The Deadly Sins of Running

I never thought anything football related would ever make it onto this blog BUT I had a good old read of this article on the BBC site which was inspired by the Luis Suarez biting incident at the World Cup (as an aside can I just say that human bites are really disgusting. Ick.). In the BBC article a former footballer describes what he believes to be the ‘Deadliest Sins’ in football: career ending tackles, elbowing, spitting, racism. It then got me thinking, what are the deadly sins of the sport of running and athletics?

Doping

Ask any running/athletics fan and I think they would say doping is THE cardinal sin. It cheats other competitors and it makes a joke of the sport. Sadly doping doesn’t seem to be going away and the IAAF list is growing and growing, with the addition this week of Ukranian and Trinidad and Tobago athletes. Is it me or are they really not on top of it? Especially when you’re banning people for only 9 months at a time. Hey that’s 9 months free you’ve given them to dope some more!

I hate doping. It sucketh big time. Ask any running/athletics fan what they really despise in the sport and they will always say doping. It is arguably the BIGGEST sin in running.

Punching/Elbowing your competitor

It’s fair to say that it is fairly common at the start of a cross country or road race that many people stick their elbows out. It’s a do or die situation, stick your elbows out or get pushed back or maybe have your number ripped off. It’s fair enough but what is a tad unseemly is to punch a competitor or push them. I was pushed off a course once, it makes you angry but the best way to channel that is to run faster and beat them. Punching someone in the back because they’re Haile Gebrselessie and your nearest rival? That just makes you look foolish, especially when you end up pushing him over the line in first place.

Fighting

I haven’t seen many fights at running or athletics events. I have seen people get a bit heated with officials. Denise Lewis stood her ground, and rightly so, at the Sydney 2000 Olympics at the long jump event of the heptathlon. Coming to blows with someone at the end of your race? It’s not big and it’s not clever. Fighting with your team mate on the track in full view of the crowd? You’ve really not done yourself any favours. We’re runners, we’re meant to be lovers not fighters!

Bigotry

Running and athletics are sports that I like to think of as giving everyone an equal opportunity. They are totally inclusive which is how it should always be. No matter who you are or what you believe in it all gets left behind the start line or in the changing rooms. As competitors everyone starts equally. Which is way I was a bit disappointed by the views aired by a certain champion pole vaulter. And then having the cheek to try and back track the next day. There is no room in running and athletics for that. Fortunately at amateur level I haven’t encountered anything like this.

Cheating

I have been the victim of cheating in the past and it really sticks in the throat. It’s horrible to discover that someone had the nerve to cut a course short to win. And I have heard so many cheating stories this year. There was this story from the London Marathon this year and in Boston we had the bib faking story. There will always be cheats I guess but if you’re going to do it maybe make it believable. The guy from London would have us believe that he could run 13 miles and THEN run a world leading time for a half marathon. Dude had way too many energy gels! And that is what makes us hate a cheater, their lack of respect for the rest of us and because they basically think we’re all stupid enough to believe their excuses (see also Dopers).

Spiking someone

I have been spiked during a cross country race but I don’t think it was intentional. I do know of other team mates who had other runners run so close to their heels that they ended up getting nasty spike injuries. That’s really not cool. Those spikes could easily be a deadly weapon in the wrong hands!

Here endeth my lesson on what I believe are some of the deadly sins of running and athletics. Can you think of any more awful running transgressions? Have you got a tale of a sinful fellow runner? Or….have you got your own confession to make?

 

Human Kind

The effect that running has on people, the running of a marathon especially, never fails to amaze me. And not just on the people doing the running but the supporters and occasionally people who usually show no interest in running whatsoever. Sunday was no exception.

When I entered the Green Start area on Sunday I noticed that everyone, EVERYONE, was happy. Nerves abounded I’m sure but there were smiles everywhere and people were bubbly and chatty. I had a lovely conversation with a lady in the enormous toilet queue and she became excited for me doing London for the first time. There were nothing but good wishes being shared everywhere. At the start there was more chat and I was given advice from runners who were running their 3rd, 4th and 5th London Marathon, telling me where the tough bits were and where the crowds were the best and loudest.

