I’m moving house on the weekend. I know, this seemingly comes out of the blue but it’s a potential reality that I’ve been living with for quite some time now. I’m moving all the way across town, so now for the craziness of the actual move, the purchasing of furniture and the confusing mire of getting electricity, telephone, internet et cetera. Additionally, the fun of trying to figure out an appropriate running route to use for my weekend training. I don’t know of any trails around the Woden area, at least not any that would give me something interesting to look at for the 30 or so kilometres that I’ll be running very soon, every Saturday morning.
Lake Burley Griffin, maybe? I know how to run north. It’s a pretty good run, nice and scenic. I’d definitely have options to increase distance.
I managed 21 kms last Friday morning. I’m painfully aware of how far behind I am in my training, but I’m just going to have to live with it. I dunno. I could get lucky and improve on last year’s time. But does it really matter if I don’t break it by much? A marathon is always a marathon, whether it’s fast or slow. It’s always an achievement. You can’t discount a marathon. It’s fucking hardcore, no matter which way you look at it.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Object lesson
Do you want to hear a story? It’s about stupidity, mainly, but it’s stupidity that comes from a place of good intention.
I was walking home from the bus stop on Wednesday. Marvelously hot day, and I’d managed to overcome my streak of choosing the wrong outfit for the weather. As a result, I was in a sleeveless blouse, a short short skirt and heels. As soon as I got off the bus, I realised that my feet hurt. Not overwhelmingly, but I had the urge to take my shoes off and walk home, at least a portion of the way, barefoot. Like I used to do, when I was a kid and didn’t have a preoccupation with being properly shod at all times. I love feeling the ground underneath my feet as I walk. It was such a lovely day that I decided to give in to my impulse.
The footpath was hot. I realised that at once. It didn’t feel unbearably hot, though, so I walked barefoot for a couple of minutes before spotting a patch of broken glass up ahead. I chickened out and put my shoes back on then. My feet hurt more now, but I attributed it to the shoes. As soon as I got home I took my shoes off again, and as soon as I took a single agonised step, realised what I’d done. The soles of both feet were burned from contact with the hot pavement. Because of the calluses on my soles, I hadn’t put my shoes back on straight away when I should have. My feet were just great big blisters, apart from the curve of my arches.
So anyway, that’s the story. I know it was dumb, but people do dumb things sometimes.
The next day I couldn’t walk at all to begin with. Friday was bearable. This morning my feet were recovered to an extent that I actually decided to get out there and run, because the blisters were all gone. I was hoping to jump right in to the Marathon training and go for 25 kilometres.
Yeah, didn’t quite get there. But I’m happy with the 14 or so kilometres I did manage to run. I kept getting these sharp stabbing pains from the midsole of both feet. I think this might be a lingering reminder of my burned feet, and probably a useful lesson regarding the importance of shoes unless you’re inside. Or at the beach. Or on grass.
I really want to go to the beach now, so I can walk barefoot in the sand.
I was walking home from the bus stop on Wednesday. Marvelously hot day, and I’d managed to overcome my streak of choosing the wrong outfit for the weather. As a result, I was in a sleeveless blouse, a short short skirt and heels. As soon as I got off the bus, I realised that my feet hurt. Not overwhelmingly, but I had the urge to take my shoes off and walk home, at least a portion of the way, barefoot. Like I used to do, when I was a kid and didn’t have a preoccupation with being properly shod at all times. I love feeling the ground underneath my feet as I walk. It was such a lovely day that I decided to give in to my impulse.
The footpath was hot. I realised that at once. It didn’t feel unbearably hot, though, so I walked barefoot for a couple of minutes before spotting a patch of broken glass up ahead. I chickened out and put my shoes back on then. My feet hurt more now, but I attributed it to the shoes. As soon as I got home I took my shoes off again, and as soon as I took a single agonised step, realised what I’d done. The soles of both feet were burned from contact with the hot pavement. Because of the calluses on my soles, I hadn’t put my shoes back on straight away when I should have. My feet were just great big blisters, apart from the curve of my arches.
So anyway, that’s the story. I know it was dumb, but people do dumb things sometimes.
The next day I couldn’t walk at all to begin with. Friday was bearable. This morning my feet were recovered to an extent that I actually decided to get out there and run, because the blisters were all gone. I was hoping to jump right in to the Marathon training and go for 25 kilometres.
Yeah, didn’t quite get there. But I’m happy with the 14 or so kilometres I did manage to run. I kept getting these sharp stabbing pains from the midsole of both feet. I think this might be a lingering reminder of my burned feet, and probably a useful lesson regarding the importance of shoes unless you’re inside. Or at the beach. Or on grass.
I really want to go to the beach now, so I can walk barefoot in the sand.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
A little post-race hibernation
It might be a little belated, but I ran the Cadbury Half Marathon on Sunday! Hooray!
