A Jog In The Park

I went into this race knowing fine and full well that I had sabotaged any hopes of doing well with my 30 miles training run on Wednesday. My main worry was not to get injured, because 2 easy days after such a long run are hardly enough to recover fully. Before the race I had a chat with John Foley, he was complaining about his hamstrings and I was moaning about my quads, so between the two of us we had one fully working set of legs.



After opening miles of 5:45 in the first 2 races of series I decided to back off the suicidal early pace for a start. I ignored the 10 or so runner that streamed past me over the first quarter mile, and watched both John and Pat slowly pull away from me. Shortly after the first km marker I counted the steps between myself and John and came up with 20, which meant I was about 7 seconds behind, which would equate to maybe 10 seconds per mile pace difference. If he started at the same pace as always, I was doing just fine.

I was definitely having an easier time than last week. Close to the halfway point of the course I remembered how I had started falling apart here one week ago, and could not help but notice that I was feeling far more comfortable today. To my surprise I was actually getting closer to John and Part again, they were less than 10 steps ahead at that point and I was toying with the idea of trying to close the gap. I did go past one runner in a red singlet, but either the pace started catching up with me again or John and Pat both found another gear, because they started pulling away again. With 1 km to go I did try and push harder, but I simply did not have what it takes mentally today to push myself to the absolute limit. Shortly afterwards the red singlet passed me again like I was standing still. Had he done so at a slightly more reasonable pace I might have tried to hitch a ride in his shadow, but I could not possibly match that pace. Over that last half mile I watched in amazement as he went past Pat and John (and possibly even one more runner, my memory is slightly hazy), while I was trying to survive the last part of the course with the obligatory killer hill finish. When I saw the finish clock I was surprised to see that it had only just gone past 18:00 and I crossed the line with it displaying 18:13, which they correctly rounded up to 18:14 in the final standings, equalling my time from the first race of the series and 10 seconds faster than last week but in far better shape.

That's not due to the mile splits. When I checked them later, at home, to my utter astonishment they were 5:41, 5:54 and 6:07. So much for starting easily, and apparently I blew my chances for a new PB only on the final hill. I really had no idea!

A little devil on my shoulder kept reminding me that I was only 7 seconds off my PB and that I would have broken it had I pushed harder. However, my far more relaxed attitude today may well have been the reason for a good time. But I can't help but wonder if I could have broken that time had Wednesday's run been 20 miles rather than 30. There's no point crying about a lost opportunity, though. My A race is Connemara, everything else is just a training run for that. A new PB today would have been nice (and completely unexpected), but a PB in Connemara means worlds more to me.

After a couple of minutes I remembered that Shauna from work was running as well, so I jogged back along the course, spotted her after a minute, and kept encouraging her for the rest of her race. To my surprise I found that I would have made a good slave driver (“Don't slow down! Push harder! Sprint to the finish! Don't slow down!”), but rather than hating me for it she thanked me afterwards for the support.

I managed to resist all the chocolate at the spread afterwards (I nicked some for the kids), and waited for the prize ceremony. I told Pat that one day I'll catch him, but he put me into my place when he told me that his marathon PB was 2:26. Holy cow! What a runner!

Anyway, when the prizes were given out it turned out that I didn't even have to fall back to my old age to collect a reward. They rather generously awarded prizes for the top 8 men, and I just happened to have come 8th in the series, leaving the top M40 spot to Seamus. News of the 20 Euro gift voucher was very well received by Niamh!

Addendum: A belated comment to last week's race by an anonymous reader was this:

hey i think the 5k in killarney is short unless you are running some kind of wordld record for the last 172 metres. if you're garmin is correct for 3 miles then the race looks about 60 metres short.

I know that there was a discrepancy between the Garmin and what it should have displayed on an accurate 5k. Last week it showed 3.07 miles at the finish, and 3:08 this week, rather than 3:11 as it should have. However, that's a difference of about 1%, well within the Garmin's error margin. I have heard that the course has been measured with a Jones counter on more than one occasion. In the end you can only trust the organisers to come up with an accurate course. If the course is indeed short by 50 meters, there's nothing I can do about that. But to me, personally, my times on that course count as genuine 5k races.

27 Feb

11+ miles, including:
Gneeveguilla 5k race series, race 4, 18:14, HR 179
12th place, 2nd M40, 8th overall in series. 20 Euro prize money

28 Feb

6.1 miles, 48:56, 8:01 pace, HR 144

Weekly Mileage: 66+

The Ultra Before Breakfast

I just realised that I can receive the wireless Internet signal here in the doghouse where I have been sleeping ever since Niamh read my previous entry. Just kidding of course, one of the many benefits of being married to the best wife of all is that I can get away with stuff like that. Unless she’s really clever about it and tries to lull me into a false sense of security…

Anyway, unlike last time I have actually done some running that is worth mentioning. On Wednesday morning I was awake at 2:30, listening to the rain outside, having visions of a truly miserable slog through the forbidden darkness in the freezing rain for several hours. Luck was on my side, it stopped raining at about 3 o’clock, and at 3:14 I got up, a minute before the alarm would have sounded, and in the process broke my first record of the day, namely that for the earliest rise for the sake of a run.

When I wrote the outline of my training several weeks ago, I concentrated mostly on the long runs. When I pencilled in 30 for this week, I definitely thought I might move that to the weekend, because nobody in their right mind would get up in time for a run like this during the week before a normal 8-hour workday. As it turns out, a right mind doesn’t come into it when I’m around and just after 3:30 I opened the door and off I went.

I did not fear the distance, but I was definitely worried about my quads, which had not stopped sending signals since the Bantry race, 10 days ago. As a result, I started out very slowly. I first checked my Garmin when I reached the streetlights in Killorglin, over 4 miles later, and saw the average pace at 8:27. That would do nicely. I had expected to find a totally quiet town and was rather surprised when two cars slowly passed me on the main road. They then turned into the (empty) petrol station, and one of the drivers got out and started shouting and hollering after me. That wasn’t particularly pleasant, the fella sure did not sound particularly sober, and I was relieved when I turned off the main road on my way back to Caragh Lake and a minute later heard the cars continue straight on that junction, bringing peace and quite back into my little bubble once more.

Just before the 10 mile mark I was back home, took a gel and some water and headed out again on the same loop for a second time. It was still completely dark, and still before 5 o’clock. I increased the pace by a notch, and a check in Killorglin, now at the halfway point of both my run and that loop, revealed that the pace for that loop had gone down to 8:16. Again, I encountered a car on the main road, but thankfully without incident this time. There were also one or two cars on the Caragh Lake road on the way home. I took a muesli bar at mile 15 and another gel just as I got back home (gels during a long being explicitly allowed during my otherwise no-sugar pledge).

Almost 20 miles down I took stock. I felt ok, the quads were definitely behaving and my energy levels were good. The balls of my right foot sent out a few pain messages, but nothing severe. I was good to go out again.

The original plan was to do a third loop into Killorglin, but I changed my mind. A short loop meant I could return home sooner if I got into trouble. And today I really treasured being out there on my own; I knew I would encounter a few cars on the road to Killorglin if I ran that way again and I chose a different loop that would be quieter. Plus, the 3 miles out-and-back section was easier to handle mentally as the next turnaround point was never far away. As I was nearing 23 miles I realised that my pace had deteriorated again, I was merely trudging along at 8:30 pace and since I did not have to safe myself for anything and had found some confidence in my quads I increased the pace, dipping below 8:00 for the first time today. That loop went very well, and I did not hesitate in heading out for one final time. I passed the imaginary marathon distance marker in about 3:38, still feeling good, but over the next mile or two I did notice some fatigue; the sub-8 pace was definitely a lot tougher than jogging at 30 seconds per mile slower, but I kept it going until the end. The energy levels were still good and I decided not to eat the second bar that I had carried around me for several hours.

With a quarter mile to go, the balls of my right foot started burning like hell. It was really painful and I was very grateful to be almost done. My theory is that the pain signals had been there all along but my brain had filtered them out until it knew I was almost done.

I reached our driveway after 4 hours and 8 minutes, having completed my longest training run ever, feeling rather proud of myself, to be honest. Each loop had been faster than the previous one, which was very good. If it had not been for the pain in my foot, I would have felt perfectly ready to do 9 more miles, which is excellent news for Connemara.

Cycling to work was fine for the first 4.5 miles, but I had to stop for traffic before crossing the main road and when I stepped back onto the bike, my left calf started cramping. Not too severe, but it served as a reminder that you can’t run for 30 miles and think you can get away without repercussions.

After that excursion, Thursday was always going to be a rest day, which I used to visit the pool again for a 45 minutes swim session. For obvious reasons I chose not to do any kicking drills. Sorry, coach.

I was back out on the road again today, Friday, for 6 very easy miles. The legs are definitely stiff and tired, even though they had felt perfectly fine since the long run, apart form that one cramp. Unsurprisingly I don’t have high expectations for tomorrow’s race. Maybe the rational thing would be to skip it, but it’s the final race of the series and I need one more result to make it into the final standings. I have no intentions of missing out on that one. If I have to, I’ll jog around the course.

