Mashup feet :(

One feels like such a hero when like an intrepid warrior you go against the odds to conquer that mountain in your mind, that hot and painful yet admirable Christmas eve run...

until the consequences hit.

I seem to have developed metatarsalgia: pain in the ball of the foot.  On top of that the whole trapped nerve thing is playing up so I feel pain and a contraction down my right side, specifically shoulder, hip and toes.  Do I want to be one of these people who moans about ailments on the internet? Not really; however, this half marathon training has now been somewhat compromised.

I can't just blame the long run of course, or the sneakers (...we'll get to those beasts just now)....because Christmas came with an abundance of alcohol and total throwing of reasonable eating patterns. And as for sleep...well that's become a random act that could occur or not at any time! More so for my children who've given the night/day relationship a whole new meaning, but as I lay in my bed uncharacteristically tossing and turning at 2am this morning, I realised I too have the night into day affliction.

However, the net result is I haven't run in almost a week and I didn't even feel able to do the Monday night beast bike ride around the Savannah last night. And my feet still hurt, with every step! I finally googled it, hence the self diagnosis above, and fortunately, if you click the link, you'll realise it's not too serious, just a pain in the...foot really. But to now say I'm running 14 kilometres this week seems to be so stupid I can't even contemplate it. Huge sigh!

So as a problem solver, solution based thinker, fixer typa gal, what am I going to do about it? (other than become a couch potato, begging my daughter for a foot massage as often as possible....) 

Firstly, yesterday, I finally bit the bullet and bought new running shoes.  

...not a gel pack in sight...& no I'm not going to wash them! :-( 

I'm so angry with the old ones, yes those there offenders on the right....I feel I might use them for J'ouvert and cover their luminescent, snowy whiteness with mud and paint!!  (not that they're that clean anymore....) Now there was a time...a few decades back, where I would only wear Nike Air trainers as they had the air cushioning. This became imperative after my very first carnival in non air cushioned shoes where the excruciating pain in my ankles meant the only way I could make playing mas in the marathon Tuesday session was to swig neat rum washed down with water, courtesy my father!  Soon enough though, everyone cottoned on so all running shoes had some kinda air, gel, cushioning...so I stupidly relaxed my guard!! Fast forward to the Adidas I recently bought (yep those beasts above ^^). I knew they were my '2nd' running shoes and I still needed to get better ones, but I convinced myself I needed New Balance which are somewhat tricky to find in Trinidad.  I have a supplier, but apparently her stock are STILL on the dock, 2 months later, awaiting goodness only knows what bureaucracy and financial shenanigans... Anyway, the Adidas felt OK on the 10k run, and I truly believed they had some kind of gel like something in them as all running shoes do these days..not that I could see it of course.  But no. Apparently not.  And then I didn't put in the wonderful Dr. Scholl arch support GEL insole that I'd used with my last shoe as I thought that might have been a contributory factor to the blisters I was getting... So my poor feet pounded relentlessly for an hour and a half without anymore shock absorption than the plastic of the shoes and they didn't appear to appreciate it one bit!

Just look at all that gel....

So the new babies have so much gel I feel like I'm walking on air, through the metatarsalgia pain... I walked around the shop wanting to laugh and cry. The crying was caused by the combination of realising I'd unnecessarily caused myself excruciating pain by not being able to face the manic Christmas shoppers and the fight to get out of the car park (has been known to take 2 hours....) last week, the actual pain still in a layer before the soft cloud like sensation and mainly, and most importantly THE PRICE!!  


