180 steps per minute running blog

Edinburgh and the why of marathons

2018-12-22T00:00:00+00:00

There are times when we all ask: why am I doing this? It may be as you start a new training plan, it may be during a trough part way through the plan - or it might just be the night before the run you’ve spent so much time preparing for. At the Edinburgh marathon this year I experienced the latter.

The day before

It's a four and a half hour journey on the train, something I would normally enjoy - especially with the East coast views. But I can't shift a malingering headache that's neither heavy nor light. It adds to a general sense of unease, and kick-starts the questioning and self-doubt. Why am I doing this again?

In Edinburgh it's early evening and a short walk to the unconvincingly named "Safestay" hostel. Are they trying too hard? It has the air of a prison, my cell has bunks and a window but no view. I sit on the bed, head bent beneath the upper bunk, wishing I was at home with the family. Why am I doing this again? Getting my kit out only reminds me of the effort and pain awaiting tomorrow. Why was it I signed up for another? Do I really need to put myself through this?

I go down and check whether tomorrow's pre-booked breakfast will include porridge, my favoured pre-marathon fuel. It will, so I don’t cancel it and won’t need the microwaveable pot I’ve brought with me just in case. This is Scotland after all, and they know their porridge oats. To occupy my mind I go to the bar to watch the Champions League final, Liverpool v Real Madrid. It's no surprise of course that the locals are rooting for Real Madrid. Even though the only Scottish person playing is Liverpool's Andy Robertson. Tribal passions beat away any logic, and their wish is Gareth Bale's command.

The morning

At breakfast I can’t see any porridge so ask. It’s just coming. I imagine a cauldron full of the stuff, bubbling and thick, to set me up perfectly. Three minutes later out comes the chef with his arms full of microwaveable porridge pots. Oh well. I grab one, fill it with hot water and retire defeated. £6 for that? When leaving I try to claw back victory by picking up a couple of bananas. It makes me feel marginally better, but I know who won this round.

The start

At least it’s time now and a short walk to the start area. Choosing to visit the toilet before the bag drop is the right decision and just beats the sudden swelling of the queue. Things are looking up! And the start area is not too manic, it’s low-key even once away from the bag vans. I appreciate the relative quiet of a side street. This last hour is always testing though, quiet or not. Why was it I..?

I do a bit of stretching and warming up then head into the starting pen. Time to hang the disposable top on the railing. This charity shop jacket is a bona fide survivor - at both the Thames meander and the Boston (not that one) marathon it was there for collection at the end - but I rightly suspect that this time it's goodbye. My right shoe feels tighter than the left. I untie the lace then try tying it more loosely. Sip of water. Another sip. Untie the lace, tie the lace. Put the water on the side. Mouth’s gone dry, retrieve it for a bit more. Stretch some more. That right shoe still doesn’t feel right. Untie the lace, tie the lace. Put the water on the side. We're off!

The marathon

And now it starts to make sense as the tension dissipates. The bunching eases and the initial short, steep climbs and longer drops are negotiated as we leave the centre behind. The mist is clearing on Arthur’s Seat, revealing a beautifully glowing, light green hillside wet with drizzle. In a few miles the sea appears out of nowhere, introducing a promenade run in salty air beside the waves and foam. The pace settles and an illusory sense of control descends - yet I'm fully aware by now that the only knowledge you have is that you have no knowledge. It doesn't matter how good it feels in the present moment, anything can happen. All the way to the very end.

And there's my overriding reason why. That jeopardy. That’s the essence of it, the secret that keeps drawing me back. You’ve gone up to 20 or so miles in training but not the full distance and, seasoned or not, you can’t be sure what will happen. People talk of the first 20 miles being the physical marathon and the last 6 being the mental marathon, but the mental part starts much sooner in truth. You need your wits about you to control your pace, keep your rhythm, not get carried away. You learn that feeling great early on is nothing to depend on, it’s too early to tell. Come what may, it won’t feel like that around mile 21. Or the home straight. When I did my first marathon I couldn't believe people were stopping within sight of the finish, some to walk, some to retire definitively. My second marathon taught me the price of an excessively fast first half, so I understand that now.

Then there’s the no man’s land, those stretches you can’t place somehow, a precursor to some other transition or cardinal marker. Miles 6 to 8, miles 14 to 16, floundering a while before you reach your next milestone. The mental part is not just about keeping tabs on the physical, it’s about coping with this uncertainty and the ups and downs along the way. Above all the downs - the flagging, the doubts that creep in, the desire and commitment that creeps out. 26.2 miles of jeopardy. And let's rewind further. The mental marathon is also those 3 or 4 months of training. The times it's cold and wet, or you're tired, or have a slight strain. Keeping going, not giving up.