As with my first marathon experience in Edinburgh the crowds did not fail to disappoint. Spectators handing out all kinds of sweets to help give us runners a much needed sugar rush and shouting all kinds of motivational phrases to help us on our way to the finish. People had given up their sunny Sunday to watch this spectacle and they were just as much part of the occasion as the runners.

At mile 5 when I twisted my ankle another runner turned round to make sure I was ok. Similarly when other runners had a stumble or tripped, other runners slowed down to make sure their fellow marathon comrade was ok and that they could carry on. Towards the finish line, one runner started wobbling and weaving, looking to be on the verge of collapse. Instead of carrying on regardless some runners moved him to the side and alerted the medics to his condition. I was continually moved by the compassion of my fellow runners.

At mile 14 on our way to Canary Wharf I spotted some of the Elite Men coming back towards us. My heart sank a bit but then it started to soar again as I realised that the runners ahead of me were cheering for the marathon legend that is Richard Whitehead. Seeing him stride past us on the other side gave many of us a lift I’m sure as we continued to run out towards the imposing forest of skyscrapers in the Wharf. I was so impressed that my fellow runners took the time to cheer for another runner despite us all probably feeling fatigued, clapping and cheering being the last thing on our minds.

When I finished I had to make my way down Horse Guards Parade to find my husband. As I limped along I phoned my parents and spoke to my eldest son. He made me laugh and then I started to cry as the emotion of the whole experience overcame me. A woman from the Children’s Trust approached me and asked if I was ok. She hugged me, wrapped me in my foil blanket and made me drink the Lucozade drink in my bag. And then she walked with me, holding my arm as I tried to find my husband (having a surname beginning with W is never ideal in these situations). I thanked her and she wished me all the best and then she was gone.

The marathon is a huge event but these little demonstrations of human kindness and the determination of the human spirit really made it for me on Sunday. I didn’t have a great race for many reasons but I felt to not finish would have been utterly absurd considering the amazing people I was running alongside, many who were running in memory of loved ones they had lost.

When I logged back on to social media and onto my messages I was astounded by the number of people who had sent me good wishes. I had uploaded the London Marathon Adidas tracker to Facebook to let people know when I had started. Friends from all parts of my life, some I haven’t spoken to in years were leaving messages of good luck and support. When the tracker showed that I had crossed the finish line the well done messages continued to come in for the rest of the night. I was totally overwhelmed by the love and support that I had been shown by so many people and it made me realise that despite the media myth that the general public never like anyone to do well, we are actually quite a nice bunch.

I keep telling myself that Sunday wasn’t a good day for me but when I think about the things that I saw and heard it was actually a spectacular 4 hours. Sport itself is a brilliant thing but on Sunday London showed me that the marathon can really bring out the best in human kind.

 

Virgin London Marathon 2014: This Is Not A Race Report

Yesterday I completed my second marathon on the streets of our capital. With very little consistent training in the bank I really had no idea what to expect. What I did know was that I needed to be realistic about how I would perform. It meant that I would probably be no where near my 3.39 PB from Edinburgh and was more likely to be near the 4-4.30 mark. That is why this is not any kind of ‘race report’ but a reflection on my experience of the London Marathon.

I think I stood on the start line a little dumbstruck. I have never taken part in a race on this scale so the sheer volume of people was just unbelievable to me. That this many people actually wanted to run 26.2 miles just amazed me and every one of them looked excited. And I *know* I was excited too but I was trying not to put too much pressure on myself. I was trying to remember to keep things conservative in the first half and see if I could build on that. All good intentions but I think I got a bit carried away. My Nike GPS had just decided it would start working again and to see 8.23 average pace on my watch got me all a bit excited because that was the pace at which I achieved my time in Edinburgh. Could I maintain it after only 10 weeks haphazard training? Well the short answer is NO.

