yasso

Last Tuesday I went out an a limb, promising a session of the dreaded Yasso 800’s. Having gone so far as allowing my mouth to write the cheque, yesterday it was time for my legs to cash it.

You know what: after all that, the Yassos aren’t that bad. I can run 800 metres in 3 minutes pretty comfortably. With a couple of minutes restful slower running I can do it again without too much difficulty. I can repeat 10 times too. The overwhelming feeling at the end of the sessions was:

Is that it?

If only running a marathon was that easy.

As my grammatically-challenged colleagues would say, there was one “learning” to be gained: I can’t judge my pace all that well. I ought to be able to run 800 metres at a consistent pace. I can’t though – my times were all over the shop: 2.55, 3.00, 2.50, 2.48, 2.57 etc. Oh well. Luckily there are pace groups at the marathon.

I think it worked out close to 20k, including there and back.

Team Samsung
Having spent the weekend alternatively grating teeth, chewing up the carpet, pacing the halls with fevered brow and, in nocturnal periods, howling at the moon, I have now come to an uneasy peace. I accept it now: my race pack will come when it’s meant to come.

If there is a fate that rules our ends, specifically the running apparel side of things, I merely hope it arrives before Sunday. That’s all I’ll say on the subject.

Football
I’m fairly indifferent to the various modes of football in this country, but I did tune in to Saturday’s grand final, expecting a riveting display of athleticism and a pulsating contest.

I was a little disappointed. I almost felt sorry for the losers, until I remembered they’re from Adelaide, they wear teal-coloured jumpers and they’re called the “Power”.

They deserve it.

New record
I would kinda like to have a marathon PB within an hour of the world record. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently it is, as Haile Gebrselassie has gone ahead and made my task that much more difficult over the weekend.

2 hours, 4 minutes, 26 seconds. The bastard. There oughtta be a law.

Well done to Lee Troop, who ran a frankly super-human time of 2 hours 10 minutes to come in 6th.

football

I’m not sure I was really on the ball today. Well thought-through logic was conspicuous by its absence.

I refer, in this case, to my decision to avoid the football crowds in the city by running to the tan, via the MCG. Not so clever, in retrospect.

Still, what’s done is done. In the end there didn’t seem to be so many people there, other than a couple of over-excited Geelong fans getting a head start on boozing and about a million fancy-shmancy tents spread all over the joint.

Since when do we allow all of East Melbourne to be turned into a gigantic version of the Melbourne Cup birdcage? Isn’t football about cold pies, warm beer and shouting “Ball” at complete strangers?

It was last-time I went. Then again, that was 1984: Hawthorn v Geelong at VFL park/Waverly.

Perhaps I’m losing my touch.

Running
13k worth this lunch-time. Fairly easily paced. Just a few more training sessions to go until the big one.

Team Samsung
Where is my shirt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(getting a little stressed, can you tell?

just call the bloody election, please….

When it comes to epic battles of political ideas, I’m as big a fan as anyone. I’d also agree that Australian politics have gotten a fair bit more interesting in the post “Kevin07” era. I’m generally in favour of politicians running around the country throwing out fistfuls of cash left, right and centre, on the grounds that one day they might throw some at me.

But it’s gone on too long. If they keep on this way, there’ll be no more money left to “promise”. After all, it’s our money, from our taxes. Just call the election!!!!!

From the age today:

… Mr Howard could address the matter while campaigning in Macarthur in Sydney’s west today…

If he’s out “campaigning” today, he’s obviously not doing what he’s paid to do: govern the country.

So, if he’s conducting an election campaign, call the election!!!! It’s not a difficult concept to grasp, even Alexander Downer might be able to understand if you say it to him slowly.

Running
If the bit above strikes you as being more assertive and positive than average, never fear: it’s just the post-run happy-juice talking. I had a particularly enjoyable, fast, trip around the tan. So fast in fact I wasn’t able to jump off in time and ended up swinging around a second time.

Even the hordes of Show-bound school kids and harassed-looking parents didn’t phase me. Federation Square, which had transformed itself into a heaving mass of hormones and acne in honour of the final 12 warblers from ‘Strayun Oidol: it had no effect on my serene state of mind.

Running’s good like that.

Music
I wrote a post a few weeks ago, the main thrust being that Patti Smith is crazy. Well, today I take it back. She’s not crazy, but she is a little peculiar.

