head in my hands and my darling wife opens the door. She smiles at me and tells me not to take my shoes off. “I need you to go to the supermarket.” I nod meekly, do a few stretches then smile and totter off to the shop. I’m limping now. The shoes have given me blisters on my right foot. The left one fits absolutely perfectly. The right one, not so much. I may have to wear extra socks in that one or maybe I can fit an extra insole.

I’m feeling ill when I return to the house. I can’t even eat the smoked salmon on tiger bread that is waiting for me. I bathe and then crawl into bed feeling sorry for myself. An hour later or so I manage a coffee and eat the salmon. I’m still feeling slightly dodgy but a good deal better than before. I must have suffered some kind of deficiency that caused my body to suffer so at 17 or 18 kilometres. Maybe there’s something I should have been eating or drinking. I didn’t take any water but with the temperature hovering around 3 or 4 degrees Celsius then I’m not losing massive amounts in sweat. It was a very odd feeling indeed. However, I’m feeling much better now and am glad I did the run. It’s a frightfully long distance so I’m pleased to have been able to prove to myself that I can still do it.

This route available to view on Strava http://www.strava.com/activities/239533623

It’s New Year and I’m staying in Leeds with my mum and brother. Leeds is well blessed with Parkruns currently boasting 4 parkruns with several others quite close by. On New Year’s Day there are 2 runs. One is at Woodhouse Moor (near Leeds University) and the other is at Temple Newsam in the grounds of the glorious Elizabethan manor house. They have realised that there will be a bunch of complete maniacs that will want to do both runs and so instead of starting them both at 9 am as they would usually do, they are running the Woodhouse Moor Parkrun at 9 and Temple Newsam at 10. It’ll be tight but with them being only 4.5 miles apart then it is eminently possible to do both.

Now, I’ll make a small diversion here to talk about Parkruns. The vast majority of you will know about these but for those who don’t I shall fill in a bit of background information.

Parkrun is a measured 5 kilometre run organised entirely by volunteers and starting at 9am every Saturday morning. It began in 2004, founded by Paul Sinton-Hewitt as the UK Time Trials and then morphed into Parkrun in 2010. I usually run in the Cambridge Parkrun although I’m pleased to say that I can usually find Parkruns wherever I stay. I did note that there were none in the USA when I was there last year. I’m hoping this phenomenon will spread across the ocean soon. The event relies upon volunteers as it costs nothing to enter. There are usually a starter, several marshals to make sure you stay on route, a finishing funnel team to click your finishing time on the stop watches and people to hand out your bar code finish tags. There are also people to scan your finish tags as well as your athlete bar codes that you sign up for online before you attend the event. It’s a minimum team of around 8 or 9 for every run and often with fields of 3 or 400 people running at every event then you can need much more. Therefore it’s very important that everyone who takes part volunteers to help out at some time. I have very much enjoyed the experience every time I’ve volunteered so would heartily recommend it to anyone reading this who hasn’t yet experienced the fun of being a Parkrun volunteer.

I rise early on New Year’s Day and set off for Woodhouse Moor. My partner, Carrie is coming with me. She doesn’t usually run nor does she usually attend Parkruns with me, being of the very sensible opinion that Saturday mornings are for sleeping in a little and recovery from the trials and tribulations of the working week. This time it feels like a special occasion and she accompanies me to Woodhouse Moor. Carrie has also brought along some running shoes. She’s going to attempt her very first Parkrun. We’ve decided it should be the second one so that we won’t risk missing getting to that one if Carrie is still running the first.

There are huge amounts of folk milling about even though it’s only 08:45. Woodhouse Moore Parkrun seems to have a really strong community feel to it. Many people asking each other whether they’ve had a good Christmas and all that kind of thing. It’s all very jolly. I even hear quite a number of people talking about going on to the other Parkrun at Temple Newsam. One mad fool is going to run in between the two as well as taking part in both. Just incredible.

At about 08:55 the shouting begins and we are all cajoled back down the course to gather at the start. There we are given our instructions and the latest news. The latest news is that the Leeds Parkrun is going to change its name to the Woodhouse Moor Parkrun. The instructions are to run around the course, look out for other folks using the park, keep dogs on short leads and keep any under 11’s close by because they are inherently evil and could break loose and destroy everyone. We nod sagely and are sent on our way around the Moor. Unfortunately it’s not a very big moor and so we have to go around 3 times to make 5K. This gets a bit confusing with the distance markers. The first one I saw was 3 kilometres but I managed to figure that one was probably a marker to savour for later.

