crap, crap, crap and david beckham

It may surprise you to learn, dear reader, that my running isn’t entirely comprised of world records, near world records and personal bests. In fact, I have been known to run – gasp – slowly.

Last night, for example, was an absolute dog of a run. Yes, it was hot and yes I hadn’t exactly prepared well for it, but that’s no excuse.

It was around 13k along the Mullum Mullum creek and back. It started slow, got slower and then ground to a stuttering, stitched halt about 20 times on the way back.

There were harsh words spoken. I have a vague, sweaty sort of memory of saying to myself semi-audibly:

“You’re a ***ing ****ing unfit lazy *****”

Insert your favourite four-letter-word, as required.

Turning to more positive things
From the Herald Sun online:

Jogger left to die in gutter after hit and run

Man, that’s not positive! I give up. It’s no use.

David Beckham
Plenty of people tell me I remind them of “Becks”.

Truly.

Not the looks or footballing talent or stupid wife, obviously – mainly the effeminate voice and low IQ.

Still, it’s something.

Anyway – he played in Sydney last night against, funnily enough, Sydney FC. He played pretty well and scored a nice goal from a free-kick. The rest of his team aren’t exactly world-beaters though. They play like they’re on valium. Ah well.

in circles

km: 9, for the week so far: 31.

If you will humour me for a little while, I imagine you, readers, as a pretty sensitive bunch. I picture you with emotional intelligence and empathy fairly oozing from your pores.

So did you read between the lines yesterday?

No? You missed it? I’ll fill you in…

Last night I’d arranged to go for a run with a friend and her workmates. Just a quick lap of the tan. For some god-awful reason this made me quite nervous.

I always run on my own, and this suits me fine. I can run at my own pace, for as long as I want, and everything’s fine.

I’ve also gone well passed worrying about talking to myself while running, or generally acting eccentric.

Way back in the beginning of this blog I described running as:

some sort of zen level of boredness. Increasingly wild delusions followed by a brief moment of stillness as everything goes grey

But with other people around, it’s all different. I’m uneasy about putting other people through that. Does that make any sense at all?

Are you mad?

I’ve always had a suspicion that people who do long distance running are a little – how to say this politely? – maladjusted.

When I read of people like Dean Karnazes talking with a sort of hideous coolness of running recovery runs home from New York to San Francisco, I have to suspect we’re dealing with people whose minds are somewhere out where the trains don’t run.

Okay, that’s a fairly extreme example, but I suspect most runners have had little “what the hell am I doing this for” moments at some point in their careers.

I remember back at the start of the Melbourne Marathon in 2005, feeling a lot like King Lear venturing out into the storm. It probably didn’t help that I was too nervous to sleep the night before. Ditto, the rain and wind and crazy hair.

I’m not saying all marathoners howl at the moon, or if they do that there’s anything wrong with it. It’s a pretty harmless form of lunacy. No-one really gets hurt (last Sunday aside).

Crash and burn

km: 23.6645, for the week: 57

Conversation overheard in my front room at about 16:00 yesterday:

DB “my god you look terrible”
JRuns “I feel terrible”
DB “quick, have something to drink”
JRuns “no thanks, I need to go die in the corner somewhere”

Rewind to lunch-time, and if you were somewhere in the Mooroolbark region, you would have seen me setting off for my weekly long run, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed, little knowing the ordeal ahead of me.

Yes, it was possibly my worst long run, and very possibly the worst run ever, full stop.

At less than 2k into it, I had to stop and walk up a fairly innocuous hill. I was sweating like a pig in a pizza oven, and even detected a bit of calf-tightening.

So, at this point I was sweaty, tired, dehydrated, sore.

I persisted though on the grounds I was:

1. damn stubborn
2. at least 10k from home, with no mobile to call for help.

At 8k I took a spectacular tumble coming down the hill from Montrose. Somehow I managed to land like I was doing a long-jump, with limbs all somehow pointing forward.

So, at this point add bleeding, dirty and undignified to the list.

I struggled on, took a left into Colchester road and then right into the Dandy creek trail.

By this stage I was giving new meaning to the term “run yourself ugly”. In fact I was verging on “run yourself unconscious”.

I had, however, reached that stage when it’s easier to keep going than to stop. I was able to cruise along the DC trail, which is mercifully flat on the whole. I made it all the way to Wantirna road without major incident. I did scare a few pensioners and small animals, but they’ll live.

At this point I wanted to push on towards Koomba park, but had the feeling I was pushing into fainting territory. I turned right and headed up the hill towards Ringwood. The next few kilometres are a bit of a blur. I ended up with some gatorade somehow, so I must have either gone into a shop or robbed a small child.

Somehow I ended up at home, after almost falling over in the video store (don’t ask). So, over 2 slow, painful hours later the long run was over.

I still feel pretty crappy this morning. I don’t know exactly why this happened, but I’ve made some guesses below.

Lessons from the experience:

• Even if I’ve eaten a big serve of curry the night before, I still need to eat some breakfast.
• 24 degrees is too hot to run without good hydration.
• I need to sleep before a long run
• If I’m feeling really bad, I shouldn’t keep running out of subbornness.

so, to begin

I have very reluctantly joined the self-publishing, blogging world, characteristically about 18 months after everyone else in the known universe. Being just that little bit behind cool is such a nicer place to be. All the hard work is done, and everything comes with a simple GUI that takes away any possibility of independent thought. Lovely.

Anyway, this blog is notionally about running. Mine mainly, although I’m not opposed to other people running as long as they don’t go faster than me.

Running itself is a little boring. One foot in front of the other. Repeat until unconsciousness. Same old same-old. I guess the reason you do it is to go to some sort of zen level of boredness. Increasingly wild delusions followed by a brief moment of stillness as everything goes grey; then down you go crumpled in a heap in some suburban gutter.

So here’s a picture of me, which apparently I need to post if I want to be able to put it in my profile. I’m not used to this, but it seems a pretty awkward work-around to me. Ah well.