The small moments

Then there’s the small moments that decorate the race, that stand out from the blur.

The Grandma sat outside her house, blanket on lap, holding a sign saying "This is a sign". You can imagine the family discussion, “Come on Grandma, get in the spirit of it, you’ve got to have a sign”. After some resistance she finally agrees, as long as she gets to write her own. And here’s her inspired, curmudgeonly victory - complying with the younger generation while simultaneously sticking two fingers up to them. Aye, "This is a sign" y'fuckers.

The strapping tanned man raising his arms aloft as he spots a photographer ahead at the side of the road. The same photographer who will studiously ignore him, pointedly directing his camera elsewhere. The strapping tanned man whose arms will then sink slowly down.

The lone bagpiper, blasting away next to a woman with one of those “Tap me for extra power” signs. Which will prevail, the pull of the sign or the push of the pipes? This time, the sign wins.

Then there's the finish. There's camaraderie. There's celebration. There's food and drinks without concern. Good chance there's runner's high. Even in disappointment there's achievement and some satisfaction to be found. The end is, of course, always a fantastic moment and seen as the pinnacle. You've tested the limits: sometimes for the better, with a satisfying surprise about your capacity for pace, for distance, for pain, or all three; sometimes for the worse, with a chastening injury or blow-out which teaches you something for next time. Back on the horse. And regardless of outcome, you know you’ve tried something out of the ordinary, you’ve pushed yourself. You’ve had a bruising encounter but, yes, in a way you've reached for the stars.

Jeopardy is King

Each run has its share of these moments that come back to you afterwards, which mean something and stay with you. But for me, the why of marathons is about the jeopardy that comes before that finish line is crossed. A jeopardy with so many different faces, so many different angles of attack. It's good to have got the answers to its questions this time, but what will the answers be next time?

The Barkley marathons film review

2018-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

The first thing to say about The Barkley Marathons: The Race That Eats its Young is that it's very funny. There's plenty of dark, sadistic yet twinkling gallows humour. The star of the show is Lazarus Lane, co-founder of the Barkley Marathons race and a master of comic timing. You get an early sign of what's to come when a worried producer, riding in Lazarus's battered pickup, points out that it looks like the petrol gauge is on empty. Except on this gauge the E is to the right and the F is to the left. Lazarus assures her there's nothing to worry about, as the E is for Excellent and the F is for Fucked.

This is a man who likes to tinker and invent things for his own amusement, and the beauty of this film is how it lets us in on this. Is Lazarus short of white shirts? Then the entry fee that year will be a white shirt. Has he tweaked the 5 loops course this year? Yes he has, yet somehow every loop remains officially 20.0 miles. What is 3 laps of this gruelling course called? A 'fun run'. If you retire early (as most competitors do) and curl up in a ball of exhaustion, how is this greeted? With peels of laughter from all around and a bugler playing Taps, the US equivalent of The Last Post. The race that eats its young indeed.

Now imagine a rolled up carpet. Except instead of carpet pile it’s made of scores of maps stuck together, which when unrolled reveals the state of Tennessee. And on it, marked with a felt tip pen, are all the roads and routes Lazarus has run. You think to yourself: this is man who could really do with Strava. Except of course he shouldn’t. It’s perfectly fitting that he doesn’t use technology, and this ethos is applied to the race which allows no GPS or altometers. You need a map, a compass and orienteering skills almost as much as you need ultramarathon endurance. The only course markers are books, such as "The Idiot" and "A Time To Die", which competitors must find and then tear out the page corresponding to their race number as proof. The secret start time is announced only 1 hour in advance - with a blow of a conch - and then the runners head into the hills, attempting loops in alternate directions by day and by night.

After humour, the strength of this film is that the subjects are not professionals, and their experience is covered in a low-key, restrained manner - letting the course itself do the talking. As we follow several characters' progress you soon realise how brutal it is. After one lap there are already gruesome cuts on the back of runners' calves, and later we'll see a full-foot blister being drained and more than a few disoriented victims. The drama builds as the two frontrunners head off on loop 5 in opposite directions. By now the retired runners have turned into the support team. The jeapardy centres on the only other runner remaining (who looks like a cross between Perry Farrell and Vincent Gallo), still out there in the dark, as he attempts to complete the fifth and final loop with time running out.

At this point an apparently random rule is revealed as a stroke of genuis: on loop 5 the running direction alternates for each person in turn. As a result of which the front two, who have helped one another along to this point, have their competitive spirit given free rein. There's no moral quandary about whether to stick with a struggling companion or push on to win, as the last loop is solo. What's more, the two have no idea how the other one is getting on, and will only find out if and when they finish. Joker that he is, and for all his quirky tricks, it's clear that Lazarus deeply understands the balance between camaraderie and competitiveness - and has designed a race to encourage both.

