Ready, Steady, Go! Marathon Training Week 1

This first week's report brought to you by... a hangover and nausea brought on by eating a family sized bag of vegetable crisps in one sitting.  Nausea from crisps only.  Hangover may have something to do with the many, many drinks I had last night to celebrate a friend's engagement.  Ow.  Start as you mean to go on and all that!  I'm sure Mo Farrah starts every serious training regime by getting pissed and trying to explain to a whole room of people why they HAVE to watch Parks and Recreation, because it will change their lives and can I have another sausage roll, please?

So I might have mentioned that I signed up to a marathon.  Once or twice...a minute since I signed up.  

Signed up to what, Becky?

Oh, just a MARATHON!!  On the 14th June, I'm going to be plodding/crawling/prancing 26.2 miles around Liverpool at the Liverpool Rock 'n' Roll marathon.  There's going to be a band at every mile, a festival at the end, and a pretty badass looking medal.  I NEEDS me that medal.  As a compulsive documenter-er..ist(?!) of my own every move (current status: pyjama clad, queasy), I obviously need to plaster weekly updates of my training all over the internet.  

I am crossing everything (including my eyes.  Makes typing Difficult.  Haw haw.  Christ, I'm tired) that I can get through all 16 weeks without losing a limb/having to drop out.  Nervous as chuff right now, because I only got the go-ahead to start running - carefully - again on Thursday, following some ankle ligament stuff that stopped me hopping and skipping about my day with my usual vigor for six whole sodding weeks.  It was terrible.  I've nearly run out of episodes of Parks & Recreation to watch.  What am I going to do when Leslie Knope is no longer in my life?  Who will guide me?  My own moral compass? Pfft!

Anyway, what I was going to say is that I'll be over the moon if get to actually do this awesome thing I've been gagging get did for a while now.  My ankle still isn't exactly my best friend.  The playful scamp keeps pretending that everything's alright and I'm better, and then springing surprise aches and pains on me.  I would say it keeps me on my toes, but that would be a lie.  Because I have to sit down when it happens.  Silver lining is that I'm now unbelievably grateful that I can even do a modest shuffle. Even a sort-of jog is better than no running at all, regardless of how well-stocked Netflix currently is.  Netflix should pay me for advertising it in more or less every single blog post.

Netflix Netflix Netflix.  Can I have an account for free now, please?

...Netflix.

So, training this week consisted of avoiding the plan I've chosen entirely, and just hoping for the best that my ankle will hold out. Up until Thursday, Rosie the osteopath (get me going to a specialist for my sports injury...that I did whilst being sporty!), who I met through CrossFit (so sporty) had prescribed me a healthy mix of no running and picking things up with my crap foot to build up strength.  The latter has actually been quite fun.  Turns out I've got pretty nimble monkey toes (dextrous as opposed to hairy).  I'll do quite well when the zombies come and well all have to start living in trees.  Also, it is now a personal goal of mine to be able to pick up a towel with my toes and fling it up high enough for it to land on my head.  It's important to have things to aim for in this life.  I'll let you know how I get on.

Couple of sessions in, and I'm finally on the mend.  Rosie (off of Swansea Body Kinetics if you're interested and/or if your limbs need tinkering with like mine do) has actual magical powers, and could tell immediately what was causing my mystery pain just from observing me standing awkwardly in my pants.  She's like Mystic Meg, except instead of a crystal ball, she can tell your future from looking at your weird body parts.  I have one hip higher than the other, which is making one of my arches collapse a bit.  My igor-like wonkiness (I might be exaggerating.  Slightly) aside, she's done a great job in speeding up my recovery, meaning I could manage a slow 3 miles on Friday that was almost free of pain.  Huzzah!

Rather than writing week 1 off as a crap one, because I was only able to complete one run and a couple of CrossFit sessions, I'm thinking more along the lines of  

"Best week ever! I managed to do a whole run!"  Was way more than I was expecting I'd be able to accomplish last week.  Here's to 15 more weeks that I expect to be tough, challenging, and a buggerload of fun!  Liverpool, I'm coming for you!  Very slowly and carefully.  Fuck yeah!!

...Now has anyone seen where I left the paracetamol?  My thoughts are starting to hurt again.

 

Oh!  Also this happened a week or so ago.  My nan decided that for her 70th birthday, she wanted her first tattoo, and that all the women in our immediate family (her, mum, my two sisters and I) should get the same one.  Not a big deal or anything, but my nana is way cooler than your nana.  So there.

 

Why I Need Running

I'm going insane.  A few weeks ago, I went out on a 12 mile run. All good bar a slightly achy lower calf, but I persevered.  The longer the distances I cover, the more soreness I experience, and it comes and goes as I plod along.  Sometimes I find it entertaining to guess where the ache is going to move next as I'm running.  I assume it's my body's way of keeping me amused.  All part and parcel of the experience.  Trouble is, my slightly achy calf never went away and subsequently spread to my ankle and under my heel, and the soreness has been plaguing me ever since. 

What's driving me nuts is the fact that it's screwing with my head by playing hide and seek with me.  No soreness at all as I go about my business.  Didn't even hurt when the nice physio lady stuck her knuckles into my leg and gross bare feet to see where the pain was coming from.  Whatever Ouch Demon is inhabiting my right leg only comes out if I run or walk for longer than half an hour or so.  Then it has me limping until I watch at least three episodes of Parks and Recreation on Netflix.  Yes, it is very important to the Ouch Demon that I appease it with Netflix.  Only Netflix will do.

I'm now about a week and a bit into the Physio-Lady-prescribed fortnight of inactivity, and I am a few head spins short of going full Exorcist on my own ass.  I didn't realise how much I've come to rely on running since I took up the activity just under two years ago.  Without exercise, the term "emotionally unstable" doesn't quite cut it.  Think Batman's Joker, but with PMS and an insatiable sweet tooth. 

The silver lining of being able to do sod all for two weeks is that I've developed a deeper appreciation for physical activity, regardless of my lack of speed and natural prowess.  And I've had PLENTY of time to think about it (translate: "wallow in self pity over fried food").  Here is a short, non extensive summary of why I need running in my life.  I don't know how helpful it is to anyone reading this, but I intend to refer back to it whenever I'm umming and ahhing over leaving the house just because it's "yucky" out.  Here goes:

1.  It's a reset button for the days where I wake up in dustbin mode and am not satisfied until I've eaten every processed, plasticky, cavity-inducing bits of "food" I can get my mitts on.

2.  It makes me a nicer person to be around.  Without running, I have too little patience to deal with my own shit, let alone other peoples'.

3.  Instead of gaining an hour or two a day during which I'd normally be plonking one foot in front of the other, I've been losing time by regularly falling into tiny comas called "naps".  I've always been a sporadic napper, but this week is just getting ridiculous.  All I have to be is "not stood up" to fall into a deep trance. The less I move, the more tired I feel.  The fuck, body?!

4.  Emotionally and logically, without the opportunity to sweat out my stress, I am like a volcano that only needs a feather to land on it for it to erupt.  I am far more likely this week to weep openly at a discarded sock on the floor, where normally, I'd be happily burrowed away under a pile of un-ironed laundry, documenting my miles on my Garmin instead.

5.  Sitting down for too long at a time makes my butt hurt.

Bottom line is, at rest, I am a crazy person.  Running is the only way to burn off the excess.  Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go shave my eyebrows off and draw on the walls in crayon until I'm allowed to wear my trainers and feel human again.

Do an extra mile for me, friends! Sniffle.