24 Feb

30 miles, 4:08:24, 8:17 pace, HR 138
(9.7 miles @ 8:30, 9.7 miles @ 8:17,
6 miles @ 8:12, 4.6 miles @7:56)

25 Feb

45 minutes swimming

26 Feb

6.1 miles, 51:35, 8:27 pace, HR 137

Rambling, Very Little Running

With apologies to Donald.

Cian (aged 6): “Daddy, what’s your job?” Me: “I work with computers” Cian (disgusted)”That’s not a job!!!” Lola (aged 8): “He keeps the Internet going”. Hmm. I’m afraid Cian might be closer to the truth than his big sister.

My no-sugar pledge is still going strong. There have been a few interesting things I noticed. The weighing scales are showing 3 pounds less than a week ago. I’m a bit sceptical about the alleged rapid weight loss, especially since I’m not actually dieting and sure haven’t gone hungry, but when I put on my trousers on Monday, they almost dropped down again and I had to dig in my cupboard for a belt, which supports the scales’ findings.

Since sugar in coffee is off the list as well I realised just how awful coffee tastes, at least the stuff they have here in the office. I must have used the sugar purely to drown out the taste. So, an unexpected side effect of my no-sugar diet has been a radical drop in my coffee intake, from 1-2 cups a day no nothing at all during the week, though Niamh’s coffee at home is still good to go.

Talking about Niamh, she didn’t seem to have grasped the concept of no sugar, which became apparent a few evenings ago when she created a big trifle with sinful amounts of custard on top. To my exasperated refusal (“I said I’m off sugar!!” Stop tempting me!!!”) she responded with “what? Not even a small portion?”, which means she’s turning into her mother.

Talking about her mother, I should create a new web page that lists her gems. That list would include the old classics like “make sure Thomas takes plenty of breaks when he’s running” and “tell him to run the marathon slower so that you can see him finish” as well as new ones like “make sure Thomas does not exert himself during the race; after all he’s 40 now”. I’m not entirely sure why I just wrote that paragraph for the world and his dog to see. It might get me into trouble. Real trouble, and with Niamh as well.

Talking about Niamh again, I know she reads this blog, because that’s how she finds out what I’m up to these days. Whoever said the Internet kills communication in the family?

Since my weight seems to be dropping all by itself I have set the target of weighing less than my good lady wife, a challenge she seems to have accepted, if not officially. Since she has now started sharing my no-sugar desserts, this might have become a moving target. And by the way, according to this website, my present body fat count is only 10.6%, though I’m rather sceptical about the accuracy of the calculator, especially for athletes.

If you're wondering why on earth I started rambling like that, maybe all that no-sugar business is playing havoc with my sanity, which was in short supply to start with, according to quite a few people (including the fella from Saturday’s race. “If you want to run 50 miles there MUST be something wrong with your head”. He did know that I was standing right beside him, too. He was looking at me at the time!)

My quads still don’t feel right, which makes me wonder if I’m just imagining things by now. To be on the safe side I have now done no less than 3 easy days in a row since Saturday’s race. Sunday’s 6 miles were followed by 8 miles on Monday and 5 miles this morning, all of them at very easy pace.

To help the healing process in my quads along, I decided to wear some compression shorts to work on Monday. I know some people who use recovery tights regularly (“I used to live in them”) and swear by them, but all I had were some half-tights, which should do for my quads, or so I thought. As I found out to my discomfort, if you sit around the office all day then the quads are not the only part of your body that get compressed, and the whole experience became rather uncomfortable. I guess they’re not meant to be worn for hours at a time, and certainly not by someone who’s worried about maintaining his fertility (which I’m not. I can’t handle the 4 kids we’ve got already!). There’s no need for you to try this out yourself. You can learn from my mistakes without doing them yourself. You’re welcome.

I better stop now before I embarrass myself even more.

22 Feb

8+ miles, 1:06:07, 8:14 pace, HR 137

23 Feb

5+ miles, 42:41, 8:27 pace, HR 134

Not So Fast

As soon as I got up on Saturday I knew that the race would not go all that smoothly. The quads were still sore as a combination from last Sunday's race in Bantry and the subsequent 20-mile training run on Wednesday. Recovery was clearly taking longer than would have be ideal.

I had the same routine as for the first race of the series a fortnight ago. After a short run in the morning to wake up I drove Shea to Tralee for his CTY classes and then headed towards Killarney just in time to sign up for the race. The mountain before Tralee was covered in snow and Tralee's pavements were covered by a thick layer of ice, and I doubted if the race was going ahead at all. However, the closer I got to Killarney the clearer the road became, and Killarney itself was ice-free.



After a decent warm-up we gathered at the start line and were off just a few minutes late. The fast guys took off in front and I was a few steps behind John, who I had shared the entire last race with. Today I was never quite able to draw level, but I kept in close contact. The other guy around us was Pat O'Shea, who always seems to be running just a few steps ahead of me whenever we are in the same race. The fact that Pat is in the M55 age group serves as a humbling reminder to myself. The first mile seemed a little bit easier than last time, and at some stage I went past Pat in pursuit of John. This has happened before, for example in Farranfore at the end of January, but he always manages to pass me again. It was deja vu all over again when he emphatically went by at great speed somewhere during the second mile. I took the opportunity and hitched a ride. Had this been a 2.5K workout at 5K pace I would have done well, but alas, it was not. Things became increasingly painful and difficult, and I was simply unable to keep up with John and Pat. Slowly, very very slowly they pulled away from me and as much as I fought to keep in touch it was all in vain. Wheezing badly I passed the 4km marker, highly tempted to pull up and jog towards the finish but also thinking the the torture would be over in less than four minutes, and surely I would be able to hang on for that long.

I have raced a lot on this course in the last few months and know it very well by now. I was looking forward to the last left turn that would bring us out into the open and tried to once more increase the effort. But as hard as I tried, and I tried pretty damn hard, I could not prevent John and Pat from moving further and further away. The finish is the same killer hill as always and I really struggled to keep going. I had no idea what my time was, but when Pat went through the finish I could see a timer, saying 18:10 or so, and I knew that I was slower than last time. I finally crossed the line in 18:24, 10 seconds slower than a fortnight ago but as fast as anything I have done last year.

I was totally, utterly, completely spent. I staggered a few steps and then lay down on the floor in the middle of the road, spreadeagled, breathing heavily, unable to move. I must have been there for close to a minute, and eventually revived sufficiently to move again, rolled over and slowly returned to the vertical. At least I did not have to wonder if I had given everything I had.

The mile splits tell their own story with 5:43, 6:00 and 6:16, and if you compare them to last time (5:44, 5:58, 6:08) then the pattern is very similar, a steady slowdown after a fast (too fast) start, but I was a bit slower over the last mile this time round. The average HR was 180 according to the Garmin, but if you look at the chart it went over 180 before the first mile and never returned. In fact, it gradually grew up to a max of 186, which is very close to my absolute maximum.

It was only after the race that I remembered the old rule of recovering one day for each mile raced. There were never enough races around here for me to violate this rule in the past, but today I was at the start line only 6 days after the very hilly 10-mile run in Bantry, and my legs were not entirely ready for another go. I was so exhausted afterwards that I could not even write a race report later on, but a good night's sleep did wonders and I'm much better today. I'm even looking forward to next week's final race of the series. With a recovered set of legs I might have an outside chance of bettering my PB, but next week's training won't be all nice and easy. I've still got an Ultra to run in the not-so-distant future.

19 Feb

6 miles, 50:51, 8:28 pace, HR 131

20 Feb

10 miles, including:
  Killarney Gneeveguilla 5k, race 3 in series
  18:24, avg. HR 180. 8th overall, 1st M40

21 Feb

am: 6 miles, 41:38, 8:19 pace, HR 135
pm: 30+ minutes swimming

The First Day of ... Lent

To start with the good news, I survived the first day of lent with my pledge still intact. The bad news is, the next 45 days are going to be looooooooong. As I sat down in front of the telly last night, I almost got up and went to the sweets cupboard, because that’s what I have been doing virtually every evening in the last 3/4/5 months (not sure when exactly that habit started). Drinking my cuppa without nibbling on chocolate felt entirely alien.

And can you believe it, they started selling scones in the office on the first day of lent. Beautiful, big, sugary, sinful ones at that. Luckily it was still the first day of lent and I was never going to cave in so quickly, but I’ve got a feeling that the next 45 days are going to be looooooooong.