The message, if any, is to live in the moment and explore your limits, but just do what you can and appreciate that achievement - don't compare. There's no schmaltz or sentimentality here, no emoting, no slow mos and sun spots. There's no pounding timpani or stirring strings either, just some gentle backwoods banjo here and there. And the film is all the better for it - it’ll make you laugh, it’ll make you cheer, and it might even make you cry.

Watch the Barkley Marathons on Netflix

compass photo by Dmitri Dzhus

Running raincoats

2017-11-24T00:00:00+00:00

In my last post I was waxing lyrical about the positive sides to going running in the rain. That's all well and good, I hear you say, but tell me about the gear!

Let's start with the importance of terminology. The experienced among you may have known this for years, but for me this was a revelation: while the difference in wording between "water resistant" and "waterproof" seems minor, the difference in reality is significant. And as with most running items, you can start out by making do but will soon heed the siren call of the upmarket options.

Water resistant

I have one water resistant top, which is what I started out with: your entry-level Karrimor.

Karrimor - cheap and cheerful

A bargain at around £20 to £30 in your local stack-em-high-sell-em-low, and for good reason:

If its purpose is just to get you out of the door, under the illusion that you'll be sheltered from the rain, then it does that job
It will provide some protection from light rain over a relatively short period of time
It's cheap and a good place to start if you're just, er, testing the water
But on a long run, or in heavy rain, it will get soaked through and cling to your body like a cheap shower curtain
When you look to the left or right ahead of crossing a road you'll just see the inside of your hood unless you pull it back - it obscures your view
As your average 'resistant' is not breathable either it'll get steamy inside

So, several drawbacks but let's be fair to it - it's still better than nothing at all, and the psychological illusion that it will keep you dry is not to be discounted. It can be the difference that gets you out the door.

Waterproof

In the waterproof corner, the Ronhill Torrent. I bought one of these as an incentive for marathon training through a wet winter, and in case needed for the March UK marathon I was working towards. The full retail price is a hefty £130 but you'll often find it on sale for anything from £80 to £100. Good alternatives include the almost identical Montane Minimus, which weighs in 10g heavier.

Ronhill - the real deal

Now this is a different kettle of fish, and a case of you get what you pay for:

This will both get you out of the door and keep you dry for a long time. Hurrah!
Once you're getting up to the waterproof price point it will be breathable too, don't settle for less
It sports a well designed and adjustable hood, the angles carefully measured to give you good peripheral vision
It also has a clever trick whereby the pocket also serves as a pouch for packing the jacket, the "Pack it system". You reverse it, fold the garment in to it, then zip it up into one neat small package of Ronhill
Be warned, talking from experience rather than science, I suspect it is difficult if not impossible to combine a garment which is fully waterproof with a garment that is fully breathable. On long runs you'll still get moisture inside, especially around the shoulders where the material touches you more

So, the Ronhill is infinitely better than the Karrimor and got me out in dirty weather many more times than I would have done without it. But they both serve a purpose, and these days I keep the Ronhill at home for longer runs and the Karrimor at work for short lunchtime runs. In other words, I'm waterproof at home and water resistant at work.

rain photo by Gabriele Diwald

I'm running in the rain

2017-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

Let's not pretend it's easy getting out of the house when it's raining. Excuses come more readily. Old injuries ache, especially in winter. A minor niggle will suddenly act like it's a gnarly old scar, sensitive to changes in moisture. The thought of cold drops of water splashing up the back of your calves is anathema. But when you drag yourself out, and perservere through those first 5 minutes? The rewards of running in the rain are all yours.

There are fewer people about in the parks and on the pavements. Fewer dogs too, which means fewer long leads waiting to trip you up. And amongst the runners out there you encounter a certain unspoken solidarity, a mutual respect, a kind of omerta reflected in the knowing nods and smiles. That is one of the best things about it. You're much more likely to be acknowledged by your fellow rain-bearers, and if you're in a city where runners seldom say hello then that makes all the difference.

And a kilometre in, a mile in, you get nicely coccooned. Your body warms up, and you get into a rhythm which seems smoother than normal. As you glide through the wet, you start to think you may actually be enjoying the rain itself. And when you turn for home, you can access a little extra kick, spurred on for speed as - despite your appreciation for the experience - it's also time to get in and get dry. With a special sense of achievement.

I recently discussed this with a colleague, who told me that once he gets out in the wet he finds himself compelled to lift his arms up to the skies shouting "Is that all you've got?!". A touch of the runner's high there, I suspect, but what a great response. The adrenaline of that little piece of man vs. nature.

rain photo by Gabriele Diwald

Farewell and adieu to you fair Nimbus trainees

2017-07-25T00:00:00+00:00

The ASICS Gel-Nimbus 16 were my first pair of 'proper' running shoes. I liked them so much I bought two pairs.