They were EXORBITANT!! Twice as much as I've ever paid for sneakers before, and more than I ever believed I would pay for shoes of any description, sob. But it had to be done. I did have to walk around the mall, check the other crappy running shoes on offer in other stores, by some cheap reflexology slippers which feel like walking on needles to the point where a heat was radiating from my feet making me wonder if I had in fact created jet packs and was about to take off.... but I went back and swiped that credit card...earning plenty airmiles as a small consolation, and bought the new Asics. Yes, after all the talk and posturing, Asics it had to be...but the ones with the maximum gel going all the way up to the front. I was kinda kicking myself that only the most expensive ones were still available due to my dragging and stalling and misguided obsession with New Balance, but I think it's actually for the best that I didn't try and buy cheaper ones which are still very expensive but still might have had foot mashing properties.

So now I'm wondering when on earth I'm going to use these high end sporting items as MY FEET STILL HURT!  But I guess it's going to be a case of biting the bullet and taking a short run and being ready with ice pack directly afterwards...although the thought of ice gives me nerve pain. Despite the incredible support of these luxury designed items I'm also wondering if I should stick in the arch support too, except it doesn't quite fit with the generic insole and if I take that out then the front of the shoe is left with no padding which is the part that hurt, or try the Dr. Scholl ball of foot insole??.....ok breathe.....but I guess it's going to be a question of some more painful trials and hopefully fewer errors before I get it right. I really need to be a little more courageous too as metatarsalgia isn't so very serious and will not in fact consign me to a wheelchair if I run without optimum padding. And to give up on this half marathon now would seem verging on pathetic and life shrinking, right Anaïs?...

So...I will keep you, whoever you may be, posted on my running developments. In the meantime, I'm attempting to address the other faulty body mechanics and doing my damnedest to get a full body massage!

Back on the road...

Today was 12.2km.
It hurt.
I was slow.
The sun was burning.
But somehow I just kept going...I was absolutely not going to give myself permission to stop.

Yesterday I had a rough day. I was overtired from cycling hard then liming until the wee hours on the first day of my period.  Then I took an antihistamine for the bee sting which was swelling up unpleasantly on my forehead, and that particular drug has never done me any favours in the energy department.  I dragged myself around the whole day, jumping back into bed at the slightest window of opportunity, and cussing when I had to do daughter chauffeuring twice in the evening.  I did at least get a lot of wrapping done and managed to eliminate the need for almost all further Christmas shopping which was a fabulous feeling...but when the time came for the crazy football lime, I had to decline. That's when I knew I had totally overdone it, yet again.

I also had it in mind that I'd have to run this morning, as it really was the last time I would be likely to be sober at a runnable time for the foreseeable future, and I really did need to get my 12k in....but on collapsing into my bed last night having yet again not made the sorrel and having to forcibly tear myself off Facebook, it wasn't looking too realistic. However, I slept well and when I woke up at 7.45am, running felt much more appealing than the supermarket...especially as having been open all night I wouldn't even get that first shopper advantage. I took my time, had my coffee and veg broth stuff captured from the steaming pumpkin, onion and ochra, a granola bar and a banana. I loaded up the drinks belt as I've now crossed the 10k-no-drink-threshold and certainly wasn't in the finest athletic state, and off I went.

I ran down Long Circular Road, feeling entirely out of synch with every step, then stopped to stretch before heading to the Savannah, not a whole heap faster. The first lap of the Savannah was inordinately long...it just went on and on and on, like they'd extended it somehow, or I'd fallen into a timewarp...  I tried running on the grass to give my joints a little love, but that didn't seem to help too much.  I think my music at the time was also failing to propel me.  Although I enjoyed the Private Ryan mix of pop, Soca and Dancehall, it was somehow not distracting me sufficiently from the unpleasantness I was enduring, but when the 2015 Soca tunes kicked in at the start of the second lap, everything felt easier. I felt able to run a little faster, with more fluidity.

I just kept getting niggling aches and pains which were informing me I have some structural glitches which need fixing soon. I'm reluctant to go back to the Osteopath as I feel she'll tell me a Half Marathon is a really dumb idea... I haven't been back since I restarted the contraband Triathlon training! Maybe I could try yoga instead, it worked pretty well back in August...and more massage of course...that always helps.

