buzz

Okay, a bit of a set back…either I’m really sore or I’ve contracted the mosquito virus “Ross River.”

I felt pretty terrible on my run the other day and my joints have been abnormally sore since, that being said, it’s been a long time since I’ve asked them to run.

 I gave a blood test the other day and I’m anxiously awaiting my results before I jump back into training. Crossing fingers…..

Less is more.

 Click here for more info!

Couch to 50k

Day 1: "The Couch Potato".

It became apparent about 10 minutes into my run tonight that I’m starting from scratch.

I left my house, excited, visualizing an easy 20k run, gliding along effortlessly…After all two years ago i could run a marathon on any given day!

However at about Ten minutes in, the illusion was shattered by a loud clapping noise. I turned ‘round expecting to see a Clydesdale chasing after me, but I was alone, alone with a stranger’s gait. Now for the uninitiated a “Gait” is your natural foot fall or running stride, mine felt anything but natural. I’m sure I looked more like a wounded emu than an efficient runner. Somewhere along the line I’d forgotten how to run comfortably and in turn efficiently.

“No matter” I thought, as I turned up my I Pod to drown out that annoying foot slap sound, “I’ll persevere and hope I can get into a rhythm.” I thought optimistically.

Finally at about 4k I relaxed into it started to feel good…then great…then really bad.

A walker in front of me was keeping pace…even pulling away??

“What the hell is that?” I gasped

“Oh my legs feel like they are going to fall off…Oh, okay don’t be alarmed. I’ve been here before.” I reassured myself. Thinking back to an ultra…but this was no ultra. This was a 7k stroll. I made it home exhausted and relived to have lived through such a harrowing ordeal. That’s it, first one done, tomorrow will be easier. Let the secret training begin!

Try a Tri?

Less than a month from now I’ll be embarking on my first triathlon. I’m not one of those “Ironman Types” who love multi discipline sports, I fact I’m not looking forward to the swim leg, with swimmers frantically kicking past me to get near the front. In fact the whole idea of a triathlon scares the hell out of me…that’s why I’m so excited about it.

It all started with the Santa Run (see earlier post) and since I was a bit of a “show off” in that race, a few guys at work selected me to be on their Tri team.

“No worries, that’ll be easy.” I said studying the course map.

“Three months to train, I’ll be ready...”

That was two months ago, sadly my training plans never materialized. I did manage to improve my best score on “Madden NFL 2005” on my XBOX and I did have a nice holiday. Now it’s less than a month to go and I fell like a teenager cramming for a big test. From this weekend it’s game on! No more lazing about.

That’s the reason for my excitement; I’m really excited about training again, albeit if the catalyst is some silly Tri and not an ultra-marathon, it’s a baby step in the right direction and should get me focused again on what I love… Running.

Still here....

Anyone who knows me as a runner would testify that I have a love/hate relationship with running. In fact we metaphorically broke up about a year ago and I haven’t spoke to it much since. I have had little spurts here and there we I would lace up and commit to a few days of running but for the most part I’d almost given up. I was now a non-runner. When you classify your self as a “runner” in the sense that I did, you can’t help but feel you’ve lost a major part of your identity, not to mention running friends.

Meanwhile I’ve been ignoring the smoldering fire, the passion for running. Each day it’s been growing, I’ve been waiting for it to return to a bonfire, but as quickly as it grows it’s doused by something, something unidentifiable but tangible all the same.

I think for me my biggest inspiration in running is the exploring, exploring a new trail, exploring my own limits of endurance, exploring the glorious feeling of being able to seemingly run forever. That’s the flame I’m fanning now. Encouraging myself to go explore what’s out there.

Feel free to throw some logs on the fire.

Ueli Steck's Eiger north face ascent

Sure, I'll race!

A few weeks ago I found myself toeing the start line of race; it would be my first race in almost a year. My heart starts to beat and I’m feeling those pre-race jitters. I do a quick mental body scan. Legs feel great, ready and willing like a Doberman ready to pounce on a burglar. My Camel-bak is full and loaded with nutritional goodies. My shoelaces are tied in knots that would make a sea captain proud…I’m ready… the crowd around me becomes quiet and focused. The man beside me is setting his stopwatch.

“Going for a PB” he says. He looks confident.

I stretch my legs and visualize gliding effortlessly down the road.

The people I’m with know that I’ve done some serious races in the past and they encourage me to be a front runner…Maybe.

“I might be able to win this" I foolishly think to myself.

At last a gun goes BANG and the 2000 strong competitors in the “Variety Santa Fun Run” are underway... Now bear in mind that it is a condition of this race to wear a full Santa suit whilst competing. This is after all a charity event, a light hearted way to spend the morning and a way to give back to society by supporting charity.

However, any thoughts of philanthropy evaporated when I began sprinting wildly down the Esplanade at full speed. It was at about 1 k into the race that I’d realized I may have overestimated my fitness, that sprint hurt like hell. Sure, now I was at the front alright...but I’d have to maintain that or face the humiliation of being passed by “Fun runners” in Santa suits…I gasped for air and sucked in vain at my Camel–Bak straw.

Behind me I could hear a “Flap, Flap” sound. I turned in horror to see the runner behind me quickly closing in, to my astonishment he was wearing thongs! This can’t be happening I thought to myself. So I dug deep and kept going.

“Hey, Only three Kilometers to go!” said an enthused Elf supporter. I thought about cursing at her but the “Christmas sprit” made me force a smile at her instead.     

I trudged onward, ever mindful of the “Flip-Flopped” Santa’s” hot breath only meters behind. “This damn Santa suit.” I mumbled, sweating hard now, clearly not designed for sprinting. Finally we turned down South Terrace, the main street in Fremantle. People lined the streets and watched from cafes, cheering and waving while they comfortably sipped at lattes. Not one to disappoint I launched into sprint again. My side ached, my feet were sore. The finish line appeared on the horizon and hinted at an end to this madness. At last I ran under the giant inflatable banner and crumbled into a heap at the finisher’s area.

My wife and kids had come to watch and were laughing hysterically at all the “Try hards”… it wasn’t until that point that I really realized just how foolish I had been. I laughed at myself and we watched the more sensible runners and walkers come in.

“What was your time?” my wife asked

“I don’t know.” I said and I didn’t I never bothered to set a watch and this race didn’t have timing chips. I did all that because it was my nature I guess. It’s funny now. That was the hardest 4 k race I ever did!