Long after most places had stopped stocking them I spent hours scouring the darkest corners of the internet to find a second pair. After encountering more than a few fake listings, I took the risk on a random Spanish sports retailer and - with several delayed shipment notifications keeping me on my toes - eventually they arrived.

I liked them so much that if I were Victor Kiam I would have bought the company.

Not the prettiest

You can't say they're beautiful. You can say they're ugly. What a colour scheme, and overly busy. But this is a good case of not judging a book by its cover.

I've become quite attached to them. This fine pair have done, to my reckoning, at least 1,000 miles and more likely closer to 1,500. So, considerably more than the 500 miles rule marketing departments are keen to parrot. They did my first ever half marathon, and most of my lunchtime runs for two and a half years. The sole has held up well, and it's only the holes in the upper which have finally forced my hand. They have earned a Viking burial.

The holy Nimbus 16

So farewell and adieu you fair Nimbus trainees - and to make it up to any sea shanty fans for this bastardisation, here's the legendary Robert Shaw, singing the real lyrics:

Breaking the no gym rule

2017-06-21T00:00:00+00:00

For years I have kept to an unwritten rule of never joining a gym.

Why? Firstly, if possible, I like to get outdoors for some fresh air if I'm going to do some exercise - I spend enough time indoors. Then there's the mix of non-refundable up front payments, minimum subscriptions and all the tales of usage tailing off a month after you sign up. I know some gyms have emerged from the dark ages and offer more customer-friendly payment options now, but I've still always kept away. If some cross-training is really needed, then I try swimming or something else - anything else but the gym.

But then recently I had to break that rule, out of necessity. I was running over some leaves and turned my ankle on a hidden bit of tree branch. I'd torn ligaments on this ankle a few years back, and should have known better, but I carried on to finish my run as it didn't hurt much at first. The next day I was reminded of the folly of listening to the mind instead of the body. So I had to stop running for a while, but had a marathon coming up and felt that need to keep doing something regularly. Swimming was only possible one evening a week, whereas lunchtimes I had free but with nothing on hand. Apart from a gym that is...

So, reluctantly I ventured into its alien environs - desperate times, desperate measures. This one was pay-as-you go so at least I wasn't making a commitment, but it still felt like a self-inflicted punishment. As I sat on a cycle machine in a dingy basement there were pictures on the wall of a park, the one to be found directly outside, literally just over the road. I paid my dues and haven't been back since.

photo by Airia Running

How to run back-to-back marathons (part 2)

2017-05-01T00:00:00+00:00

After the Thames Meander in March, I had 5 weeks until my next marathon in Boston, UK. After talking the talk with a summary of all the advice on running two marathons in close proximity, it was time to walk the walk.

What did I do?

Attempting to practise what I'd preached, in those 5 weeks I did the following:

I started with a week off from running, just slipping one swim in to loosen the limbs
I did 5-10 minutes of foam rolling 3 times that first week - calves, quads, ITB, hamstrings
I also looked up exercises for a groin strain and did them for the first time. I'd done something to my left groin trying to get up from a prone state after my difficulties at the Thames meander
Once I got going I loosely followed the tail end of my original training plan
In all I completed 17 runs totalling 122 miles
The big ones were one 17 mile run, one 14 mile run and one 12 mile run
I also did one hour of 5-a-side football, which was good for a change of scene but bad for the groin - the combination of lateral and stop/start movements did me no favours, so I retired to a place in goal
Following the "maintaining not training" mantra I tried not to overdo the amount or distance, not to attempt to go too quickly, and not to feel bad if I missed a planned run

How did it feel?

For the first 4 weeks I definitely felt I needed rest and recovery. I could feel gradual improvements, but my legs still felt heavy and slow right up to a week before the second marathon. So the knowledge that I didn't need to push it really helped for that month, relieving the mental pressure and allowing me the time and mental space to recover. I think this was crucial. In the final week I felt my legs coming good and a freshness returning just in time.

Aside from the general recovery, the other issue was my groin strain. The pain was diminishing little by little, but I couldn't shake it off. Once I got warmed up it was ok, especially on the flat with predictable leg movements, but I still winced when stretching or getting out of bed without care, and never quite knew if a setback was round the corner. There wasn't a point where I was confident I was in the clear.

Race day

Come race day, my biggest problem turned out to be my GPS watch completely failing to get a location fix, so I had to revert last minute to using my phone instead. I spent a good 20 minutes trying different spots to no avail, and to huge (perhaps disproportionate) frustration - the only advantage being it distracted me from the usual pre-race nerves.