By the end of that second Savannah lap I was ready to go home.  Unfortunately home was a run through traffic filled Boissiere and up and over the dreaded Long Circular Hill.  The burst of 'speed' had by now totally left me and I could possibly have walked faster than I was jogging; however, I chugged along like the little train that could and finally, an hour and a half later reached the end, with a strong, if not sprint, finish.  I walked it out through the compound, I stretched, I even threw in some abs just for good measure then I jumped onto Facebook to proclaim my achievement.

It's funny how important it has now become to broadcast everything proactive you do.  I don't have an app yet which automatically apprises my friends of every training performance, but still I regularly and eagerly post my achievements and somehow that makes them seem more impressive than my spaced out, aching body would have me believe.

I still have 9k to go to get up to the 21k of the half marathon.  I did wonder along the road today if I could really do it, keep running for what's currently looking like 2.5 hours. It wasn't the most reassuring thought! But I reminded myself of today's less than optimal physical state, and also to ensure I'm nowhere near this state before the actual event...despite it being carnival season. Anyway, it's all a matter of determination.  I've said I'm doing it, so I will. I'm sincerely hoping my training will pick my speed up, and I still do have a month to go. But even if I do it snail style, it still will be a huge thing for the volatile, fits and bursts, sugar dependent dancer that I was.  I will have broken the back of running and those 5ks in duathlons and triathlons will seem suck eye!!

Hashing

I first heard of 'Hashing' on an aeroplane to Egypt where an exceedingly enthusiastic English chap spent the entire flight trying to convince me of the virtues of running around the historical city of Cairo with a bunch of ex-pats. At the time, being more of an integrationist at heart, I made a mental note to never ever join any form of ex-pat running group!

However, years later, here I am in Trinidad, and a few months ago some of my totally Trinidadian triathlete friends took me along on a Trini hash.  Despite my then lack of fitness having just returned from a 4 month training hiatus, I thoroughly enjoyed the running through the bush, although there was a lot more walking on that occasion as those hills were steep! Afterwards, though, all the ritual started: hash virgins guzzling down beer, people with new shoes drinking from the said new shoes (YUCK!!) various songs and other shenanigans. Rather than join in the folly with the predominantly Trini crowd, (hardly an expat in sight,) I found myself edging back, slightly horrified, and certainly not wanting to be part of this ritualistic mob!

I don't know if it was just my rebellious nature, not liking being told what to do or what to drink; or if it was that I really can't stand beer and was no way going to chug it down.  I suspect though that it was something deeper. It seemed to a combination of a fear of the clannish nature of the group, feeling I was being inducted into a sect or initiated into a masonic lodge...maybe it brought out my insecurities from growing up mixed race in Britain, fitting in and yet not belonging...maybe I was just exhausted as I was so damn unfit...But I found my initial reaction to this group to be the same as when the jolly English passenger had first introduced me to the hashing concept.

Fast forward to today, when I went on another hash, this time with some other triathlete friends, as well as my sixteen year old daughter.  Running the trails felt great.  Despite my slight fatigue from one too many free Daiquiris last night, as well as those pesky hill sprints, I found myself able to push through the random muscle pains and run at a good pace, particularly when my friend and I realised we'd both lost our daughters, hers being a lean, ten year old shadow sticking closely behind her larger chunkier god sister. The trails were marked in a bizarre way and a number of the more experienced hashers complained, but as I'd just come to add variety to my training, and I have a poor sense of direction anyway, that went over my head. My daughter enjoyed the whole theatre of it all: 'Hares' in Christmas hats, singing orientation hints to the tunes of Christmas songs, as well as the different yells signalling different levels of confusion as to the direction we were supposed to be heading. She also enjoyed that fact that she was finally running these familiar trails with no pressure to perform as she's no longer a competing triathlete! But that's an issue for another post.