And, by the way, I did some training as well. I lied in my last post when I said that I would go back to bed if I noticed some discomfort in my legs on Wednesday morning. I might have meant it at the time, but when I got up and noticed some discomfort in my legs I decided it was not THAT bad and went running anyway. It was freezing cold and I got caught by a rain shower around mile 9, but that only lasted for half a mile and was no big issue. What was a big issue was the pain in the quads that I noticed on each and every downhill. It got progressively worse, but when I passed our driveway after 16.5 miles it was still manageable and since there were no big hills on the out-and-back section I continued on. It was on that section that the pain really started, gradually but surely, and not just on the downhills. I am familiar enough with that kind of pain, when every single muscle fibre in the front of you thighs seems to be ripped apart with every step and you have trouble lifting your knees. This was a different problem to the one I had on the second run of my first back-to-back workouts a few weeks ago. Back then it was a lack of energy. Yesterday my energy levels were perfectly fine, the problem was muscular. This is exactly what it felt like in Connemara at mile 30, only tonight I was back home just as the real agony was about to hit and I was spared the worst.

If this was good training for Connemara (after all, that’s how your legs are going to adapt) or not (because I clearly was not recovered sufficiently to run 20 miles) is anyone’s guess. It is obvious that my kamikaze style descents during Sunday’s race have caused plenty of damage to my quads and I hope yesterday’s 20-mile run did not set back the recovery process by too much. I did not run today and went swimming instead (and a good session it was too. I’m definitely improving with every week) but the present feeling in my legs, especially the quads, is one of discomfort.

I’ll take it very easy tomorrow. There’s yet another 5K on Saturday, which may not be such a great idea but if I miss another one I won’t qualify for the results of the race series after skipping last week’s race, and I do have high hopes of winning the M40 age group. I could do the race and take it reasonably easy, but deliberately holding back in a race isn’t something I do.

17 Feb

20 miles, 2:46:14, 8:18 pace, HR 141

18 Feb

45 minutes swimming

Abstinence

Irish people, with the country’s strong catholic background, still take lent surprisingly seriously. While not many use it for the initially intended spiritual purpose, for most it represents a period of will power. I never saw much point in joining in, but this year is different.

Last week I told Niamh that I would be giving up sugar for lent. That’s cakes, biscuits, chocolate, sweets, sugar in coffee and so on. Niamh’s reply “but you’re not religious” was countered with “it’s about the sugar, not religion”, and that’s that. I’ve been raiding the sweet cabinet far too often over the last few months, and a bit of restraint should do me good. If my weight drops by the odd pound, that would be a highly welcome bonus. Two years ago, when I set most of my still standing PRs, I weighed less than 145 pounds, following my pneumonia-induced weight loss (a highly effective but definitely not recommended way of losing weight). These days I’m carrying around at least 5 extra pounds and if you believe the usually cited formula, that adds up to 10 additional seconds per mile. Since my present racing times are very similar to the ones from 2 years ago, the thought of cutting 10 seconds per mile by shifting a few pounds of fat is very appealing. Alas, in the past I have found it much easier to train more rather than eat less, and my weight never really dropped, not even during last summer’s mad set of repeated 100-mile weeks. We shall see what happens if I manage to cut out the white death crystals.

My legs have been very sore since Sunday’s race. I did notice the stiffness even during the cool down, and the 2 hours drive home didn’t do me any favours either. Accordingly I did 5 easy miles on Monday and 6 even easier miles this morning. I’m hoping my legs will be recovered by tomorrow morning for a long run, and if they are not I’ll get straight back to bed. One thing is for sure, the originally planned back-to-back workout is not going to happen this week, which I have now turned into a recovery week. I don’t want to wear out my legs, and racing 10 miles over an extremely tough and hilly course does call for some down time. I have in the past often neglected recovery and if I race well in Connemara I will know that that has been a mistake. If I collapse at mile 30, well, then I should have done more miles this time round.

15 Feb

5 miles, 43:23, 8:40 pace, HR 136

16 Feb

6.1 miles, 53:43, 8:48 pace, HR 134

Roller Coaster Ride

Well, what a fine Valentine’s Weekend it was. We spent Saturday shopping in Cork, after unashamedly ensuring we got our money’s worth from the breakfast buffet and after hitting the pool in the leisure centre. And even I got the benefits of the shopping trip, having purchased a wetsuit and other triathlon paraphernalia that had up to now been missing from my wardrobe. As Niamh pointed out, after spending all that money on stuff there is no way I can pull out of the Valentia race now.

In the afternoon we headed for Bantry for some more swimming and a wonderful meal. We really hit the jackpot on that one. After not booking a table it looked a bit hairy at one stage regarding dinner, but the lady in the hotel reception found us a table in the Fish Kitchen, and if you ever find yourself in Bantry one evening and like seafood, this is the place for you. Thia was a real find.

Anyway, Sunday came along and after my obligatory 3-mile pre-race run in the morning it was soon time to head towards the Mealagh Valley where the race would take place. I was glad to have left on time for a change because the drive took a lot longer than expected and when I got there the car park was full (“there are a lot more people than we had expected”) and we all had to get a bit creative about parking.

Anyway, I got my number and the run towards the start line was sufficiently long to serve as my warm-up. We had an unofficial reunion of the Gauntlet race from last November as three of us were wearing that race shirt and at least 3 more runners from that race were there as well. I also spoke briefly to John Walshe from Ballycotton, Pat O’Connor (Grellan’s neighbour) and John Desmond, the proprietor of South Ireland’s most important running websites.



The race started after a brief but moving speech from the RD about her young grandson and then we went our way. Alan O’Shea was there and he stormed off as if he was trying to lap the field and we mere mortals followed behind. We started by going over a hill and I was in maybe 20th place, but soon we were looking down a very long and extremely steep drop and with a loud cry of “woohoo” I just took off. I was not trying to show off or clown around, I was merely taking advantage of the gravity assistance and spun my legs as fast as they would move, which apparently was 4:30 pace. This catapulted me past almost the entire field and having survived the breakneck speed I found myself in fourth position, where I really had no place. Over the next mile as the course started going uphill at steeper and steeper gradients I gradually dropped back and didn’t attempt to keep pace with the much better runners.

Eventually John Desmond pulled up alongside me and I was able to keep up with him, at least for a while. We chatted for a bit and eventually he moved ahead, which was not surprising (John is a sub-3 marathoner, and I don’t usually manage to keep up with those folks). The climbs were getting ridiculously steep, we had to round some hairpin bends, and according to John I sounded like I was about to give birth. One more runner went past with the words “I’m not going to talk to you any more”, and it took me a couple of seconds to place him, until I remembered Phil Coffey from the Dublin marathon where he had pulled me along for about 2 miles when my wheels started falling off until I was no longer able to keep up. History initially repeated itself here as he pulled up to John, about 10 steps ahead of me, and I was unable to follow.

Somewhere between miles 3 and 4 I heard yet another set of footsteps, and when the runner pulled level I was about to say “Good Man” when I realised that the person in question was a) a woman, Moreen Harrington, and b) said exactly those words to me (we were both wearing the same outfit, the Gauntlet race shirt). It took half a second of processing to come back with reply. Now, having seen all those men go past me had been fine, but how would my fragile, vulnerably, insecure male ego deal with the fact of being chicked? The answer was not at all, and I jolted back into action and remained right behind her. Then the course dropped for a change, and half a mile of descent was all I needed. First Maureen and me pulled level with John and Phil, and since I felt I could run faster I went past all three of them and opened up a gap. I fully expected them to catch up with me again on the next climb that inevitably drew nearer, but I kept my momentum going and instead of being pulled back I managed to pull closer to two runners in front and eventually passed them as well. The fact that the road was not as steep any more was definitely a major plus point, I managed to keep a really good and strong rhythm going in that part of the race. John later told me that the gap between ourselves remained constant for the next 5 miles, but since I never looked back I was not to know this.

Eventually we reached the halfway point and I expected the road to drop from here on but was taught a lesson not to assume anything. Every drop was immediately followed by a climb back up to virtually the same elevation. I had the next runner in my sights. He initially had a good gap on me but I very slowly edged closer to maybe 20 or 30 steps behind him, but that’s where we stayed for a while.

I have to give a mention to the very enthusiastic support by the people of the Mealagh Valley. They really were out in force, at almost every driveway there was a family standing cheering loudly, there were signs all over the place, water stations being manned and the general support was great. They really added a lot to the atmosphere of the race and seemed genuinely excited about the event.

Anyway, on a long but not very steep drop towards mile 8 I was getting closer to my front-runner again. I started hearing his footsteps, which was worrying initially because they sounded like someone was catching up with me, but I eventually realised that the sounds were coming from ahead. At the foot of the climb I was right behind him only to find all the work for nothing as I lost contact again on the next climb. He opened up a good gap again, but shortly before the 9-mile sign the road started dropping steeply again and I was back in kamikaze mode, almost falling rather than running down the hill without too much thought for the consequences of one small misstep. The distance between us melted away, I gained one more place and immediately opened a gap. Then we turned left once more, passed the start line from which it was about half a mile of ups and downs (mostly downs though) towards the finish. Having gone from being the hunter to the hunted I was worried about losing my place again and pushed that last section with all I had. I was wheezing badly, and I don’t know what John would have made of it had he heard me at that point.