Once I got going the groin niggle was in the back of my mind and I started to feel it at about half way, fearing it could flare up at any point. However, my luck was in - it held out, and I forgot about it entirely for the last 7 or 8 miles. And with much more steady, controlled running than last time I enjoyed the run a lot more as it was going on. Despite the need to set realistic expectations about your second effort, I was delighted to even manage a PB. Still more surprising, comparing the pair of runs, was that I felt a lot better and fresher immediately after this second one - and also in the days following. Perhaps some of this is down to my pacing misakes and the effects of the tail end of a bad cold on the first effort, but it still surprised me given I ran the second one 8 minutes faster.

Would I recommend it?

So would I do it again? The answer is of course coloured by the success of the second run, but it's a Yes. Or at the very least a Why not? If it's possible to do two marathons for one training and you can find some suitably spaced options, then at the very least it's a good way to hedge on any problems or disappointments with the first run. It's a lot of effort to prepare for a marathon, and lining up a couple gives you breathing space and insurance. I'm certainly going to take this into account when I think about when and where to run next - but for now, it's time for a bit of rest.

How to run back-to-back marathons (part 1)

2017-04-13T00:00:00+00:00

Preparing for a marathon is a risky affair. You invest so much time in the training, and it all has to come together on one particular morning. If you're carrying a hamstring strain, feeling under the weather or having a busy period at work - too bad. I've been lucky not to have anything major get in the way, but both times I've run a marathon to date I had some problems that last week.

So what to do about this risk? Can you hedge it? Can you get a two-for-one deal on the training? That was what I was thinking this time around, as I embarked on my second marathon training. I wondered whether I should think in terms of two marathons in short succession, and did some research to find out whether that's sensible or not.

From Runners world to Women's health and back I found many articles, with a wide range of conflicting advice. In the end I concluded you can find an opinion to suit your own needs. There are people advising against it, those saying it's ok (with some notes of warning), then the extremes of Eddie Izzard and the 401 challenge. The latter may be outliers with support crews and so on, but it still does make you wonder: why not have a go?

Then there are the numbers, which are persuasive. Say you run 3-4 times a week during a 16 week marathon training period, that's 56 runs for one marathon, or a ratio of 56:1. Then say you manage another 16 runs for a second crack 5 or 6 weeks later, that's a total of 72 runs for 2 marathons or a ratio of 36:1. At face value that sounds a lot better doesn't it?

Tips for running two marathons in short succession

So, having read around and considered the options, here's a distillation of all the advice if you do decide to give it a try:

Rest the first week after marathon #1 - this is not a hard one to follow!
After that rest, look at how many weeks you have to go to #2, and - bearing in mind the points below - loosely follow your plan for the equivalent final weeks before marathon #1
If marathon #2 is 4-5 weeks after the first, then count your first marathon as the last long training run
When you get started running again after the rest, you can stick to easy paced running: you’re “maintaining not training”, so there’s no need to push it
However, if you’ve done easy running for a couple of weeks and feel recovered, and you’re not yet onto the taper of your plan, then prioritise intensity over distance - intervals, lactate threshold tempo runs, etc
Listen to your body not your mind - rest and recovery trumps running
When the mind pushes you to do more, or up the pace, remind yourself it’s not a traditional training plan you’re following
There isn’t a sweet spot which combines 100% recovery with 100% of the endurance levels from your original training - you’re going to lose out on one or the other
If you’re doing #2 just a few weeks after your first, be prepared to consider it as a run-for-fun rather than an opportunity for a PB
If you’re hoping to do #2 at full pelt then you’re likely to need at least 8 to 12 weeks between the marathons (6 if you’re really fit) - at which point given those extra weeks’ work it may well feel much less like a two-for-one deal on your marathon training
Do one 16 to 20 mile run if you’re up to it, but don’t force it
A bit of foam rolling or a massage won’t go amiss
Eat well, sleep well
Go with what the day brings and don’t forget to enjoy the experience

Your body will forget how to run fast before it forgets how to run long
- Jenny Hadfield, co-author of Marathoning for Mortals

Choosing the second marathon

Then there are the logistics to consider. Given the risk that circumstances may intervene, for #2 I recommend looking for the following:

Refunds in the case of an injury preventing you running
If there are no refunds, then find a marathon which doesn’t sell out early and which leaves registration open right up until the last minute - so you don’t have to book until you’re pretty confident you can do it
A marathon that sends the race packs out by post or allows pickup on the day. This saves you having to arrive a day early (often by midday, the way some of them are organised) - important if you want to minimise time away or impact on family
A marathon that’s reasonably nearby, and accessible by train or bus so you don’t have to drive afterwards. Who knows what you’ll feel like?