Sweaty and muddy, but with smiles on our faces we finally reached the end and a cool freshwater pool for instant muscle ache alleviation. A bar was set up and the smell of barbecuing filled the Arboretum: a picturesque and secluded picnicking/camping spot. My daughter seemed to feel she ought to be part of beer drinking, so I mixed her a weak shandy thinking that would suffice, assuming she would hate the taste of beer anyway. But then, as a man with a booming voice jumped up onto a beer crate, suddenly the rituals began, and my daughter got pulled into the 'hash virgins' crew and given a beer to guzzle down, or wear. As my goddaughter's mother looked on in horror, shouting out, "don't drink it!" I turned away.  What part of my natural health inspired tigress uber parenting style allows for a child of sixteen to chug down beer as part of an initiation ritual??  Now she is an exceptionally strong girl, having looked older than her years for well, years, and I have been allowing her champagne and other bubblies on special occasions of late, so I knew this 'lite'  beer wouldn't exactly kill her...but even so, it once again all felt quite wrong and when she sidled back up to me looking vulnerable and bemused, I felt disappointed with myself for allowing her to be put in that position, especially one I'd refused to stand in myself.

Fortunately the rituals didn't last too long, we had that awful shoe drinking thing which once again made me gag, and then for some reason a muscular young man had to put on a large pair of undies over his shorts, but it was soon over and we were left to chat and drink in the rich thick darkness, surrounded by nature. My calm returned, my daughter;s mood levelled and other than a miserable amount of traffic on the way home and Wrapworks being closed causing us to drive even further in order to satiate my growing starvation with Chinese takeaway....we were both glad we'd taken time out for that brief adventure together.

So will I go on another hash? Yes, I most certainly will.  Will I ever become comfortable with the rituals? I'm not sure.  I have become so much more tolerant and less reactive over the years which I suppose is a good thing...although sometimes feels I'm just going soft and losing all my principles... However, that fact that this was an activity I could enjoy with my daughter which involved fresh air and exercise was certainly valuable. 

Now to get my vampiric son back into the sunshine...

MM... the soca boss

Every year Machel Montano releases a song which gets entirely under my skin and puts me into a trance-like state of pure happiness for its duration.

This season it's: Endless Wuk

Last year was: Haunted...which literally had me, well, haunted for weeks after carnival....or even more so this rehearsal version...which didn't go down so well in the fetes, but I still loved.

Then before that was: The Fog...that dance beat in the background, then all the J'ouvert type memories...(a nice 'official video' this time!)

Other memorable tracks: Make Yuh Rock, Roll with Patrice Roberts, and the lesser known Speakeasy....and this is really only naming a very few of the tunes of a most prolific socastar.

Most Trinidadians either love or hate Machel...he's just one of those ubiquitous national products with a gargantuan personality you're bound to have a strong opinion on.  As a self-professed soca head and carnival jumbie, I am obliged to love him, or at least his music (as on a personal level none of our interactions have been so great....yeah it's a small country, you meet people...) or I'd have to sit out most of the fetes!!  But what he unequivocally does have is the knack of getting huge crowds energised and pumping...and happy.  

Serious musicians tend to look at him as an upstart, despite his advancing years, (...yep he turned 40 just last month,) with little talent; however, I disagree. I once heard him say in a radio interview that his ability was knowing if a song sounded good, would be a hit...and he is almost always right, to the point of regularly hijacking other artists songs which suddenly appear to be on point while they're trying to perform them!  Talent comes in many ways and in this world it seems that just because you're a singer there is no particular requirement to be able to actually sing in order to make money. The ability to tune into the masses, entertain them, and get them to the point of paying through the nose for the privilege of being entertained may well serve you better in many ways than actually singing like a bird or an angel...

So double M...keep doing what you're doing. Whether or not you're the Happiest Man Alive, your exuberant tunes bring a lot of joy to soca heads, partiers and many others who just likes to let go of all inhibitions for a few moments, buss a small wine and enjoy life!!