I was listening to “Birdland” on my run today. Beautiful song in it’s way, but it really bugs me the way she keeps saying:

all the long, black funeral cars

Hearse, woman. Hearse. Haven’t you ever heard the word?

I think I need to have a lie down.

money

As if the state of my bank balance wasn’t proof enough, I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that I don’t understand money.

Consider this:

A few weeks ago, the world’s financial markets were in disarray because a whole bunch of banks in America turned out to be giving out loans to any Tom, Dick or Harry with or without a job, assets or any means of support.

I believe they call it “sub-prime mortgages”. The mortgages were sub-prime in the same way Simone Warne’s marriage was ie. you can pretend it’s okay if you really want to, but anyone with any sense can see it’s not gonna last.

The inevitable results were:

• banks going broke,
• stocks heading into subterranean territory and
• stockbrokers leaping from 8th floor windows.

Today I hear, Shares have hit another high:

The Australian sharemarket is in unchartered [sic] territory, having risen to a record of 6490.7 points.

What’s changed? Why was the world coming to an end two weeks ago, and now we’re richer than ever before? I don’t understand.

How about this:

France is a perfectly good country in Europe. You may have heard of them: they make cheese, they’re rude to foreigners, host the Rugby world cup and have a little bike race in July. Anyway, it turns out the entire country is broke. This is from their Prime Minister!

So France is down at the World Bank begging for an overdraft while Myer, whose shops are going up in flames like so many overpriced Joan of Arcs, is raking in the profits.

How does that make sense, I ask you?

yassooo

God help me, the Melbourne Marathon is less than two weeks away. It doesn’t bear thinking about, really.

After an ill-timed bout of unwellness, my sad excuse for a sub-conscious mind (SCM) has spent the past week fatally undermining my progress with a series of delusions centring around classical music, phantom ailments and the conviction I couldn’t even run to catch the bus.

Thankfully the old SCM is currently ditching what was the most god-awful funk of all time and is pulling itself into mid-season form. Now, I’m tentatively imagining myself attached loosely to the back-side of the 3 hour “bus”.

Who knows?

Team Samsung
Thanks to Clarkey, I’ve hitched up with the Team Samsung folks, who very kindly paid my registration fee on the condition I wear Samsung regalia from head to toe. That’s all well and good. I have no problems selling myself out to the corporate dollar. Heck, I would tattoo Samsung across my forehead if it got me a free pair of shoes.

It hasn’t come to that though: yet. There’s no truth to the rumour I’ve changed my first-born son’s name to “Samsung” (although, I’ve heard worse).

The only thing that concerns me is that the official pacers will also be wearing Samsung gear. I’d hate to think there will be people who attach themselves to MY coat-tails, hoping for a nice steady pace. God help you if you do: you’re in for an interesting run.

Yasso
If you know what “Yasso” means, you probably also know most people think they’re a bit dodgy. (For those of you in the dark, Yasso 800’s are a form of training, where you run a series of 800 metre intervals at pace; it’s meant to be a predictor of your marathon time).

I know most people think they’re as dodgy as Shane Warne’s marital vows but, much like Simone Warne and every second barmaid in the UK, I’m going to do it anyway. Physically, I need a training run this Sunday of around 16k; mentally I need something that will prove I can run fast. Yassos fit the bill.

They worked for Clarkey, and he’s never wrong.

Running
Just after I filed my last epistle, I headed out for a dose of fartleking. In this case, it took me around Princess Park a couple of times and back to the office. Is there much point doing strenuous speed work at this point? Probably not, but it’s good to do a bit of a tune-up, particularly when you have a pesky SCM to keep a lid on.

12.something km at a pinch over 4 minute ks.

Simone Warne

A late, but extremely competitive, entry in the 2007 head-slappingly-stupid comments awards. This one’s from Simone Warne/Callahan on the occasion of discovering her ex-husband has cheated on her again:

I’m angry that I was fooled again … I can’t believe he’s cheated on me again.

If that’s true, she’s possibly the only person in the western world who has any problem believing it. It’s not exactly out of character for the guy.

Running
I shelved the depressing classical music for the weekend and ran along with the headphones ringing with the joyous sounds of Cody Chestnutt, De la Soul and the birds a-twittering. 13k on Saturday morning and around 25k on Sunday morning.