Putting it into practise

For me, the marathon #2 candidate which met these requirements turned out to be the Boston marathon UK, also known as the Boston (not that one) marathon. It falls 5 weeks after the Thames Meander I did as marathon #1. And groin strain permitting, it's now 4 days away. When I started running I put the 180 steps per minute theory to the test; so now it's time to test this one - let's see how it works out.

Update: find out how it went in part 2

A tale of two marathons

2017-03-31T00:00:00+00:00

This year I completed my second marathon, the Thames Meander, almost a year to the day after the first in Barcelona. Looking back now and comparing the two, the training experience was similar but the race experience starkly different.

The training

To train for each marathon, I loosely followed one of the excellent free Runkeeper race plans. I say loosely, as try as I might I've never been able to keep up with either the number of runs per week or the number of miles per week. My approach is to make sure I always complete the long run of a given week, then do as much else as possible - but not worry too much when I skip some scheduled outings. I try to get some interval runs in, and a half-marathon paced 'threshold run', and make do with that.

Then, of course, there is the unpredictability of outside events. The slings and arrows of training fortune. In this respect the two training periods were remarkably similar, confirming - if there were any doubt - that you have to be prepared to expect some ups and downs and interruptions. In both years the following happened:

In the second month of training, I had minor injuries to deal with - a hamstring strain the first year, an ankle sprain the second. In each case this meant about a week off, then gently easing back in (and a spot of cross-training)
I had the customary winter cold in January, losing another week
I was also ill in the week leading up to the marathon. The first time I think it was partly psychosomatic, the second time it was on the back of an exhausting week at work followed immediately by a weekend away, and a lack of opportunity to rest and recover. It’s sod’s law at work, either way. The first time this meant dropping about 3 runs, the second time it was 10 days without a proper run before race day, save 15 minutes the day before. The silver lining here is that at least it was the taper by this point, and as the running plans would say “the hay is in the barn”

The marathon

There were obvious differences in the type of race - the Thames Meander a low key trail marathon and Barcelona the full closed-road cheering crowds job - but here I'm more interested in the way I ran it and how I felt. For in that respect they were certainly different.

In my first marathon I heeded the advice to start slowly. The first two miles turned out to be my slowest. I kept a steady pace in line with what I was planning. I wasn't expecting what happened when I reached the halfway point though: the ability to continue that pace. From 13 to 20 miles I experienced a surprising feeling of strength, an incredibly tangible sense of the long hours of training kicking in. I struggle to recall another time when I felt such a direct relationship between effort and reward. You reap what you sow. And while it certainly got hard later on, I ended up running the second half marginally faster than the first - living the negative splits dream!

Marathon number 2, though, was a different story. I had decided to be less conservative at the start, but this intent combined with the 10 days without running meant I over-compensated and went off much too quickly. A couple of the early miles came in at just over 7 minutes per mile. And once the genie was unleashed, I struggled to contain it. This time, there was to be no kick at the halfway point - quite the opposite.

At halfway I already felt in trouble and the whole second half was a huge mental and physical struggle. A lot of suffering. I had the added ingominy of my GPS tracking freezing at 21 miles, with no course mile markers to help me out, so that last stretch was a killer. One final kick in the teeth - on the Thames Meander you pass the finish at 24 miles and have to do an extra out-and-back loop to make the distance. All that can be said for that psychological treat is at least I knew where I was by then.

So it turns out you reap what you sow during a race, as well as from your training. I didn't heed the warnings I'd read but, you know, sometimes you've just got to find out for yourself and learn the hard way. The experience is not one I intend to repeat, but it was at least in keeping with the pain-and-pushed-limits theme of the race number and medal.

What is cross-training?

2017-03-03T00:00:00+00:00

Like some running version of Godwin's law, the more running articles you read the more inevitable it becomes that someone, somewhere will pop up and recommend cross-training.

The first problem I had with cross-training, I'll admit, is I wasn't sure what it meant. Did it mean using one of those "cross-training" machines in a gym, or just training in a different type of activity to your usual one? I eventually figured out it's the latter, but that one of those alternate activities may in fact involve using a cross-training machine. Kind of cross-training to the power of two.

In normal circumstances, I never have time for cross-training. Part of the reason I run is the ability to do so without much planning, fitted in whenever an opportunity arises, and alternative activities don't generally cater for that. Plus the limited time I have, I try to use running - generally falling behind on any training plan as it is - and there's not any spare time to do other exercise.

The exception is when an injury prevents me from running, at a time when I've already signed up for something - that's when I enter this twilight world of cross-training, in an attempt to keep up fitness levels and a sense of progress. At those times, swimming is my preferred choice, not least because it's normally a leg injury so the weightlessness and lack of impact of swimming is a boon. You get to use your arms and the rest of your upper body a bit more for a change, and stretch out a bit.