Half a Half...

On Wednesday I ran half a half marathon: 10.6km.  

The pace was reasonably slow and the sun was pretty hot....we started at about 7.45am which equals serious sun in southern Caribbean terms, although some of the road was shaded by bamboo, and a refreshing breeze blew at times. We ran the length of Tucker Valley which undulates ever so slightly and chatted the entire way which was a wonderful distraction (albeit not so helpful to pace setting...) 

The way down, the first 5k, felt great.  My legs felt warm and capable, I knew there was a great deal more in my tank (thank you sweet potato for appearing in my fridge the night before...) and it felt almost effortless.  I haven't become a gadget user yet, so didn't have the stress of responding to the intermittent statements uttered by my teammates phone, but the pace seemed pretty OK.  We reached the end of the road, the halfway mark, in a reasonable condition, then we stopped and stretched before heading back.

Unfortunately at that point things got harder. I don't know if it was the break in momentum, the psychological factor of realising we'd passed that 5k comfort zone, or just sheer undertrained muscles, but our momentum dropped and my right thigh started to ache.  Now, I am accustomed to weird pains in my left side due to a persistently trapped/pinched nerves, so I am able to override it but it does at times become an act verging on masochism. My teammates weren't feeling a whole heap better and now the sun was really beating down and we were a fair distance from the shady part of the road. But the way back is never a time I will give up as I know I can finsih, however slowly, so onwards we soldiered.


We continued, slower, realising we had no possibility of reaching our 10k in one hour target. Seeing the sign for Mt. Pleasant Village for the umpteenth time it finally dawned on me that those picturesque, derelict houses, regularly used for photo shoots had actually been functional as well as the ivy clad, roofless church. My distraction tactics didn't seem to be able to help the third member of our team, who started regretting more and more the four whiskeys he'd imbibed the night before and began walking for longer stretches, which had us slowing down and circling behind him, adding to our distance, but at least not stopping. I started to feel thirsty as I'd deliberately not brought my beloved Cytomax on the run in an attempt to curb my recent habit of over-hydrating following a particularly unpleasant 5k in a Triathlon where I dried up! I therefore became more anxious to finish what seemed to be becoming an inexorable run, just so I could have a drink....

Then finally , the end was in sight!  That's the beauty of training on familiar ground: you know the exact length of your torture, in metres even if not in time.  Miraculously all my strength returned, and I was able to pick up the pace and feel powerful once again, as opposed to the almost limping in a compromised manner I had been engaging in for the last 3.5k.  I didn't exactly sprint, but ran a whole heap faster than I had been, finishing strong before feeling the inescapable need to collapse onto my car while guzzling down my Cyto. That drink is truly fabulous, you just feel your cells plumping themselves back out, turning from raisin-like shrivelled up sacs to gloriously plump globe grapes...

As it was in fact a celebratory birthday run (yes..triathletes have a rather bizarre & possibly brutal way of celebrating landmarks...), we then had Prosecco in a can ...one of the better inventions of the year for the land of cooler fetes (can't wait to taste the other 'flavours'), and olive tapenade on crackers which didn't mean to be wheat based, so I forgave them, before devouring them.  I managed to get a strong tan line on my calves as we sat sipping our bubbly in the back of the pick up, enjoying the flexibility of our various work situations allowing us this opportunity and feeling pretty proud of our achievement.


The ensuing exhaustion and extreme thirst which lasted quite into the next day did not dampen my enthusiasm to actually register for this Half Marathon...so I'm now financially committed!

Doubts did cross my mind as I got an unpleasant image of the potential length of recovery after the actual race...and all the pain from the remaining 36 days of training. However, the pain didn't last as long as last time, and here I am two days later, seriously contemplating a long procrastinated hill run. I now realise I am going to have to run more, that the riding instead theory is not all bad and probably is helping with my overall fitness, but a little flawed in terms of the actual feeling of that heavy pounding on hard surfaces.  I haven't yet purchased the New Balance sneakers I've convinced myself I need; however, the Adidas are holding up pretty well, no ankle pains this time, which is another sign that I really can do this thing, even without perfect conditions!