I really don’t know what I was thinking trying to do something like that after being injured for such a long time. Maybe it’s because I know I am capable of a decent pace that ego and excitement got the better of me. So starting off way too fast was the first thing. And then it went all a bit to shit.

At mile 5 I twisted my ankle. Not just a little stumble and righting myself again. No a proper, foot all the way underneath me. All the expletives under the sun came out of my mouth and I pronounced that the other runners around me were utter c***s. Why? Because the thing that had caused me to twist my ankle was a discarded Buxton water bottle. It turns out that other runners are at times quite selfish and even though you are advised to try and toss your bottle to the side, a lot of runners will just drop them for the runner behind to step on. So whoever dropped the bottle I tripped on? You Sir/Madam are a bit of a knob.

After that I hobbled for the next mile until adrenaline kicked in. At 10k I felt a bit heavy legged. At 10 miles I felt dreadful and then for the next 9 miles I considered calling it a day. When I put my foot in a hole in the road and wrenched my right hip I really did think I would be hanging my trainers up. My hip spasmed and every incline, decline and bump in the road became painful. I became conscious that I was no longer hot but shivering and my heart felt like it was much louder than it should have been. I decided that as I had come thing far I just had to keep going but I was also worried that I would become one of the many people I had seen on the side of the road, legs above heads and barely conscious. I became a little bit afraid and that has never been anything I’ve felt before while running. And the fact I was afraid made me even more afraid!

At mile 20 I decided all I had to do was count down the miles and tick them off. All aims of going just under 4 were off and the main aim was to finish as per my original goals. Going past Big Ben as it chimed 2pm was surreal. Watching the river skyline helped from mile 23 to 24. Telling myself over and over that I would soon be with my husband for a cuddle made me feel happier inside. And then I turned the corner into the Mall and for the first time in a torturous 26 miles I finally believed I was about to finish.

So that was how my London Marathon went. It wasn’t my most favourite race. I prefer Edinburgh for so many other reasons, not just the fact I got an amazing time there. London was crowded and it was loud. At times I felt the cheering of the crowds a little intimidating and I just wanted everyone to give me some quiet time.

What I am most proud of is that I didn’t stop once. Even though for nearly all 26 miles I was having an internal battle I never once stopped dead. So mentally I am much tougher than I thought and really pretty dead chuffed that for this marathon, even though it is no where near my best, I achieved my realistic goals. Realistic is the key here because even though I have given myself a little bit of a hard time on my performance I quite simply didn’t have the training volume to back up what I am capable of. I think the marathon and I definitely have unfinished business.

Favourite Costume: Sonic the Hedgehog

WTF? Moment: 2 people carrying vacuum cleaners over their heads while running.

Funniest thing I heard a child say: ‘You do know we could save a life by handing out these jelly beans today?’

A time I laughed out loud: When I saw a poor chap walking who happened to be wearing a t-shirt with a slogan about action for lungs. I chuckled at the irony, sorry.

My favourite t-shirt: A man was wearing a Blerch t-shirt as featured on the Oatmeal blog.

Favourite band of the marathon: All the Scottish pipe bands.

Least favourite moment: Tower Bridge, it all seemed to go a bit wonky for me from that point on.

Favourite moment: Cheering on the unbelievable Richard Whitehead as he headed on from mile 22 as I was running to mile 14.

Celebs I passed: Tony from Hollyoaks. For a while I wondered why people were shouting ‘Hollyoaks’ and then the penny dropped.

Celebs that passed me: Katherine Grainger, but she can have this one, she is Olympic champion.

Daftest sweet to give to runners who are sweating: Malteasers. When I realised what I had grabbed I was like ‘ewwww’ and then had to wipe my chocolately hand over my sweaty vest.

C*** of the race: Whoever dropped the bottle that I subsequently sprained my ankle on.

