Easter Sunday. You were probably eating chocolate and reading the papers, weren’t you?
I was running (and walking) 18 miles with Zoe, the final long run of our training.
The whole point of the famous long run is that it prepares you, mentally and physically, for the completely lunatic 26.2 miles of the marathon itself.
The other point of the long run is to iron out the little problems you might otherwise not discover until the day, most of which you’ll have heard about. Black toenails, bleeding feet, skin rubbed raw by seams on t-shirts, and of course hitting the wall. I’m making it sound like loads of fun, aren’t I?
In the last month I’ve seen a podiatrist, a physiotherapist, a chiropractor and an osteopath. I’ve been poked, squeezed, clicked, popped, prodded and twizzled. Continue Reading »
In my world, 7mph is really fast. It’s my zooming-on-the-treadmill maximum speed for interval training.
I am slow. Super slow. Super-ultra-mega-slow.
Just to put it into perspective, if I’d run the whole 2009 London marathon at 7mph (that’s an 8:34 minute mile), there would have been 6,682 people in front of me. I’d have finished in 3:44, which is if memory serves me right the sort of speed that foxy marathon chicks Marathonmaiden and Carpeviam complete in – in fact they’re both faster than that. They don’t hang about, those two.
Anyway, there’s no point comparing myself to two racehorses when I’m more of a carthorse. I did a lovely interval workout today on the treadmill, inspired by watching Eddie Izzard’s 43 marathon challenge last night on television. I say lovely, it was torturous but made me feel quite pleased with myself afterwards. Gosh I’m boring, aren’t I. I’m even boring myself. Stay awake there at the back.
And no, I don’t mean the Jedward version. I’m a Vanilla Ice sort of girl, and yes, I know that shows my age.
So here I am. Rested and iced yesterday, felt okay this morning, didn’t call the doctor. (Yes, I know.)
Breakfast, packed lunches, school run, preschool run. Quick visit to my mum, who told me off for not organising accommodation for the marathon before now (sorry Mum, I know, just because you work in the industry is no reason to leave it till the last minute, etc, etc…).
Picked up littlest marathonchick from preschool, gave him lunch, and spent the afternoon resting with icepacks on all sore bits. Hrmm. I’m not quite sure why my ankle took two days to decide it was sore, but I’m planning a gentle 3.75 tomorrow which I’m going to take super-slowly.
Talking of slowly, my lovely friend L pointed something out to me last night. I’m constantly telling everyone to remember that I am mega slow and that there’s lots more walk than jog on my runs. But I covered 10.51 miles on Saturday, and that’s a long way for a chocoholic couch potato. So yay me.