It’s a nice easy course with a little uphill but nothing too taxing. It’s pathway all the way around so ideal for a wet and cold winter’s day. It is very crowded but we soon spread out and are able to find our own pace.

I finish the race, am funnelled down to the barcode scanning folks and then Carrie and I are bustling over to the car to head out for Parkrun number two.

We travel in a mighty convoy with many other folks on their way to Temple Newsam run. We park and then circle around the glorious house to the mini farm beyond. We talk to nice chap as we walk to the start who extols the glories of this Parkrun. He refers to the course as ‘interesting’. This sets off all my alarm bells. When I hear people call courses ‘interesting’ they often mean bloody difficult. Hmmm, we shall see. We set off up the hill toward the house and then turn off to run alongside the formal garden.

I wonder at this point whether I should have run along with Carrie. It was her first Parkrun and maybe she would have wanted some company to run with. It never occurred to me at the time. I just took off and trotted around the course at my own pace but there was absolutely no reason why I couldn’t have run with Carrie and given her some encouragement. If our positions were reversed then I wouldn’t have wanted her to run with me. I would have just wanted to plod around and do my own thing in my own way but I have found through years of experience that I can’t always judge what other people would want from my own perception. I think, in this case, what I should have done was to ask her what she wanted. Asking won’t always get a response that reflects what the person actually wants but it has to be better than not asking at all.

We ran down by the formal gardens and then turned left ish toward the motorway in the distance. Then left again and eventually circled around so that we were coming back up the hill toward the farm and the house. There was a lot of mud and the uphill was steep and particularly gruelling. My suspicions about the word ‘interesting’ were definitely realised.

We went around the course twice and then it veered off to spend a little more time on that last hill that we all enjoyed so. Just as I was beginning to wonder if the 5K measurement wasn’t all it could be I finally spotted the final funnel. Fortunately the finish funnel was very long as they’d run out of tokens so were scanning people as they finished using just the one scanner. This would put all the results in one place so that they wouldn’t need to be collated later and would get over the lack of tokens problem. This was probably quick thinking by someone on the day, so much kudos for whoever sorted that problem out.

I went back down the track to find Carrie. She wasn’t enjoying herself and I was regretting that this was her introduction to the Parkruns. The Temple Newsam Run especially in all that mud was one of the toughest Parkruns I’ve ever done. Possibly not the best one for a first timer.

She was glad she did it though and I was thrilled that she now has a little knowledge of the sort of thing I get up to every Saturday morning.

I’m cheating a little here in that this occurred a couple of years ago but I reckon it would fit here quite nicely.