Someone must have added a few extra pieces of road since we had started an hour ago because it seemed a lot more drawn out, each time I thought the finish was straight ahead there was yet another bend and/or climb, but eventually I saw the line and crossed it in 1:05:39 on my watch (1:05:41 officially), in 13th place and ahead of a few runners that I normally have no business of beating, so I must have run well.

The course profile resembles the Big One in Blackpool more than a road race. The legs are letting me know that I had been in quite some race.

The post-race spread was spectacular, the socialising great, but eventually I had to head back towards Bantry where Niamh was waiting patiently and full of understanding. Hey, what could possibly be more romantic than running a race on a beautifully sunny day in stunning surroundings?

13 Feb

am: 6 miles, 46:40, 7:47 pace, HR 137
am: 30-40 minutes swimming
pm: 30-40 minutes swimming

14 Feb

15 miles, including:
  Valley Ring 10, Bantry, 1:05:41, 6:34 pace, HR 172
  13th overall, 3rd M40
  extremely spectacular but tough race

Whisked Away

I'll try and keep this short, mainly to force Ewen to come up with a new joke, but also because I'm in a nice comfy hotel room in Cork and we're off to dinner soon.

After Tuesday near-marathon I didn't run on Wednesday but drove to Killarney to the pool instead. Starting a new sport is fun in that you make progress rapidly, and I can feel my swimming improving from week to week. Obviously I'm still very much a beginner and won't be looking towards the business end of the tri in May, but by now I'm reasonably assured that I might make it across Valentia Harbour without drowning in 3 months' time.

In the past few weeks it was easy to come up with training because there always seemed to be only 2 days between the long runs and the next race, and it was always a no-brainer to keep things slow and short. This week I have no less than 4 days after my long run and Sunday's race, and I thought I should probably do one fast day. But what workout would be appropriate? Mile repeats, like Grellan seems to be doing for fun these days? 1000S? Yassos? 400s? Then I thought back towards the start of the training when I did an 8-mile progression run, with each mile faster than the previous one. This sounded like fun, ans at the same time it would not be particularly strenuous because only the last 2 miles would be at a fast pace, really.

I changed my mind on Thursday because the legs were still rather tired, which is not too surprising really, come to think about it. It takes more than one day to recover from a 25 mile run, and I just went for 6 slow and easy miles instead. I did notice that the HR was a bit higher than it was in previous weeks, which is obviously a hangover from Tuesday.

I felt fresher this morning and decided to go ahead with the progression run. After all, I could always pull the plug if it seemed to get out of hand. The first few miles were very easy, I gradually turned the screw over the next. In fact, miles 4 and 5 were a bit frustrating as I felt I was getting into a very good rhythm but slowed down to have something in store for the next miles. It wasn't until the last 2 miles that the actual workout started, and I had no real trouble increasing the pace to 6:41 and 6:31 respectively. I had been right – this was a fun way to run, and it definitely was not strenuous at all. I might do that again.

And since Niamh followed the rule that you should always give a present that you enjoy yourself, she booked a Valentine's weekend away for us for my birthday, while the grandparents are minding the kids at home. And since she is the best wife of all, we're in Cork so that I can run my race in Bantry on Sunday. Isn't she great?

10 Feb

45 minutes swimming

11 Feb

6 miles, 51:37, 8:36 pace, HR 137

12 Feb

8 miles, 59:48, 7:28 pace, HR 150
progression: 8:28, 8:08, 7:52, 7:38, 7:22, 7:03, 6:41, 6:31

Lunacy

After Saturday’s race, Sunday was never going to be anything but an easy day. I did 5 slow recovery miles in the morning before heading for the pool for another lesson. What should have been a relaxing hour did cause major problems later on when I stubbed my big left toe quite badly. It hurt a lot at first but subsided quickly enough. It wasn’t until the evening that the pain really started. It got so bad that Niamh got me some pain killers, and if you know how much I avoid these things under normal circumstances then you know how much it hurt.

The originally planned long run for Monday had already been shelved at that stage because my quads were still a bit sore. But on Sunday evening I seriously doubted I’d be able to run at all. Things looked a lot brighter after a good night’s sleep; when I got out of bed on Monday I still felt something in the toe (and it was slightly swollen), but I could put my weight on it without problems and I repeated the same 5 mile recovery run from the day before, except that I could not find my Garmin despite searching frantically. And my toe started hurting again later that day. I was hobbling around the office, wondering how I had managed to run in the morning and if I had done some real damage doing that.

Luckily, the precious toy turned up again on Monday evening and the toe magically healed itself again overnight. Well, over half-night, because that’s all the sleep I got.

I can’t quite remember the word Niamh used to describe me when I told her about today’s run. It might have been lunatic or nutcase, I have forgotten already (old age and all, you know), but the meaning is pretty clear. She was glad to report that she had not heard me leave and only woke when I was already in the shower, 4 hours later.

I had been up at 4 o’clock in the morning. Yes, that’s early, even for me – I have never gotten up earlier than that. Having said that, I felt reasonably awake as I got ready and within less than 20 minutes I was out on the road. For some reason I felt a bit self-conscious about the fact that I was out running when every single person with even an ounce of sense would have been tucked away peacefully at the time, but then again, anyone who would have seen me at the time would have been just as mad for the very same reason.

I had pondered what route to take. Out of respect for the long distance I decided against the hilly Caragh Lake loop and opted for the road to Killorglin instead. It’s not entirely flat, just a bit undulating. In fact, it’s very similar to the first half of the Ultra course in Connemara. I deposited a bottle at our driveway and went on my way. I did not encounter anyone during my first loop. I first checked the Garmin as I got into Killorglin, about 4 miles into the run, and saw an average pace of 8:12, very much on target. I must have accelerated slightly on the way home because by the time I reached our driveway, almost 10 miles in, the pace had dropped to 8:07. I took one gel at that point and went out again. I expected the moon to make an appearance (moonrise 5:43 according to my notes) but that never happened. The clouds must have been too thick. Never mind, I was able to make out the road and that’s all I needed.

Cars started to make an occasional appearance, but it was still very peaceful. I ran most of that loop totally on autopilot. I didn’t feel tired and the miles seemed to melt away. Mindful of the hard time I’d had three weeks ago on a long run I took a granola bar at mile 15 and another gel at mile 20. At no time did I feel the need to add some fuel, but on my first training run of such length I felt it safer to add some fuel before I started bonking. I’ll probably take less fuel on board next time. Anyway, the second loop went a bit faster that the first one at 7:55 pace and I was very surprised about the complete lack of fatigue. I had expected to be tempted to call it a day at that point, instead I just took another swig from my bottle and headed out again for the last loop, not even considering quitting.

I added 5+ miles out-and-back on the Ard-na-Sidhe road to make a total of 25 miles. I could not help but marvel at the feeling in my legs compared to the way they typically feel during the last few miles of a marathon. Just for the fun of it I speeded up a little over the last two miles to about 7:10 pace which brought the average pace of the last section down to 7:39. The whole run was only marginally slower than my Dublin marathon just over 3 months ago, for which I had gone through hell. This time I was so fresh that I felt I could easily do another loop. In fact, the only thing I regret is that I did not get up 10 minutes earlier, in which case I could have run an entire marathon before breakfast. Well, there’s always next time. I just have to convince Niamh not to call the men in the white coats.

7 Feb

5 miles, 41:38, 8:19 pace, HR 135

8 Feb

5 miles, 41:31, 8:18 pace

9 Feb

25 miles, 3:18:37, 7:56 pace, HR 141
10 miles @ 8:07, 10 miles @ 7:55, 5 miles @ 7:39

Pair Running

After the double workout on Tuesday and Wednesday I took a day off running and drove to Killarney in the morning for a pool session instead. It didn't quite work as intended because it still left my quads feeling rather tired but another easy day on Friday sorted out that problem. In years past I have always noticed that my HR on short easy runs drops on an almost weekly basis as I get fitter. I can see the same thing happening again right now. My HR on those easy runs keeps going down, and I see this as a very good sign. I am getting fitter.

The other way to test your fitness is at the other end of the speed scale, by running a race. All of a sudden Killarney has become a Mecca for runners; after last autumn's 5k series there is another one being organised right now, with a 5K race every Saturday in February. Luck was on my side, because at the end of last year I could not do Saturday races because we had to go to Cork for Lola's CTY classes. This spring Shea opted for the one course taking place in Tralee. This enabled me to drive him to Tralee for 10 o'clock, drive to Killarney just in time to sign up for the race and run it, and then head back to Tralee to collect him. The timing is a bit tight, and I was 5 minutes late today because a tractor held up the traffic all the way to Farranfore, but it is manageable. And I sure prefer to be able to race! For the next few weeks I'll keep concentrating on the long, slow runs in training to build me up for the ultra and run a race every weekend as my speed workout. Since the only time I'm ever able to hit 5K pace is running a 5K race, this may well be the best speed training I'm ever going to get.