Today my left foot and ankle are throbbing and I am having difficulty walking on it. I think my efforts from yesterday require a couple of weeks off. Some rest and rehabilitation are more than needed. I know injury free there is better running in me. To be continued.

Labour and Love and Running

Exactly six years ago on a Wednesday morning, around 5 am, I started having my first contractions of my first labour. I didn’t have a great labour and it didn’t go the way I had hoped it would but at the end of it I had a beautiful baby boy. In some ways labour and birth stories and very similar to marathon stories: the more horrific and gory the details the more likely we are to share them or the more people want to hear them, or so we think anyway.

Six years ago things had started off as I had pretty much expected, in the way that so many races do. I had read books and I had done my research. I had prepared my body in the best way I could and I had attended natural birthing classes to learn all the techniques for coping with labour. But as with races, not everything can be predicted and even though you do your best to prepare, sometime things fall out of your hands.

My first labour took me to the brink and was painful in ways that I never thought it possible for a human to cope with. It was a test of endurance of the human body and forty hours later ended in us being rushed to theatre to have a caesarean section. Not exactly the blissful birth I had hoped for. It was bloody and horrible and frightening. My son had to be given help to breath when he was born and I felt  bruised and battered from surgery not to mention physically and mentally exhausted (as an aside I love it that they do this to women and then go ‘here now look after your baby’). But when I held him for the first time, all that pain and tiredness felt insignificant compared to the love I felt for the boy I held in my arms.

‘He’s thinking, what the heck just happened to me?!’

I really don’t know where I’m going with this but I’m sure I’m just a bit emotional because of the day it is and because I’m tapering. And my story isn’t the worst of the birth stories you hear. But when I run I often think about my first labour and I remind myself that what I’m feeling isn’t the worst that a body can experience. It is running, it is not a matter of life or death. During my first marathon at mile 19 I had a wobble and then reminded myself that a marathon wasn’t going to be 40 hours, a marathon would only be a fraction of that time and so I kept my legs moving.

I know this will mean nothing to people who haven’t had babies or don’t want babies but if anything a labour shows what a body can succumb to and it’s ability to come out the other side, and to heal. In fact I think that’s what it taught me, that if I could have that experience then there should be almost no limits to the endurance and pain tolerance of the human body.

But in stark difference to a marathon, I wasn’t given a medal at the end of labour, I was given something to cherish in a completely different way. Someone to nurture and grow and support for as long as he needs me. I love him and his brother more than anything in the entire world and I hope as they get bigger I can share my love for running with them (although rugby seems to be winning that argument right now).

Post Park Running age 2

So in just under two weeks time, when I’m standing on the start line at London I might have a little think about how different it was six years ago and how blessed I am to have two healthy, happy little boys. I will put one foot in front of the other and if it gets tough I will remind myself that my body has been through something a lot tougher. And I will think about the hugs that I will get once I travel back home after the marathon. Marathon running is a labour of love and it can get me down with niggles and wobbles but it is nothing compared to the love I feel for my boys, who have no real idea what a marathon is or what a PB is. To those two boys it’s just running and in a way it makes London seem slightly less scary.

 

You’ve Got This

This post is dedicated to anyone having a pre marathon wobble (myself included!)

You are getting closer to the start line of what might be the most frightening but also the most exhilarating thing you have ever done.

Six months or more ago you committed yourself to train in the wind, rain, sleet and snow for one day which seemed forever away.

There have been ups and downs, good runs and bad runs, training sessions that haven’t gone the way you wanted but you never threw in the towel.

You are a runner, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

The miles that you have run have made you stronger and are there in your legs waiting to carry you further than you’ve ever been before.

Draw on anything or anyone for inspiration you might need but don’t forget that you are your own hero.

Once you’re done, once you have crossed that line, no one can take that away from you.

No matter what happens, the people who count most in the world will be immensely proud of you.

Enjoy it, revel in it, try and take as much of it in as you can.

You are harder, you are tougher than you once thought. You are about to surprise everyone. You’ve got this.