So now to the kitchen to eat some scrambled eggs, homemade oat cookies and maybe a protein shake...then once that's digested... off I go for a hill pump with Soca!!

Do I Celebrate Christmas?

In Trinidad, where about 99% of people espouse religious beliefs, I sometimes get asked, sometimes in an aggressive, accusatory manner, if with my non-religious views, I celebrate Christmas.   

It's funny that this question never ever came up in England, a place where religious belief isn't quite so assumed. But then again, a big mid-winter feast, with lots of lights makes a whole heap of sense in a country where it's cold and miserable in the winter, and gets dark at 4pm.  And I'm pretty sure this existed long before Christianity arrived on British shores and became the predominant religion.

It's actually ironic that the mid-winter festival is merged with the Christian birth ceremony; whereas the new life festival celebrated in spring with bunnies, chicks and eggs corresponds with one of the more gruesome parts of the bible.  Yes, the resurrection is about new life in one context, but I don't think we can really say it's a celebration of spring...that would fit better with the baby story. But cultures merge in their own inimitable way, and like most things logic isn't really part of it.

The funkiest Christmas Tree in town...made of driftwood

so In terms of my celebrating Christmas....I most certainly do! I usually take great delight in decorating my tree (pine tree... Bethlehem ... not exactly related...), I enjoy buying gifts and eating my whole baked salmon with cranberry sauce on Christmas day, not to mention the bubbly with sorrel and various other seasonal treats. Obviously in the southern Caribbean there isn't such a huge need to light up the cold harsh winter nights as it only gets dark an hour earlier than midsummer and although I am at this moment wearing a cardigan, it doesn't exactly get cold...Christmas for me fulfils the basic human need for ritual feasting and ensuring quality time spent with busy family members. It also marks a three week vacation from teaching, which is something else worthy of celebration!

Gotta love cycling!

Just in case anyone may be wondering why I'm dragging my sleepy, muscle weary body, pumped with Lucozade and most likely coffee off round the Savannah in the middle of the night.....

.....It's clearly a love thing!

Day 1 of 'Official Half Marathon' Training...

Tights & no shades....and not quite so pink..but you get the pic

The alarm was set, the ipod loaded, the sneakers, socks, tights, sports bra and running vest were all laid out.....and then 41 minutes before the alarm was due to cut through my no doubt mellifluous dreams, the phone rang.  I had to do something for a dear friend, someone I'd committed to helping at this time.  As always with me, compassion came first...I mean I could always run later, right?

Favour done, daughter dropped to science lessons, I was ready, if not totally willing, to take my son for a bike ride. Mercifully he was in no mood to wake up, and even when he did Harry Potter seemed way more compelling than dragging himself out of his cosy bed to suffer the discomfort of bike riding.  Now I really do need to get this child more active, but I knew fighting him down was really going to reduce my desire to run...

Now, as most people know, this level of flaking can get to epidemic proportions very quickly....I mean a million things could happen between 10am and a possible late afternoon run. For example, I dropped my son off at my sister's and started chatting... having extracted myself, Sunday lunch had to be cooked.  Then just as I started making progress with that, rain started plummeting down accompanied by ominous thunder & lightning making running suddenly seem an obnoxious idea. Then my grouper in peanut sauce tasted so good with the peas and rice and roast peppers I really wanted a bigger portion...but with only just over an hour before the run plan, this was risky.  Next the car wash man was hungry...so I jumped up with my generous self and gave him a plate of my food, before gobbling down just a little more myself....

Somehow though, for once, the time gods were on my side! So when 5 'o' clock came I was fed, digested, dressed and ready.  My two possible running partners baled so I put on my ipod, didn't bother with the drinks belt, cranked up the sweet soca and was off.