For all #running niggles and injuries the answer seems to be swimming. Ligaments? swim. Hamstring? swim. Calf? swim. Bored? swim.
— Mark Barlow (@markbarlow) December 1, 2016

There's also a sauna and steam room at my local pool, so there's some reward in there too. And even without that, it is quite relaxing isn't it?

As for the cross-training to the power of two, recently in desperate times I broke my gym rule and had a go at that too. The tale of that dark day is for another time.

photo by Fabrizio Fogliani

Thames Meander marathon map

2017-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

Here's a map with the routes for the Thames Meander marathon and half marathon, with the aid stations and other points of interest marked on it. I put this together by downloading the eventrac official course route information, uploading it to Google's My Maps, then adding in the other information kindly provided by the event race director David Ross at Hermes Running.

Marathon Route:

The course meanders along the Thames Path out to the far side of Canbury Gardens and then returns past the HQ and along the Thames Path trail as far as the Barn Elms Rowing Club turnaround point, returning past the HQ again to the far side of Canbury Gardens which is the ﬁnal turnaround point, returning to ﬁnish at the YMCA HQ.
- Hermes Running

Half Marathon Route:

The course starts in the opposite direction to the marathon and meanders along the Thames Path out to the ﬁrst turnaround point at the Kew Gardens car park, then returning past the race HQ and on towards Canbury Gardens just past the Boaters Inn Pub which is the ﬁnal half marathon turnaround point, returning to ﬁnish at the YMCA HQ.
- Hermes Running

The map above has approximate markers for the various aid stations:

Aid Station 1 YMCA HQ start / finish
Aid Station 2 Petersham fields, about 6 miles in
Aid Station 3 Kew Gardens car park (half marathon turnaround), about 9.5 miles in
Aid Station 4 Barnes Bridge (marathon runners only), about 11.5 miles in
Aid Station 5 Barn Elms Boat Club (marathon turnaround point), about 13 miles in

Here's a link to the full screen version of the route maps. Only 3 weeks to go to the March event, good luck to all participants! I'm looking forward to taking part - my first meander.

running photo by Ed Dunens

Runkeeper, Strava and running apps

2017-02-04T00:00:00+00:00

There’s no doubt running apps make the whole business more interesting and helped me get into running. There’s a lot of them out there, but I use Runkeeper and Strava- here’s why.

Pretty much all of the apps out there have tracking, maps, stats and some motivational features. They also have their own algorithms for smoothing out GPS points, deciding how often to request a point, dealing with the curvature of the earth, and so on - which explains differences in their distance calculations, despite using the same GPS source from your device.

For a short time I tried runs with both Runkeeper and Strava tracking my activity at the same time, to compare the measurement - with a view to sticking with the one I thought was better. It was inconclusive: at worst there was a 10% variance, but it was never a case of one always thinking you’d run further than the other. In the end I decided to use Runkeeper as my main app, but to also periodically send the data to Strava via tapiriik.

So what was it about Runkeeper which made the difference for me?

The audio prompts, which offered the most flexibility - for example you can set them by time, by duration or by a combination of both; and if you really want to you can have a drill instructor voice barking at you when you drop below your target pace
The free training plans, which I’ve found to be very good (if hard to follow religiously). In time they got me through my first half marathon and first marathon
The ability to fix GPS errors using the web site. I use this only occasionally, but it does come in useful to fix problems like this one below,(Liverpool image) which will skew your averages and so on. And remember, if you succumb to the temptation to use this feature to try and boost your distance or speed, you’re only fooling yourself…

A diversion into the river Mersey

I’ve also since discovered that their customer service is excellent - both on email and twitter - and they have a sense of humour too.

@markbarlow That sounds odd, sorry about that! Try a safe reinstall following these steps: https://t.co/gmJ49xeIYr.
— Runkeeper Support (@RKSupport) May 19, 2015

@markbarlow @Runkeeper bagkeeper!
— Erin Glabets (@ErinGlabets) February 11, 2016

And equally, why bother sending the data to strava too?

For the social features, especially as when I started running it was part of a collective team effort to rack up some miles
I have a few keen cyclist friends, who are all on there
The segments feature is clever and a lot of fun, from time to time I take a look at that. It reminds me of foursquare, but requiring more effort to get a crown than just checking in somewhere every day

photo by Quinn Dombrowski

Learning to stretch

2017-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

A few years ago, my dentist told me I should start flossing. I gave it a brief go, but found it a hassle and it made brushing the teeth take longer, so I didn't stick with it. I was reminded several times over the next few visits to the dentist, and ignored those reminders. Until, that is, I needed root canal treatment. Since then I've flossed regularly.

My experience with stretching is similar. I initially took the view that the first 5 minutes of a run was for stretching, and afterwards there was never time for much more than a cursory stretch left and right before getting showered and changed. I kept coming across articles recommending stretching, and kept ignoring them. Until, that is, I strained my hamstring.