Running and the Tricksy Brain

I’ve been doing some running lately.
Oh no, I’ve just lost at least half my readership. I remember reading a quote about equations. It was something like, for every equation you use in a book then half of your readership will be scared away. I was convinced that this was something that Isaac Asimov had been told and he related in his autobiography. Google tells me otherwise. It seems Stephen Hawking produced this little gem, in his book, A Brief History of Time. However I have chosen a non mathematical way of chasing you all away. I know of very few fans who do any running but I have met quite a number who have struggled with the tricksiness of their own heads, so maybe we have some common ground there. I’ve found this running business to be a fascinating experience for what it does to the inside of my head and if there are any of you left still reading this I’d like to tell you a little bit about it.
Over the years I’ve often thought that this running lark might be a jolly fine thing to do. It’s easily accomplished, should be really good exercise and it’s absolutely free. So every now and again I would don shorts and training shoes and off I’d go. A couple of hundred yards later I would be huffing and puffing and aching and hurting in all sorts of places. My brain would be screaming at me to stop before I died. I knew those messages were ridiculous as I’ve seen vast numbers of people run more than two hundred metres so surely it couldn’t be fatal. I would push on a little further but the pain overwhelmed me and I would be found clutching a lampost, fighting for breath and feeling thoroughly useless and ridiculously unfit. I was sure that this reaction must be psychosomatic despite what seemed like so much physical evidence so would try again and again and just find myself clutching yet another lampost feeling pathetic. And so things continued until I discovered something called Parkrun. Every Saturday morning for 09:00 large groups of volunteers mark out a 5 kilometre route, and runners turn up to run the course. You get a bar code by registering on the web site and the volunteers will time you and provide a finishing tag. You then take the barcode and finishing tag to the scanning team and the results are then published on the Parkrun website. A marvellous resource indeed and completely free but of course I worried and dithered for along time before I went along to give it a try. I mean this was 5 kilometres for goodness sake. That’s a long long way. Surely I could never run that kind of distance. Armed with this mighty multitude of negative thoughts I turned up to give it a try, confident that if I found it too difficult I could just give up and go home. This plan was immediately scuppered when I encountered a friend and work colleague there who assured me that after he finished he would wait by the finish line to cheer me in.
Damn!
I started near the back of the field and was cheered to find that we set off quite slowly and the people around me were doing quite a gentle little trot. Excellent, thinks I. This pace will suit me nicely. Then after a kilometre the pain hits. I can’t breathe and I know my face is contorting madly as I strain desperately to try and get some air into my lungs. It seems that it doesn’t matter how wide I open my mouth I just can’t get any oxygen in there. I’m now swaying from side to side with my mouth agape doing a fine impersonation of a great galumphing hippopotamus.
My mind screams at me to stop before I die. I keep going. My heart starts thumping and I feel a pain there. See, says my brain. You wouldn’t listen to me and now you’re going to have a heart attack. I ignore the pain and carry on. Now the muscles in my legs are starting to do strange twanging things. I imagine tendons being stretched to breaking point and snapping abruptly leaving me with useless floppy limbs. I reject the floppy limbs scenario and keep going.The brain then realises that it needs to get more sneaky if it’s going to get me to stop. Maybe you could just rest for a bit Jim. Surely just a moments rest wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Possibly a rest might help and then you could run faster after you’ve recovered. Tempting indeed but I realise these are brain tricks. At that point one of the volunteers shouts out the time we’ve been running. I start doing calculations in my head trying to figure out what speed I’m going and extrapolating my finish time if I actually do finish. This keeps me occupied for some time and I pass the 2 kilometre marker. This is a revelation as I realise that I haven’t died yet and the pain hasn’t gotten worse. What’s even better is that I’m now breathing fairly evenly. There are still scary wheezing noises emanating from my mouth but I no longer feel like I’m fighting for every breath. This buoys me up a little and I push on to 3 kilometres with only muted screaming noises going on inside my head. Then the doubts come flooding back in. Three kilometres is only a little over halfway. That strange twanging feeling at the back of my knee has made itself known again. Maybe if I keep going it will just snap and I may never be able to walk again. I picture myself negotiating the rest of my life in a wheelchair. It all feels so vivid and I’m convinced that the reality will be realised in only a few seconds if I don’t stop now. I try distracting myself with numbers again but it isn’t working. I’ve slowed down from a trot to a totter and look close to falling over. A volunteer asks me if I’m OK and I try to look brave and assure them that I’m absolutely fine. They ask if I’m sure and I reply in the affirmative. I obviously don’t look OK. Then something magical happens. I encounter the 4 kilometre sign. This sign means there is just one kilometre left. I start counting down. These are manageable numbers now. The end is no longer an unobtainable goal. I count up to a hundred and that means there are only about 900 metres to go. I count to another hundred and think aargh, these numbers aren’t going down very much. It’s still a long way to the finish. However, thinks I. Maybe I haven’t been entirely accurate and possibly instead of 800 metres left there are only 750. In fact while I’ve been thinking about this I could have run another fifty metres so there could only be 700 metres left. No that’s silly you’re just kidding yourself. I argue back and forth about how much I’m deluding myself as regards the distance left to cover and then all doubt is vanquished as I see a sign telling me that there are only 300 metres to go. Hurrah thinks I surging forward and then rapidly running out of steam as I find that 300 metres is still quite a long way. Eventually I stagger across the finish line and collect my finishing tag. I lie down on the grass feeling totally exhausted but elated. My mind told me that it couldn’t be done. It was absolutely emphatic about it and yet it had lied. I had reached the end and although I ached and hurt, I was not injured and I was now a 5 kilometre runner (albeit a 5 kilometre runner who was walking like a drunken cowboy). This was a distance that I never thought I would attain. I’ve been out running quite a bit since then and the battle against my brain still happens every time. It was particularly prominent recently when I started to run 10 kilometres. My brain said this was a ridiculous notion and threw many obstacles into my path. I would say that I stepped deftly around these obstacles but I think it is probably more accurate to say I staggered and stumbled my way through until I reached my 10 kilometres. I’m more confident about my running now but the brain still occasionally wins through. If it can’t stop me it tries to suggest I should rest this week and run a little slower so that I can make an extra special attempt next week. It’s a tricksy little bunch of neurons that brain thing.

I wonder if I should have a bash at a half marathon?