And I won!
Nah, not really. Are you kidding? If people like me started winning races, I’d be worried.
Major thoughts? I’ve got to find some way to sunscreen the top of my head. I know I’ve thought about this before. I certainly wasn’t thinking about it the day of the race. The first time it even popped into my head was the morning after the race when I simultaneously stepped under the shower, and into a world of pain. I’m not sure if it’s just a line where the part in my hair was exposed to the treacherous Tasmanian sun (hey, it was raining to begin with. Why do you mock me, sun?) or whether my entire head was burned.. But I’m still feeling it now. As someone who liberally douses themselves in 30+ before even leaving the house, I can’t stand missing a spot. I don’t know how I’m supposed to sunscreen myself on the top of the head. Maybe I should wear a hat that isn’t just a visor. Maybe I should only participate in races that take place in the dark.
The swag from this race was pretty goddamn awesome. They gave me a medal (as seen above, backwards). They gave me chocolate (of the standard Dairy Milk variety) and more chocolate (also Dairy Milk. I’m sensing a theme here). They gave me a shirt. And they gave me a magazine subscription. I tried to queue for a sausage sandwich but failed. I didn’t really mind as I was previously queuing for a free leg massage, and I succeeded in that. And I’d take massages over sausages any day of the week. Except maybe Thursday.
I guess I should say something about the race as well, shouldn’t I? Well, I maybe enjoyed about two thirds of the race. The rest was painful and unpleasant. One minute I’d be thinking about how miserable I was, how I hated everything, how the world was a sucky place. Two minutes later, I’d love everything, I’d love the world and the pain wouldn’t even be there. Endorphins like to mess with my brain chemistry.
In the end I came in at 2 hours, 5 minutes, 44 seconds. About ten and a half minutes (give or take) faster than my half marathon personal best. I only count official results as personal bests, mind you. I know I’ve run faster than my last PB in training. But that doesn’t count. I actually ran this one faster (about 20 seconds, maybe), but they didn’t have a mat at the start, just the end. The result was from gun time. But I don’t mind. The field was small, and it didn’t add much to my time.
I still haven’t registered for the Canberra Mara in April. I know I should, but I’m a little scared. As soon as I register, it’s real. I have to start training. I should have already started training. Yes, I know, I’m up to 20-something kilometres in my long run, but I know I’m going to have to do better than one training run a week to get through this one.
And I won!
Nah, not really. Are you kidding? If people like me started winning races, I’d be worried.
Major thoughts? I’ve got to find some way to sunscreen the top of my head. I know I’ve thought about this before. I certainly wasn’t thinking about it the day of the race. The first time it even popped into my head was the morning after the race when I simultaneously stepped under the shower, and into a world of pain. I’m not sure if it’s just a line where the part in my hair was exposed to the treacherous Tasmanian sun (hey, it was raining to begin with. Why do you mock me, sun?) or whether my entire head was burned.. But I’m still feeling it now. As someone who liberally douses themselves in 30+ before even leaving the house, I can’t stand missing a spot. I don’t know how I’m supposed to sunscreen myself on the top of the head. Maybe I should wear a hat that isn’t just a visor. Maybe I should only participate in races that take place in the dark.
The swag from this race was pretty goddamn awesome. They gave me a medal (as seen above, backwards). They gave me chocolate (of the standard Dairy Milk variety) and more chocolate (also Dairy Milk. I’m sensing a theme here). They gave me a shirt. And they gave me a magazine subscription. I tried to queue for a sausage sandwich but failed. I didn’t really mind as I was previously queuing for a free leg massage, and I succeeded in that. And I’d take massages over sausages any day of the week. Except maybe Thursday.
I guess I should say something about the race as well, shouldn’t I? Well, I maybe enjoyed about two thirds of the race. The rest was painful and unpleasant. One minute I’d be thinking about how miserable I was, how I hated everything, how the world was a sucky place. Two minutes later, I’d love everything, I’d love the world and the pain wouldn’t even be there. Endorphins like to mess with my brain chemistry.
In the end I came in at 2 hours, 5 minutes, 44 seconds. About ten and a half minutes (give or take) faster than my half marathon personal best. I only count official results as personal bests, mind you. I know I’ve run faster than my last PB in training. But that doesn’t count. I actually ran this one faster (about 20 seconds, maybe), but they didn’t have a mat at the start, just the end. The result was from gun time. But I don’t mind. The field was small, and it didn’t add much to my time.
I still haven’t registered for the Canberra Mara in April. I know I should, but I’m a little scared. As soon as I register, it’s real. I have to start training. I should have already started training. Yes, I know, I’m up to 20-something kilometres in my long run, but I know I’m going to have to do better than one training run a week to get through this one.
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