I went to see a physio, who got me going on some exercises and recommended using a foam roller. Youtube is also full of videos showing hamstring stretches and massages that will help you recover. As it was a recurring problem, I've carried some of these through into every run now. I don't go to town with it, but a little before and a little after seems to have helped keep the problem at bay.

The key, I'm told, is to make sure you hold the positions for a good while. And also, take it easy beforehand - a rapid fire succession of to-the-limit stretches could be detrimental, and may cause exactly what you're trying to avoid.

As for the foam roller? Well, it gets the odd look in, but not often. It's more commonly used as a 'robotic arm'.

photo by Flyfishtography

180 steps at a time

2017-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

When I started running, like many middle aged people, I wanted to get some exercise and cling on to the last vestiges of youthful vigour. I soon got into it, and after a few months of running I came across the idea that 180 steps per minute is the optimal running rhythm.

This originates in a study of middle distance runners at the 1984 Olympics, by coach Jack Daniels. He counted the stride rate of all the athletes running 800 metres or more, and found that all but one ran at least 180 steps per minute - and the one that didn't hit 176. Yet as a coach he had never come across a student running above 180. So the magic number of 180 steps per minute was born.

Like all research, there is further research which corroborates this and some which counters it. But what is generally agreed is that:

Running with a faster cadence can improve your performance and reduce the risk of injury
180 steps per minute is a great bar to aim for, but if it is too high start by measuring your cadence and aiming to increase it by 5 to 10%
Running with a consistent cadence is also important, and something top runners aim for. In the 2011 Boston marathon, Desiree Davila and Caroline Kilel both held a 180-190 rate as they battled to the finish, and there are countless more examples

Putting the theory to the test

I'd read enough to be convinced it was worth a try. Using Runkeeper, I found my previous runs were around 140 spm, and with the help of a metronome I started trying to increase them to 180.

The way to do this was not just to go straight out and increase the rate, but to first shorten the length of the stride in order to help achieve that. It felt strange at first, as if I was taking baby steps - but at the rate of Roadrunner from the cartoons. But it soon became a comfortable rhythm, and with shorter steps your legs gain less height and extension - and therefore you create less impact when hitting the ground, helping your calves, your hamstrings, your ankles and your knees.

Overall, here's the benefits I've enjoyed from this change of cadence:

Not as tired or achey after runs
Helped me go further
Helped me go faster
Easier to change direction and avoid puddles, ice or tourists randomly stepping out in front of you without looking

Needless to say, I heartily recommend taking a look at your cadence and aiming for either a 10% increase, the magical 180 steps per minute, or even more.

Fitter people have a little longer stride, but the rate stays the same
- Jack Daniels, coach

metronome photo by Charles B. Owen

Why I started running

2017-01-18T00:00:00+00:00

In January 2015, with little thought or planning, I went for a lunchtime run. This turned out to be the point I started regular running. Before then I had completed a grand total of one run in each of the previous two years. Going much further back, I was obliged to do the occasional cross country run at senior school for the first 4 years, and had a brief flirtation with athletics and the Liverpool harriers that lasted no more than a year. But that was almost 30 years ago.

So what was it that made this particular run different? Looking back, there were a few different reasons I think:

The realisation that I was no longer doing any exercise whatsoever
The chance to listen to some music, something else I was no longer doing very much
Admitting that my football days were basically over. With family responsibilities I couldn’t commit to a full Saturday (as in the old days) or even a regular Friday night (the only option I had left). And being uncommitted, as anyone who’s played knows, soon leads to being unselected
For the first time in my life, finding myself working in an office with showers which was also situated right next to a park. Well, three parks in fact. And then it turned out there was a drying room too
A team challenge at work to collectively walk, run or cycle a total of 3,000 kilometres - the distance a colleague would be travelling to her wedding in Nigeria in the summer
Running apps making the whole thing more interesting
The wonderfully impromptu, just-get-out-and-do-it nature of running - needing no arrangements, no scheduling, no monthly fees, little to no equipment (or so I thought…), and available more or less wherever you go at any time of year

I'll let you into a secret: despite often extolling the virtues of running, as in that last bullet point, for a long time I thought that - all things being equal - given a choice I would still play football rather than run. I liked the adrenaline, the unpredicability, the social side of the team sport. At first it was as if running chose me, rather than I chose running, on the basis of feasibility.

But then recently, on two separate occasions I had the chance to play a one-off 5-a-side game - and turned it down. I had a race coming up, and didn't want to jeapordise it with an injury. I've also come to the conclusion that in relative terms I'm a better runner than footballer, and probably should have done more when I was young.

So, after a couple of years, the tide is turning.

running photo by Ed Dunens