Anyway, I made it to the start line in time, but of course it was delayed by the customary 10 minutes. The route was essentially the same as the Killarney summerfest one, except that we started inside Killarney National Park itself rather than on the road outside. This meant the road did not have to be closed for a few minutes but I was a bit concerned that things might become a bit crowded at the start on the rather narrow path. Luckily, as it turns out, I started out far enough in front for that not to be an issue. If some crowding took place behind me, I can't tell.



3 guys took off right from the start, and a gap appeared between them and the rest of us. And that rest of us was headed by me, which was a rather unusual position to find myself in. Right next to me was the figure of John Foley, who I had run side-by-side with for the first 3 miles in Farranfore a week ago, and history was very much repeating itself.

The temperatures were about 8C with no wind whatsoever. I had been a really foggy morning but that had lifted just in time for the race and conditions were absolutely perfect. What caused a slight problem were the walkers on the path. While almost all of them moved to the side as they saw us coming, 2 fellas refused to move even an inch and I ended elbowing one of them as I edged past, John probably doing the same to the other one on the other side. I murmured a not-so-friendly description, and John concurred.

The course was measured in kilometers and they seemed to pass reasonably quickly, though I avoided looking at the Garmin while racing, because I know from experience that looking at those figures isn't helpful during a fast race. The three amigos at the front slowly disappeared from view, John and me made up the next two positions, and I kept hearing steps behind us. Every time I thought the next guy was gaining I upped the effort; this kept repeating itself a few times until, somewhere during the second mile, we went up a small hill and a runner all clad in red (who I know by his face but not by name) managed to pass the two of us. John upped the pace to keep in step and for a short while I was afraid I was going to lose contact, but then I managed to push on again and kept right in touch.

Shortly afterwards a runner in white moved past us as well. In fact he passed us at such a pace while looking extremely smooth and relaxed that I wondered where he came from. Was it a fast guy who had missed the start by a minute or two? Nevermind, for a short while I managed to hang in his slipstream and that brought me past John and Red, and while John managed once more to up the pace and remain at my shoulder, the other guy dropped back a bit (he told me afterwards he was saving himself for Mallow tomorrow).

By now we were heading towards the finish. The course is very flat for most of the race with each climb no more than 10 feet or so, but the finish is brutal if you have left everything on the line already. As we passed the 4km marker I tried to up the effort once more, but each time I gained a bit John would respond, and each time he gained a little bit I would do the same and we were still locked in place. By the time we approached the final hill, with maybe a quarter mile left, we had spent virtually the entire race side-by-side, never separated by more than half a step. As we pushed up to the line for a second I thought I had the better of him as he seemed to fall behind but it was just an illusion and once more he managed to pull level. And then, over the last twenty steps, he proved to have what I don't, namely a finishing kick and for the first time in the entire race there was daylight between us as he crossed the line in fifth place with me coming home a second or two later in sixth.

One look at the Garmin showed me that I had a very good race in 18:14, my second best ever over the distance and only 7 seconds behind my PB that I had always thought of as a once off that may never be repeated. By now it certainly looks to be within reach, and maybe I can go below 18 minutes this year, not that I have any intentions of training specifically for a 5K.

The Good: I managed to push my HR up to 188 on the final hill. I didn't even know I can reach that figure in my old age.
The Bad: My mile splits were 5:43, 5:57 and 6:08. I need to learn to keep on pace.

After chatting to a few runners I had to get going, do a cool-down and head towards Tralee to pick up Shea. He forgave me for being late, and he'd had almost as good a time as me.

Unfortunately I'll miss tomorrow's 10 mile race in Mallow, but leaving the family behind for both days of the weekend is not on the cards. There's a 10 miler in Bantry next week that I will do instead of the 5K in Killarney because we happen to be in Cork that weekend, and then it's back to Killarney for the last 2 races of the series.

4 Feb

45 minutes swim

5 Feb

6 miles, 50:51, 8:28 pace, HR 131

6 Feb

9+ miles, including:
 Killarney 5K, race 1 in winter series
 18:14, HR 180, 6th overall

Groundhog Day

Because of Sunday’s race I took it very easy on Monday. The original schedule might have called for another back-to-back sandwich for Monday and Tuesday, but I opted to give my legs some rest and just did 5 very slow miles instead. The quads very surprisingly sore, almost certainly a result of running down those hills between Farranfore and Firies at breakneck speed. Still, the trophy looks good in my cabinet.

I still did my back-to-back workouts, of course, merely delayed by 24 hours. I got up on Tuesday at 4:45 am, got ready and headed out of the door just after 5 o’clock. It was raining slightly and the wind was blowing, but luckily Full Moon had only been a few days earlier and despite the thick cloud cover the light was easily bright enough to run without headlamp. The wind picked up as I climbed up the hills on the eastern side of Caragh Lake, the rain turned from a drizzle into a downpour and the next 3 miles were rather challenging. Once I had crested the apex (and avoided being run over by two cars on the narrow road) things improved markedly. I was about to cross Black Stones Bridge, 9 miles away from home, when I heard some rustling noises coming from my left. This happens all the time and I didn’t pay them any attention when all of a sudden a big animal crossed the road immediately in front of me. It seemed at least 2 feet long but not very tall. I’m fairly sure it was a badger and I very nearly ran into it. Judging by its panicked grunting noised it was even more frightened than I was. The encounter was over in a flash, and I continued on my way (as did the badger, presumably).

For the sake of change I ran down some new roads for some extra miles, and both turned out to be very hilly, which cost me a bit of pace but should hopefully have increased the return my legs received from the run. The rain stopped eventually, even if the wind did not, and I got home without any further incidents, still feeling good.

The legs got stiffer and stiffer during the day, though. It’s amazing how they can feel perfectly fine after running 20 miles but turn into wooden boards after a few hours in the office chair, even though I always make sure to walk around every now and again.

I got up on Wednesday at 4:45 am, got ready and headed out of the door just after 5 o’clock. It was raining slightly and the wind was blowing, but luckily Full Moon had only been a few days earlier and despite the thick cloud cover the light was easily bright enough to run without headlamp. The wind picked up as I climbed up the hills on the eastern side of Caragh Lake, the rain turned from a drizzle into a downpour and the next 3 miles were rather challenging. Once I had crested the apex (and avoided being run over by [presumably the same] two cars on the narrow road) things improved markedly. It wasn’t until I reached Black Stones Bridge and did not encounter a badger that the day started differing from the previous one, up to then it had been an almost perfect carbon copy, even the cars had passed me at the same spots. Anyway, I did not run down the same roads as yesterday but did my “standard” loop until mile 13 when I decided to turn left and ran up another hill that would cut off part of the way but was rather steep and challenging on my tiring legs. I got into The Zone then and the rest of the run went by in a flash. I hardly remember anything about it, the miles ticked by on pure autopilot and before I knew it I was back home, another sandwich workout completed. It had not gone quite as smooth as the previous week, but a lot better than the week before that. I did notice, however, that my HR was higher than the previous week. The slightly hillier course might account for some of it, but definitely not all of it. I guess I’m still recuperating from the race. Tomorrow I’ll head for the pool to give the legs an opportunity to recover.

1 Feb

5 miles, 43:42, 8:44 pace, HR 132

2 Feb

20 miles, 2:45:59, 8:18 pace, HR 145

3 Feb

20 miles, 2:46:42, 8:20 pace, HR 144

Age Has Its Privileges

Merely 4 days after celebrating my 40th birthday, I stood at the start line of the re-scheduled 4-mile (4.2!) race in Farranfore. I was a bit nervous, not because I was the new boy in this division, but because I felt less than race-ready. The fact that I had climbed out of the pool in Killarney only two hours ago might have had something to do with it – my legs felt a bit like jelly after the swim, but had recovered in the meantime. The swim had not quite gone to plan as the coach did not turn up – his brother had been kicked by a cow and needed hospital treatment, which at least made for a novel excuse. Actually, it wasn't just me at the pool, Niamh and the kids were there, too. And since I did not actually have a lesson, we shared the parental responsibilities and I only spent half my time there actually swimming – which, in light of the race, was most likely a good thing.



The race started fashionably late, and when the gun went off everyone seemed to be taken slightly by surprise but then we all charged up the first of the hills. Five weeks earlier, when the original race here had been cancelled, I ran it with about 20 others and ended up second after a mad fast first mile when I desperately and successfully tried to hang on to the leaders. Today the fast guys were here as well, and staying with the leaders was never on the cards. I therefore expected a very different race to last time, and I did wonder if I would be able to match my time.

However, I was quite surprised to be there near the front. The top 3 guys took off, but behind them a fairly big group of at least a dozen runners formed, with me in the midst. Ok, with me at the end, once again desperately trying to hang on. So much for a different race.

The race starts with quite a hill, but things somehow don't become easier on the following downhill, everyone just charges at some mad pace. The first mile is net downhill, and 5 weeks ago I ran my fastest mile ever there in 5:39. I didn't check the Garmin, but as it turns out today was even faster in 5:33. Honestly, I had no idea. At that stage you can see the road all the way to Firies, over a mile ahead, and it's very, very long. I was wheezing, had been pretty much from the start, but I managed to hang on to the rest of the group for another good while, even as others were spat out at the end. From the start I had been running side-by-side with a young guy in a blue singlet, and so far we had been matching each other stride for stride. This continued all the way into Firies where we did a small loop and then the course turned back towards Farranfore, the same road we had just travelled on coming the other way.