10 Weeks (Or How Not To Train For A Marathon)

About twelve weeks ago I was chatting to a patient in clinic who happened to be a decent club runner. I told him of my own injury woes and how I felt I was running out of time to train for the London Marathon.

‘Don’t worry about it, you can train for a marathon in ten weeks if you’ve run one before’.

And so it appears I have taken my patient’s words quite literally. I didn’t really start training properly for the marathon on the 13th of April until five weeks ago. To date I have only done three long runs: an hour and a half, a two hour and a two hour fifty minutes. It was only over this weekend that I allowed myself to run on consecutive days (no long run this week). Previous to this I would have rested or jumped on the turbo trainer. It has been a higgledy piggledy mess of a training programme.

Well I don’t actually have a training programme. When I came to look at programmes there was nothing that was suitable for a runner just coming out of injury. Looking at them just made me panic about the runs I wouldn’t be able to do at the very early stages so I decided to take an alternative approach: listen to my own body and create my own programme as I have gone along.

There have been no tempo runs, no fartleks, no hill sprints and no real pattern, or rhyme or reason to what I’ve been doing. All there has been is a gradual build up of time back on my feet again. I wouldn’t suggest anyone follow anything I’ve done because it has been a process that can only personally fit me.

I have tried to vary things from time to time but because injury still doesn’t seem that far behind me I continue to hedge my bets and err very much on the side of caution with all my runs. If my legs have felt more tired than usual then I have opted not to run. If I have been aware of that familiar niggle in my calf/achilles then I have jumped on the turbo trainer or gone swimming instead. If I have felt unwell then I have stretched my rest day to two rest days.

To be quite frank I am winging it. I am blagging marathon training this time like the London Marathon is an exclusive club and I want my name on the list. I have no time in mind and I have no goal other than to be at the start line with the aim to finish.  I have no idea how to pace myself and I haven’t used a GPS in so long that the only way I know how to run right now is by how I feel. It’s scary but also exciting. It’s going down to the wire and the only advice I can give to my fellow runners is ‘Don’t try this at home’.

Keeping The Faith

This past year of running (or not running) has been unbelievably hard. I could probably put the number of comfortable runs I’ve had as being in just double figures. Over the year I’ve experienced probably all the emotions possible to associate with being injured:

• Denial at being injured, continuing to train over the top of niggles. Trying to cheat my body that things haven’t been that bad.
• Anger at not being able to run. Anger at everyone who is running. Anger that I was missing training and my source of release.
• Regret at missing out on runs I know I would enjoy. Regret at pulling out of races I know I would have been thrilled to run if I had been truly fit.
• Immense sadness as the length of time not running continues to slip by.

The last few months has seen me moping and probably making some really bad decisions regarding running. I tried to continue via another form of training which in hindsight has probably compounded my injuries and prevented me from healing properly. The problem was that the elation I get from this other form of training is similar to the elation I get from running, and so I continued, even though it was probably making things worse.

Now though I feel like I’ve turned a corner. I’ve switched off the cry baby running side of my brain and forced it to listen to the Physio side of my brain. I’ve gone back to the basics of healing times, tissue loading and rehabilitation. I am aiming to get myself pain free and comfortable and build a better base for my running.

I can’t say I’m not panicking, after all I have marathon to run in April. Reading social media has also been hard as I read that other runners get frustrated by other runners who they see as ‘less committed’ or not putting in the ‘hard graft’. I even read someone suggest that there should be an air miles type solution to places in the London Marathon. All I can say to this is that I earned my place with my time and I do deserve to be there. I haven’t been running as much but I am working hard to get myself fit enough to train for April.

So I am working hard to keep the faith. I am working to make sure I will be there at the start line in April. In my wobbly moments I have considered withdrawing but after starting my new ‘get back to running’ mission I feel slightly more hopeful. I have always been committed to running and London will be a dream come true. Never doubt the commitment, passion or graft of the injured runner. We have to work that extra bit harder, physically and emotionally to get back on those trails.