soulchaser

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06/10/07: Injured!

I was expecting to keep this updated fairly regularly, but I'm afraid that I've been hobbling around with a gammy knee ever since my accidental 10 miler 2 weeks ago. Worryingly, it doesn't seem to be getting any better, and with only 3 weeks to go before marathon number one, I'm more than a little concerned.

To make matters worse, I've suddenly contracted Freshers Flu, and feel like a big fat blob of gooey gunk, not the lean, mean, marathon running machine I had hoped to be by now.

Don't worry. I'm still doing it. All of it. How can I not thanks to the internet and my big mouth. But lets just take it easy on the times when we get round to fundraising shall we? I reckon if I beat 5 hours on the first one, it'll be worthy of national press coverage.  

23/09/07: Bodmin Moor, Road, 9.5 miles, 1hr 23mins

With less than 5 weeks to go before Britains hardest road marathon, I figured it was time to put some training in. I had slept in the van next to Colliford lake on Bodmin Moor, so decided to run what I figured was about 6 miles around it. 

Snowdon is the only road race of the 6, and after just a few minutes of pounding the tarmac and feeling the joints in my legs smashing and crunching with each step I was grateful for that fact. I'm not a road runner. I'm not a runner, really, but I do enjoy scampering about on tracks and trails. Roads, to my mind, are infinitely more dull and more punishing. But pound them I must for the next month at least.

I didn't exactly get off to a flying start. More a collapsing stumble as my legs looked at each other in panic when they realised what was about to happen. I remember being as light as a feather when I was a kid, running around with wings on my feet, not even touching the ground. Today, I felt like a fat old man. A man drunk on the fat of life, and as I ran, Hemmingways's line about burining off the fat of the soul came to me. My legs felt like tree trunks, not strong and sturdy, but a stiff, stationary and resistant to movement. My body, equally wooden, felt like a barrel full of rolling, splashing, heavy ale. A cry of  "run Forest run" would have been accurate for terribly wrong reasons.

But I plodded round what I thought was about 6 miles, in the wind and the rain, without stopping, despite my body pleading with me to do just that, and eventually my big ol' ugly van emerged in the mist, and I spontaneously threw my arms up and cheered! My time was a little disappointing, but I was encouraged that I could keep my legs running for that length of time. Before I wrote this I checked the route, and it turns out that I actually ran 9.5 miles! My knees have taken the first of many batterings to come, but I feel as though I might actually be able to run this thing :)

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