The injury finally seems to be passing, like the wind, and I'm going to start getting into some proper training again. Since fracturing my foot in an innocuous 'talking to the girlfriend whilst hiking' incident on New Years Day I've not been able to run consistently. 5 weeks off completely sat on my already ample arse contemplating throwing a stationary bike out of the window, have now been replaced with five times weekly runs and a couple of bike sessions.
Last week was my first week of solid training and I incorporated a really good session of hill sprints into my training for the first time. I've been diligently reading up on proper ultra training and everyone seems to do one or two speed sessions a week so I am following suit. Next week I am going to venture on to the track for my first ever track session with some local ironman types. Can't say I am looking forward to it, but it probably has to be done. However, the session last week consisted of 10 x 30 second hill sprints. Ok I am exaggerating. It was 'going' to consist of 10 x 30 second hill sprints until I realised exactly how sick that makes you feel. I was on number 6 when I thought I was going to vomit, so declined the last 4 and jogged off home. I'm heading back to the hill to tackle the full ten this week so I'll let you know how it goes. The other thing to note about hill sprints is that you look many times more stupid than you do jogging. They made me feel very self conscious. I'd be sprinting (I use this term loosely, probably club runner marathon pace) up the hill and taxis kept slowing down to offer me assistance. I'm not making this up, it happened twice. As they were Cantonese and I am not, I', still not sure why. Maybe they were concerned about my health (I did feel like I was dying) or if they thought I was being chased by a big, fat and slow predator, but twice they tried to usher me into the safety of their cab! I had awful images of them heading straight to the St Mary's hospital up the road and depositing me in casualty thinking I was having a heart attack. The doctors would quickly realise that I just have a low VO2 Max and give me some ventolin.
It got me thinking about how bloody stupid the whole thing is. I keep reading about the need to set goals, push ourselves to the edge etc. I think we're all just a little insane. I am a young man (relatively) in my early thirties and I chose to spend my time running as fast as I can up a small hill. It's pretty weird behaviour, and brings me to question what is normal. Can't answer that one, but it clearly isn't me. Sad as it is, I'll be buggered if I am not to be found on the same little hill tomorrow night, running my little (too little cardiovascular capacity that's for sure) heart out.
I mentioned last week that many ultra runners blogs had gone a little serious, dealing with 'issues' in the sport. Issues that at least 100 other people globally care deeply about. Well there has been progress. I am now noting a little hypocrisy in some of the blogging going on. The previously spiritual types, all caught up in meaning, seem to be showing a little commercial side. I'm enjoying it, but some of the other spiritual types are not happy. I sense division in the ranks of the ultras. The spiritualists v's those who will only turn up if they are paid goddamn it. They want cashola, the sweet green... sorry I mean to run against the best... cough. It looks like there will be a split between those who want to compete and others who want to hug each other on the way round. I'd like to add my two cents to this debate. I don't care and judging by the fact I only get a couple of hundred readers a month, neither does anyone else. Although to be fair that is probably just that no one cares about me. Sob. A quick note to the 50 or so people avidly discussing this, most of these races have about 100 people taking part. I love them, it's my hobby and although I am rubbish at it, I just enjoy run/walking. However, the fact is, no one else gives a shit. Not even my mum as long as I don't hurt myself. But it doesn't matter, it's all cool. I'll go for a run and forget about it.
I'm going to finish by raising an issue of my own and a cheery little anecdote that'll bring a warm fuzzy feeling to your heart and a tear to your eye. Most runners blogs touch on it (not literally, although I have been known to get a bit on my leg every now and again), but won't seem to embrace the fact that we all encounter them at one time or another. The shits. Joggers Tummy. They got me on my mid week run last week. I am sure most runners have experienced that awful sinking feeling when you're running on roads, surrounded by cars, no where to go (literally) and yet you just have to. It's happened to be before and it'll happen again no doubt. But this time, just when I thought all was lost and I was going to have to moon several passing people carriers, scarring people for life. I stumbled across a toilet. I kid you not. I run this route several times a week and I had never in my life noticed these toilets. And on this night, at my time of need, the clouds parted, the moon shone (not mine) and some public toilets appeared. I couldn't believe it, I half expected that serene music to start, you know the stuff, when they show Heaven in films. Ahhhh ahhh ahhh. And they were clean. The toilets that is, not the films, although they were too. And... they had toilet roll. I've never been so happy on a run. They talk of endorphins, but they are nothing compared to the happinness that Kleenex brings when you're about to cack yourself. So there you have it, I can see it as the next advertising campaign. Silky soft, there for you when you're about to poo yourself. I should work in advertising, no need for a cute puppy with me on the scene. Anyway.
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