Both runs were okay, but not pushing too hard. It is tapering period after all.

Dandenong Creek trail
I had a first go at the new section of the DC trail yesterday. I don’t like it. I don’t like the concrete, I don’t like the lane markings, I don’t like the huge swathe they’ve cut through the park to get the new trail in.

It was obviously built by people who build freeways: on/off ramps and plenty of room to fit a fat-arse car through. What was wrong with the old gravel track?

Skins
I’m always happy to receive comments on this blog, especially from my blogging/running colleagues. I must say this one, from Morsey last Friday left me a touch puzzled:

Shouldn’t a photo of you in your tights have been posted on your blog by now?

There speaks a blogger who has never seen me in tights.

Trust me Morsey, there are some things you don’t want to see. Anyway, as a blogger, I have a duty of care. There might be kids watching this…

Plus, there is the Paris Hilton factor: you post one harmless little porn video on the net and it’s still circulating around the place 10 years later, blighting your attempts at a serious music career.

I too might like to be a serious singer/celebutante one day. So: no tights.

obscure seinfeld references

Two whole days have passed since your last installment of JRuns. Two days in which your world has probably grown a little darker, more lonely and without hope. Never mind, I’m back.

Where have I been? Nowhere in particular, you know: around.

Actually I’ve been at work, earning the daily stipend; tapping away at the old PC with the headphones on full. For some reason I’ve been listening to a lot of really depressing classical music, starting with Gabriel Faure’s Requiem and heading downhill from there.

So, I’ve been going all Crazy Joe Devola. Joe, if you recall, wasn’t much of a blogger. He was more into dressing as a clown, putting the kybosh on people and sobbing uncontrollably to opera.

As you do. It’s kinda fun, though embarrassing in your cubicle at work.

Running
13k yesterday lunchtime, and another run scheduled tonight. I’ll have a long-ish run on Sunday morning, possibly with some of the Ausrun crew.

Marathon
My marathon kit still hasn’t arrive. I sent off a slightly panicked email to the organiser-dude yesterday. Apparently the people at Team Samsung had a bit of a stuff-up and I should expect it next week. Cross fingers.

Still, I’m running for free, so I shouldn’t complain.

heckling

Imagine, if you will, you were a fly on the wall of the Jruns marital bedroom around 9 o’clock last night (don’t worry, this isn’t going anywhere x-rated). Mrs JH was in bed and I was emerging from the ensuite pulling on my flashy new pair of Skins; quite a difficult thing to do standing up.

If you were that fly on the wall, you would have heard the following exchange:

Wifey, “Gee I love your new tights, you look just like a ballerina”
Self, “Gee thanks”.

Great, thanks darling. Way to boost my confidence.

And there was I yesterday, complaining you don’t hear any interesting new heckling these days. That’ll show me.

Running
Last night was my mini-long run, meant in place of the missed LSD last weekend. It was 26k, just over 2 laps of a course around the local streets near my place. It wasn’t the best I’ve ever run by a long shot, but it was okay, considering I was getting over a bout of sickness.

There’s a bit towards the end, near Ringwood East football ground, where I like to let out the throttle a bit and, as my cycling friends would say, “fang it” for a couple of kms. I held back last night, on the grounds I haved to run a marathon in a few weeks, but I still managed to hit 18k/h very comfortably (according to a passing wheelchair-ist with an on-board spedometer).

Mental stuff
I may have given the impression yesterday that my confidence had been given a bit of a jolt by the whole vomit scenario. That was probably true. That being said, looking back through the archives, it seems freakouts are pretty common at around this point in the marathon training.

So what comes next?

1. Phobias of tripping over steps and twisting my ankle. Check.
2. Phobias of getting sick from people on the train. Check. (By the way, have you ever listened to the chorus of sniffles, grunts and coughs on your average train? It’s disgusting).
3. Irrational exhuberance. Check.
4. Irrational depression. Check.

Looks like everything’s progressing as per usual.

Update
I took a bit of a stroll this lunch-time around the tan and then over the final stages of the marathon course. See route on mapmyrun.com. It felt slow and laboured, but seems to have been at around 4 minute ks. That’s reassuring, except it means my sense of pace is way out.

Lucky they have pacers at MM07.