At that little loop an older guy had managed to pass the pair of us (me and blue singlet) and I really tried hard to keep up with him. He wasn't in my age group, but I still did what I could to stay with him. Alas, while he remained within target range, he was just that tiny smidgen too fast for me to catch up. When we left Firies he was 5 steps ahead of me. With every single step he seemed to gain a millimetre. It was unnoticeable, but by the time we reach the bottom of the big hill again, he was 6 steps ahead (yes, I counted). By now my buddy from the first 3 miles had fallen a few steps behind, but another guy had gone past, and I was now in 12th place, but had no idea where I was in my age group.

At that point I felt like falling apart. For the first 3 miles I had run faster than I felt capable of sustaining, and with the big hill sucking the strength out of my legs I was clearly paying the price. However, with my chosen target still within striking range I somehow found some extra reserves and kept pushing hard. The hill kept going for ages, eventually we crossed the train tracks, then another false summit, and finally, almost 4 miles into the race, we reached the apex.

I was about 5 steps behind my pacer, which means I surprisingly had actually managed to gain some ground. But as soon as he reached the downhill part he took off, and there was nothing left in my legs that could match that. All I could do was letting the gap grow slower rather than faster, and hope that nobody behind me would be able to catch up. At least I was successful in that, even if the hopes of gaining another place or two were merely fancy wishful thinking. I crossed the line after almost 4.2 miles (4 mile race my arse!) in 25:16. I didn't know it at the time and had too look up my time from 5 weeks ago, but it was almost half a minute faster! I have to be pleased with that.

After rather shamelessly raiding the post-race buffet (I was ravenous after all the swimming and running on only a small breakfast and no lunch), I stayed on for the prize ceremony and was very pleased to find I had come 2nd in the M40 age group and received a little trophy. Had the race taken part on the original date, I would have come home empty handed. Age has its privileges.

And on an entirely different note, yesterday I took the plunge so to speak and signed up for the Valentia triathlon on 22 May. Registration opened at 9 o'clock, when I clicked the registration link at 9:07 there were nine places left, and when I checked it again after registering, at about 9:10, it was sold out. Blimey!

30 Jan

6 miles, 48:13, 8:06 pace, HR 143

31 Jan

~11 miles, including:
  Farranfore 4 mile (ha!) race, 25:16, 6:04 pace, HR 179
  12th overall, 2nd M40

Weekly Mileage: 62+

M40

No, not the bolt-action sniper rifle used by the United States Marine Corps, nor the motorway between London and Birmingham, but the age group I suddenly find myself in. Since I’ve had ample time to prepare for that date it did not come as a complete shock and, as the office joker put it, I don’t look a day older than 45 anyway.



In theory I could start a whole new set of masters PBs but since I still have ambitions of bettering my existing ones I won’t do that (yet!). But I guess the age graded calculator will get used increasingly more often (though, in fairness, I’ve used it a lot in recent years anyway).

I had planned on going swimming on Wednesday, but as the alarm clock approached 6:20 I turned it off and, in a drastic deviation from my usual procedure, actually went back asleep. It was my birthday and I felt too old for sports.

We went to a restaurant in the evening and thoroughly enjoyed the evening but that got ruined afterwards when we walked into a pub, spotted the telly and within 10 seconds the fat one scored and put us out the Carling Cup. I walked straight out of the pub, feeling sick to the core.

Niamh vetoed my plan of a morning swim on Thursday because she thought I might still be over the legal alcohol limit by 7 o’clock for the drive to Killarney, so I did a slow 5 mile recovery run instead. I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of a hangover, but was still thoroughly pissed of about the football result (but, let’s be generous. It’s gonna be their last hurrah before insolvency, followed by relegation and winding up order, by which time the entire pathetic bunch of glory hunters will have switched sides, so let’s not begrudge them their one last small victory).

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, training, or mostly not, as it happened. By Friday morning I finally found my way to the pool but only had time for 40 minutes. I tried to concentrate on the many points that the coach had given me, but there are so many things to concentrate on that I tend to get muddled. Nevertheless, I can tell there is progress being made.

If things go to plan then I will sign up for my first triathlon tomorrow, but the race won’t be until May and it will be very much a fun event to me rather than a serious race. I’m basically testing the waters, quite literally in this case. It will be only a few weeks after Connemara, so an all-out effort would not be on the cards anyway.

The Farranfore 4 (4.2!) mile race that had been cancelled (and run unofficially) on St. Stephens’s Day will be repeated on Sunday, and I’ll most likely be there. After all it’s not far from home. This means there is no time for an interval workout this week, but with 2 20 milers and a race I will still have done my important sessions.

27 Jan

0 miles. Feeling too old

28 Jan

5 miles, 42:01, 8:24 pace, HR 133

29 Jan

40 minutes swim

A Completely New Runner

One week can be a very long time. Last week, after my first back-to-back sandwich of the training cycle I was utterly exhausted. The second run had been one of the toughest training runs ever and the thought of doing all that mileage in one single day seemed like a very fancy idea indeed.

Seven days later, and someone must have replaced my legs with a much better pair. I feel almost reborn. I did learn a few lessons last week and made a few adjustments. For a start, I made sure the run on Sunday was easy (though I feared I might have shot myself in the foot again with the long swim). On Monday I brought a gel with me on the run and consumed it after about 16 miles. I did not feel the need for some carbs at the time but wanted to make sure that my glycogen levels would not bottom out (I know, there is a line of thinking that says that can be a good thing in training from time to time). Then, for the rest of the day, I made pretty damn sure to refuel. In other words, any carbohydrate molecule within vicinity ended up in my stomach. I freely admit. It felt good to pig out for the cause.

On Tuesday I took another gel with me as well as a granola bar. The latter was an experiment. Since my stomach is not great at digesting gels, especially during the later stages of a run, I thought maybe something else might be more agreeable. I took the bar after about 6 miles. I really did not feel like eating at the time but made myself do it. With the first bite I was converted, it tasted really nice and also settled into my stomach. I think I might just take a couple of those to Connemara with me. And I took the gel, again at the 16-mile point. Again, I did not feel like I needed it but after last week’s minor hallucinations I wanted to make sure that there would be no repeat performance.

Anyway, Monday’s run was fine and I felt fresh as a daisy afterwards. And as soon as I took the first step on Tuesday I knew that this would be a much better run than the one the week before. The first 3 miles were relative sedate (8:30 pace) and I took it easy on the next 3 or 4 miles of climbing, but from then on I nudged the effort up a bit because I felt good and at that point there was no more need to take it so easy in order to keep extra reserves in the tank. Things kept going well, and I ran the last mile at sub-7 pace, just because I could.

Even though it was not the goal of today’s run, this was the first time ever that I had managed to run the second run of a back-to-back workout faster than the first one.

By the way, my original schedule had not asked for 2 consecutive 20-milers. Instead I had planned for a 20/18 workout. Initially it seemed like a splendid idea, especially for the 15 minutes of extra sleep this would provide. But at some stage on Monday I told myself to HTFU and decided to run a proper 20-mile long run on Tuesday as well. Well, after feeling so good after my run I was glad about that decision. And because of what is in store tomorrow I found it more than appropriate to have covered 40 miles, albeit in 2 days.

25 Jan

20 miles, 2:45:13, 8:16 pace, HR 140

26 Jan

20 miles, 2:43:20, 8:10 pace, HR 140
last mile @ 6:55

Scrambled

My training is very much centered around my long runs at the moment, which requires reasonably easy training on the intervening days. As a result, I'm doing more than half of my mileage on the first 2 days of the week. The 5 remaining days are made up of 3 easy days and 2 fairly short ones with some faster running. One of these slightly more intense workouts were Thursday's mile repeats. On Saturday I did some 400s. The running as much, much faster than anything I will require during the ultra, of course. I can only hope they are right when they say this will strengthen my legs for the long miles to come.

Actually, I wasn't quite as apprehensive as I normally tend to be before speed workouts. 400s are over in less than 90 seconds, and even when the pain strikes you know it will be over soon enough. I only had 10 repeats on the program, and I knew I'd make those. Maybe it was my relaxed attitude, or maybe it was the fact that it was about 9 o'clock rather than 6 o'clock as it tends to be during the week, but I had a pretty good workout, certainly in comparison to many of my previous attempts at intervals. I needed the first 2 repeats to get into the groove, but from then on I was surprisingly consistent.

88, 86, 83, 82, 84, 84, 83, 86, 83, 84. I'll take that.

I had to mind Maia for a while during the afternoon, and when I turned my back for about 3 minutes she used the opportunity to cause maximum havoc in the kitchen. I found her cracking eggs on the table top. In an attempt to rescue as much as I could I gathered some of the stuff and chucked it into a pan, though she would probably tell you that she did all the cooking herself. She certainly enjoyed her scrambled eggs.