It was a beautiful run, with the rainy season causing yet another stunning sunset, the Christmas lights shining optimistically and the usual range of people each adding their distinct character to the most public of exercise/air-taking-in/open air homeless habitation arenas. At various points my feet, ankles, hips and thigh muscles ached, but never excruciatingly. I knew my pace was a little slow, but picked it up whenever I remembered to, and reminded myself that it being the first long in a while, I should avoid burning myself out. And the real beauty was knowing from experience and a touch of pre-run visualisation that I could, with all certainty complete the distance - and more if necessary.

So with that train now in motion....all I have to do is ensure it reaches its destination. 

Watch this space!!

Training for My First Half Marathon

Even the title of this post is misleading as no actual training has happened yet; however, I've told myself that tomorrow morning I will get up and run 8.6km.  I am currently downloading the most recent Soca tracks to my ipod, and I guess shortly I'll get up and put out my exercise clothes in an attempt to make it all seem more real. Gosh, I'd better get out my drinks belt...that's quite a long run...hmmm

I was supposed to be running with friends, but this time of year seems to exacerbate flakey behaviour so, rather than risk not getting started on what currently seems like a gargantuan task because people decide they want to ride, swim, watch mountain bikers or drink beer instead, I'm going to stay on home ground and run the Long Circular Savannah route, alone with my sweet, energising music.

The funny thing is, I'd never wanted to run a half marathon...it was one of the last things I thought I'd ever want to do...right down there with a full marathon and an Ironman (needless to say they are still lurking down there in the improbable section...). However, in going to support some friends at the UWI half marathon I suddenly changed my mind.  It was almost a eureka moment, I saw a man with a disability causing his legs to be bent in towards each other completing that race, strong and proud and all of a sudden couldn't think of any possible reason for not doing it myself.  I'd never liked the idea of running up the Priority Bus Route as it's probably about the least scenic place you could run in Trinidad.  I also am conscious that excessive pounding on hard surfaces never did anyone's joints any favours....but hey, it's just one little event, and as I've procrastinated thus far it's only seven weeks of training before I can cut my running back down and return to building speed joint-friendly sea swimming instead.

There are several training plans floating about, some specifically for triathletes....but as ever I seem to be developing my own version as I go along.  This may be the reason I don't achieve phenomenal results...but I guess there's a part of me that doesn't want to take it too seriously as there are always so very many other things going on in my life at the same time, clawing legitimately at my attention.  Also I'm just getting into riding so I definitely don't want that to fall back in any form or fashion. On analysis though, these plans all seem to say something similar: do at least two runs a week: one long building distance each week and one shorter but harder run with either hills or pace. Then there seems to be a lot of emphasis on the arduous bane of my life: strength training.

So my plan is as follows.  First, to do one long run a week, building up to the 21k that is a half marathon and is also double what I've ever run before (gulp). Secondly, I will do the shorter hilly run each week...the Fartleks and sprints drive me nuts.  Next will be to continue building aerobic fitness without the impact by riding my bike twice a week, and I may even add some mountain biking in there if I am to fulfil a promise to myself to fight the fear and get back on the damn contraption before the year is out (sigh).  In addition to all this is the specialised strength training I've been putting off for some time. I will commit to ten sessions of the inevitable torture, then see where I am after that.  I'd also really like yoga to be part of the regime too, but time is looking pretty eaten up right now.  Then, lastly, I can't stop swimming altogether...so a weekly seabath would be a lovely addition.

This may seem ambitious to some, and trust me I'm one of them...especially with Christmas and the advent of carnival fetes just around the corner.  And I may not manage all that every week.  The saving grace is the knowledge that I could run this half marathon tomorrow and not drop dead...so any training I do is just augmenting the process and getting me closer to my not particularly fast target time of two hours fifteen minutes.

So now time to hydrate a little more, lay out the gear, and get some sleep.