After an easy 5-mile recovery run in the morning I set off towards Killarney for another swimming lesson. Since I had not been in the pool for 14 days I felt rather rusty at first, but things improved after a while. Still, I'm under no illusion about the task ahead. I'll never swim like a fish, but if I can cover at least the required distance of a sprint triathlon without drowning I'll declare this a success. Up to then it's no more than cross training.

Maia must really have liked her scrambled eggs yesterday. I found her at the counter again, cracking an egg. Luckily this time I managed to stop her after only one egg. She still enjoyed that one, scrambled. Maybe she wants to be a cook. Or maybe she's just a toddler on the rampage. We've had some of those before.

23 Jan

8 miles, 1:01:42, 7:44 pace, HR 55
10x400 in 88, 86, 83, 82, 84, 84, 83, 86, 83, 84

24 Jan

am: 5 miles, 40:35, 8:06 pace, HR 140
pm: 80 minutes swim

Weekly Mileage: 71.5

Easy Does It

After Monday’s and Tuesday’s double outing a swim workout would have been the ideal recovery program. Unfortunately, due to my own stupidity I did not arrange another class in time and my swim coach gave me a Friday slot instead. Not wanting to spend an entire day without a workout *gasp* I dragged myself out of the door for 5 miles. Unlike on Sunday I had no problem keeping with the slow pace. I just ran however slowly I could. The first mile felt rather awkward but I soon got into the groove. This recovery run worked wonders. By the time I got back home the legs felt worlds better than at the outset and they did not bother me again.

In order not to get too used to the constant slow pace I want to keep a bit of speed in my training. This is also important to strengthen the legs, which will be beneficial in the ultra. But, in all honesty, I’m merely repeating what I’ve heard elsewhere. Don’t be fooled into thinking that I actually know what I’m doing. Anyway, Thursday’s plan called for a set of mile repeats, just 3 of them to start with. I didn’t want to kill myself and set a target of “under 6:30”. Basically, anything faster than HMP would do me. Even so, I was rather apprehensive before the workout. Speedwork, even reasonably doable sessions, just don’t sit well with me. The real challenge was the weather, though. Gale force to strong gale force winds tied with heavy rain was the forecast, and they were not far off. But as soon as I dared myself out of the house I found the conditions “not that bad”. My usual escape route on stormy mornings is the Ard-na-Sidhe road, and that’s where I was headed for. The narrow, twisty road with its little hill in the middle is not entirely suited to speedwork, but I figured it was better than being blown about elsewhere. Once the speed portion of the morning got underway I concentrated more on running relaxed than pure speed and was reasonably pleased to see the first mile pass in 6:23. The next one, slightly downhill but against the wind, went a tad better in 6:19. I lost my concentration on the last one (something I keep doing) and ended up with a slow 6:27 mile. Ah well. 6:20 is probably fairly close to my present 10k pace, which is a good pace for mile repeats if you don’t want to overdo things.

I was all set to finally return to the pool when I got a text message at 4:52 in the morning from the swim coach. I’m not entirely sure if he had sent the message so late or if it simply took a few hours to reach my phone, but the swim was off and after thankfully managing to get back to sleep I did another 6 mile recovery run in the morning. I kept myself amused by studying the stars in the clear sky, until the only bright spot that was left was Mars and I was back home. The pace was a bit quicker than Wednesday’s, but the HR has definitely dropped again compared to a couple of weeks ago. I take it as a sign that training is going pretty well so far.

20 Jan

5 miles, 44:31, 8:54 pace, HR 131

21 Jan

7.5 miles, 57:06, 7:37 pace, HR 152
incl. 3x1 mile @ 6:23, 6:19, 6:27

22 Jan

6 miles, 49:19, 8:13 pace, HR 135

Definition

According to wikipedia, a sandwich is a food item consisting of two or more slices of bread with one or more fillings between them. According to ultra runners, on the other hand, a sandwich is a training item consisting of two (or more?) long runs on consecutive days. It was the latter kind that formed my training so far this week, and that’s what I was talking about when I said that the training would get tougher from now on.

Getting up before 5 o’clock is always a bit of a challenge, even more so if your 2-year old daughter has ensured a rather interrupted night. But I managed to wriggle myself out of her snuggle without waking her and got ready. The weather was pretty good, but the moonless night was very dark. I’m not sure why I decided I would be able to make do without the headlamp.

I was tempted to go for the easier option of the reasonably flat loop through Cromane and Killorglin, but with an eye to Connemara’s hills I opted for the unreasonably hilly loop around Caragh Lake instead. Seemingly guided by a million stars overhead I did not encounter a single soul for well over 2 hours, and only the occasional rustle from the side of the road gave an indication of other life. I checked the initial pace after the first 3, flat, miles; last year I would have chided myself over the slow average pace of 8:18, but this year I’m far more relaxed about that, and time on feet is more important than pace. The legs felt good, but my back gradually became very painful. During the second half of the run I kept rubbing my lower back, but the discomfort grew into pain and by the time I was home I was in agony. I googled the issue and since I don’t think my running form has deteriorated all of a sudden I concluded that worn out shoes might be the problem. Indeed, the pair I had run in had just finished their 760th mile. They went straight into the bin, for all the loyal service over the last few months.

The second run of that kind of training is always a lot more challenging. In fact, I have never managed to run the second run even close to the pace of the first one. For some reason I didn’t feel too good when I got ready on Tuesday morning, and the HR seemed to be elevated by about 10 beats before I had even started. For a second or two I wondered if it was wise to go ahead, but having managed to heave myself out of bed at 4:45 for a second time in a row I decided to go ahead. I’d hate getting up so early for nothing.

From the very first step it was clear that this would not be easy. The legs, especially the quads were weary from the get go as I eased into the run. I was surprised after 3 miles when I saw that the initial pace (8:14) had been a tad faster than yesterday but I knew this would not continue. Unlike yesterday it was really windy and the stars were hiding behind some ominously dark clouds, but apart from a few drops every now and again I didn’t get wet. The wind, on the other hand, did cause a few problems, especially at the top of the hills where I was completely exposed to the elements. It was here that I encountered a car. What the driver must have been thinking when he saw the lonely figure running in the middle of nowhere, at least 2 miles from the nearest house in any direction, still before even 6 am in the morning, I do not know but I don’t think it would have been too flattering.

The gusty wind combined with the dark night and my ever-growing exhaustion started to provide some interesting sensations. After about 11 miles I passed a tree and when its branches overhead started moving it looked like to me like someone (or something) was about to jump on me. Shortly afterwards the road surface became darker, and to me it appeared to be a deep abyss immediately in front. Had I not turned on the headlamp the legs would have refused another step, even though I knew full and well that no chasm had appeared since yesterday. I was getting worried if these mini-hallucinations were a sign of me becoming hypoglycaemic, which would had been a problem, halfway through the loop and miles away from home, but I seemed to recover, and apart from a few minor sudden movements spotted out of the corner of my eyes I did not notice any further spooky encounters.

At 13 miles I got some hunger pangs, but they died down within a minute. At some stage, not sure when exactly, my left knee gave me a sort sharp pain, but didn’t act up again afterwards. The same happened to my right hamstring. After 16.5 miles I had to pass a test of character when I completed the initial loop and the siren call of our driveway became very, very tempting. Somehow I managed to continue on for an out-and-back section that would complete the 20 miles. The hunger pangs returned after 19 miles, but at the same time the mere thought of solid food almost made me retch in disgust. I made it home shortly afterwards. All I can say is thank god for chocolate milk! I was unable to stomach anything else. Even several hours later the mere thought of solid food feels repulsive, which is a dramatic change from my usual behaviour because normally I get so ravenous I feel like eating my body weight in food after a long run. I’m not sure what happened there, but I’m hopeful I will be able to look at dinner tonight without throwing up.

That second run was one of the toughest training runs I have ever done. Every single step was laboured and the exhaustion was ever growing. I really don’t know why it was so bad. I have done back-to-back runs before, and unless my memory fails me they were never quite as bad as today. The stupidly fast “easy” run on Sunday sure did not help, but still. This was bad.

18 Jan

20 miles, 2:43:30, 8:11 pace, HR 141

19 Jan

20 miles, 2:47:52, 8:24 pace, HR 144

Back At Last

So far I have failed miserably at my 2010 goal of writing shorter blog entries. Luckily there’s still plenty of time for improvement.

Since next week is the first of the heavy training I tried to keep this one reasonably easy. Saturday turned out to be a nice, fresh day after heavy downpours and stormy wind all through Friday. I wish I could have gotten more sleep but a certain hyperactive 8-year old who seems to have problems grasping the concept of a lie-in put an early stop to my rest. But the roads were ice-free, finally, and I set off for my first set of hill repeats in ages. I wasn’t sure how many to do and decided to play it by ear.

The first ones were no problem, but as soon as I finished the third one I felt light-headed and wondered if it was a good idea to continue. I did one more, just to test how I felt; not great, but let’s do one more just to be sure. And one more. Ok, just one final one more. After 7 repeats all-in-all I called it a day. It was not a particular exhaustive workout, but with my history of tachycardia I thought I was already pushing my luck more than necessary.

Rather than turning homewards I turned right towards Killorglin and ran into town to pick up my bike that I had left at work because the storm had been too wild to cycle home safely last night. Two miles after the hill sprints the quads had recovered somewhat and I ran along at a good rate, close but not quite at 7:00 pace. The 5-mile cycle home rounded off the workout. Any plans of going swimming afterwards had to be sacrificed for the good of family life. That will always come first.

Sunday arrived all too early again, this time in form of a certain 6-year old who had felt lonely in his bed. I’m sure one morning all our kids will sleep in, however long that may be from now. This was an easy day with only 6 miles on the cards and I set off on my standard, reasonably flat, recovery route. I turned around after 3 steps to bring along my mp3 player (Niamh’s present to me). I don’t wear it on most days, but recovery runs don’t require much attention. The first half went pretty much to plan, when I glanced at the Garmin shortly before the turnaround point I saw the pace at about 7:50 or so. That’s a bit faster than intended, but the HR of about 140 told me I was really taking it easy. Maybe I should change the music on the mp3 player; I don’t quite know what happened on the return leg but the next time I looked at my wrist, back home, the average pace had dropped to almost 7:30, and I must have done the return leg at about 7:10 pace without even noticing what I was doing. Maybe the mp3 player isn’t such a great idea on recovery runs after all. Having said that, the average HR was still pretty low.

I also managed to measure my resting HR on Saturday. Ever since September it had been elevated, around 45 or slightly higher at times. Well, it finally dropped back to 42. On Friday I wrote that I felt recovered from the autumn marathon double, and that reading pretty much confirms that. I think I’m back, at last.

The cold had more or less gone away but I felt really mucusy on Saturday (even if that word doesn’t exist) and kept coughing. I had just read a remedy in one blog, I can’t remember which one, namely two cloves of raw garlic, chased down with orange juice. No, it wasn’t the most pleasant thing I’ve ever ingested. It certainly worked – the mucus is gone and so is the cough. But I think I will hear Niamh’s complaints for years to come, and she, well, let’s say she indicated that I was not to repeat the same treatment again. I can vouch for the effectiveness, but you have been warned about the side effects.

16 Jan

9 miles, 1:12:43, 8:03 pace, HR 151
incl. 7 hill repeats, ~30 seconds each

17 Jan

6.1 miles, 46:12, 7:34 pace, HR 145

Weekly Mileage: 61+

The Last Of The Easy Weeks

I keep looking at my weekly mileage figures and can’t escape the fact that the figures are the lowest I have produced in years. And since I’m training for an event that is longer than the marathons I have trained for in the meantime, this is definitely worrying me. It may all be for the best – if I was overtrained in autumn then an adjustment had to be made. But I do worry.

With 12 weeks to go, the real training starts just about now. The mileage will increase, especially the long runs, and I’m confident I will be able to handle that. How all this will work out in April in Connemara will be seen.

I was really tired on Wednesday morning, so much so that I reset the alarm to get an extra 15 minutes of sleep, cutting my run from 10 miles to 8. When I opened the door I was stunned to finally notice the heavy rain and the complete darkness outside. After a second or two of hesitation I went back inside to get my headlamp. Once out on the road I eventually realised that I had been a tad optimistic about the rising temperatures. It was a bit premature to drop the tights for shorts and to wear only one layer on top and the lighter gloves. Of course, the heavy rain and the breezy wind didn’t exactly help. When I set off, it was raining buckets. By mile 2 things had improved a bit. At the turnaround point, mile 4, the rain had changed into a drizzle and by mile 6 even that stopped. But the heavy cloud cover still enveloped the entire countryside so much that I was wondering if I had gotten up an hour early by mistake. Surely it had bee much brighter on previous days. This turned out not to be the case, and an hour later the conditions had improved sufficiently for me to cycle into work rather than take the car. That was good because the schools had finally reopened and Niamh needed the car for the school run. Oh, and during the first few miles of my run I felt I was running really slowly. When I checked the Garmin after 2 miles I was really surprised to see my average pace at 7:46 – feelings can be deceptive. By the end of the run I had the average pace down to 7:40, despite running easily all the way. Maybe I’m getting back into shape.

On Thursday I wanted to add a few faster efforts into the run, but was undecided if that should take the shape of some accelerations or hill sprints. The weather took the decision out of my hand. As soon as I stepped out of the door I could hear the crunch-crunch of a thick layer of frost beneath my feet, the surface was rather slippery and hill sprints were out of the question. And I had thought we had finally left those conditions behind! Not feeling like letting the watch dictate my pace I turned the run into a fartlek and ran unstructured faster and slower segments just the way I felt at the time. There were a few hairy moments when I crossed some icy patches, but I made it through 10 miles. But after reading what happened to Brendan I probably should have been a lot more careful over the last few weeks. Luckily I seem to have gotten away with my at times reckless running.

Even 8 miles seemed like a lot today. The quads were really tired and heavy and I struggled through most of today’s run, always expecting to feel better any time now, which never seemed to happen. Maybe I paid for the faster pace over the last 2 days, maybe today’s pace was a little bit quick for an easy run, even though I never pushed the effort at all.

I can still feel the effects of that cold, but looking at the HR and the pace of my most recent runs it doesn’t seem to have an adverse effect on my running. Maia has also started to sleep through the night again, so I guess we’re past the worst (which wasn’t that bad, truth to be told). In fact, looking at my recent figures (7:41 pace at HR 146), this is very encouraging. That’s the kind of readings I tend to see when I’m getting into a good shape. Maybe it took up to now to fully recover from my Dingle/Dublin autumn marathon double.

13 Jan

8 miles, 1:01:24, 7:41 pace, HR 146

14 Jan

10 miles, 1:16:51, 7:41 pace, HR 148
fartlek run

15 Jan

8 miles, 1:02, 43, 7:50 pace, HR 145

And Just As I Was Getting Used To It, Too!

Did you look outside the window recently (or, if you’re outside Ireland, have you checked out our weather)? An hour later and things might have changed radically. We went to bed last night with the driveway still covered by 5cm/2in of snow. We woke to find it flooded under the same amount of water. Just like that, the snow was gone. Maia was not happy.

For once I had trusted the weather forecast and got up at silly o’clock on Monday morning because I knew that on Tuesday things might be bad. By 5 o’clock I was outside, marking the day with footprints on pristine snow. For once the road was easy to follow even without a headlamp, a white band in the darkness, and the crunch-crunch beneath my feet was clearly audible. Several miles into the run I saw some big lights slowly coming from a side road and for a second I thought it was a snowplough, which would have been a major surprise. Of course it wasn’t, it was just a truck on its way, and for the next mile I was breathing in the Diesel fumes because it was right ahead of me and didn’t move much faster than me.

Because of the adverse road conditions I avoided the Caragh Lake loop and did three loops around Killorglin instead. It’s reasonably flat, with a series of gentle short climbs giving way to descends of the same nature. Running in the snow, while initially fun, became noticeable tougher after a couple of hours. I never managed to figure out which was easier, running in the fresh snow or following in a car’s tracks. The latter was slippery, and with each foot strike I felt like slipping back a bit. The other felt like running through a thick layer of – well, snow, duh! Eventually, after the third loop, I turned right rather than left towards home and was back after exactly 20 miles. I think I should give myself a bonus for the conditions, every single step required just that little bit more energy than usual. While I still had something left in the tank, I tried not to think too much about the Ultra when I would be just about halfway through at that stage. Some things are better left for race day only.

For a second I toyed with the idea of adding a second long run immediately the next day, but reconsidered. After a tough 10-mile run on Sunday and an exhausting 20 miler through the snow on Monday I was better off recovering on Tuesday. After watching the weather forecast in the evening I changed my plans for 8 miles on Tuesday and set up the indoors bike trainer instead. Strong gale force winds coupled with very heavy rainfall didn’t sound too appealing, and I was worried about the snow turning into ice. That fear was never realised, but by morning the roads were covered with a myriad of broken branches, I saw 2 fallen trees on my way to work and there was local flooding on many spots. I take that as vindication of my decision to remain indoors.

I also have a mild cold, which I blame entirely on Niamh because she had it first. Now it’s Maia’s and my turn and the little girl isn’t handling it too well, which doesn’t bode well for our sleep. But Niamh only had it for a couple of days and I’m confident we will both have recovered by tomorrow or the day after. But I want to be careful about running in bad weather with a cold – that’s how I caught pneumonia two years ago.

Having said that, the wind is supposed to stop and the rain should at least ease, which might enable me to run again tomorrow morning. Sometimes you just have to grin and bear it.

10 Jan

20 miles, 2:46:41, 8:20 pace, HR 142

11 Jan

60 minutes bike