hot running, cold morning

My marathon program, such as it is, has passed into the Hill phase, which doesn’t exactly fill me with joy. I’ve kind of enjoyed the conditioning phase, which just involves running lots of k’s, and doesn’t care too much about quality.

Now, and for the next 4 weeks, I’m supposed to be spending all my days leaping up tall mountains in a single bound, pausing only to outrun Usain Bolt on the rare flat bits. Terrific. Still, whatever doesn’t kill me blah, blah, blah.

This morning’s run didn’t actually killed me, but it gave it a red hot go. I’ve just checked the Bureau of Meteorology website, and when I was running (about 5:30am) it was actually 1.8 degrees.

Reading that made me feel better, because it was the first time this year I’ve actually felt cold. I thought perhaps I was getting soft, or sick. If Melbourne keeps this up, I may need to rethink my shorts and singlet outfit.

Still, I persevered. I did my usual hill course, which involves 4 laps of a 2km course, each loop includes 4 steepish climbs that take around a minute each. The focus was on having nice bouncy, springy technique, with a straight back and the knees lifted up pretty high. The stuff I’m reading suggests doing this sort of exaggerated technique is a good way to build strength.

When that was done I headed over to a nice flat spot near my house and did 6 long-ish strides, focusing on a fast camber.

What with warm-up and cool-down (ha!) it worked out to be just under 15km. Nice.

I’m so hardcore

Yes, it’s true, I’m completely hardcore. The hardcorest possible runner there is.

Last night I slept in my running gear (aside from the shoes), the alarm set for 5am.

This morning I woke up, pulled on my shoes and set out for a run, only to discover it was raining. But I still went running.

So hardcore. So tough.

An hour later and 13km down the road, including 6.8km of hill reps, and I made it home. By that stage, what had started out as an almost pleasant light drizzle had soaked through to my skin.

You know you’re wet when you can hear splashing inside your shoes, and the tips of your fingers are wrinkly, like you’ve been in the bath too long.

But did I care? Did I hell! And that’s because I’m tough, indomitable, hardcore.

You better believe it.

Running
The run this morning was based around a set of 6 reps of an approximately 600 metre hill near my place. I tried to run strongly, quickly and with good form going up, and the downhills were at an easier pace. Plus warmup and cool-down (not that cooling was much of an issue, what with the rain and all). A pleasing session.

Barnaby news
I really would like to put Barnaby Joyce behind me, but I couldn’t resist passing on this piece of wisdom, quoted in the Guardian online:

every time you open the fridge and a little light goes on, it is to remind you that Mr Rudd is taxing you and also to stop the butter from getting scared

The man is either some sort of genius, operating on a level I don’t understand, or he’s mad as a cut snake. Possibly both.

a day off, thankfully

This marathon training business is all fine and dandy while things are going well. You wake every morning, jump out of bed raring to go, and spend your days tearing up and down hills and eating up the miles like some two-legged Ferrari.

But it doesn’t last. Sooner or later the volume of training gets you down, and then you start dreading the alarm clock, as it means you have to drag your leaden thighs out in the cold and punish them for some long-forgotten crime.

I’m not saying I’m at that point yet, but I’ve lost a touch of the old joie-de-vivre this week.

I ran a particularly tough 20km last night. It was basically from one end of Mount Dandenong Road to the other, (Ringwood to Montrose) plus an extra bit to get to my house. It was a touch hilly, and very dark, and I’d been up since 4:30am watching Champions League and going to work.

Then I woke up this morning and realise I was supposed to do a bloody killer session combining tempo and hills. Who came up with that idea?

Anyway, I did it, thought not particularly well. I did 6 45 second reps on Anderson street, then 3 quarters of a lap of the tan at what was supposed to be tempo pace. I suspect the tempo was supposed to be something along the lines of “vivace” but it was for more like “larghissimo” (a little classical music gag for the musically literate amongst you).

It may not have been a good run, but it was long. In my delirium I seriously miscalculated the distance and ended up running 15.5km instead of 12.

Oh well.

A day off beckons tomorrow. Just what the doctor ordered.

tough

As I wrote last week, it turns out Mitsubishi Magnas weren’t designed to be driven in reverse across 2 lanes of traffic at high speed and then smashed into trees.

Bloody cheap modern manufacturing. They just don’t make cars like they used to.

I’m picking up the new car this afternoon. Let’s hope it is a little tougher.

To be on the safe side, I’m not intending to try the reverse into trees trick again and I’ll be trying to make sure spiders stay away, at least when the lovely wife is driving.

Running
I was way tired last night, having been up early on Wednesday and Thursday to watch the Champions League semi-finals. Unfortunately, the marathon program said a mid-week long run was on the cards, and what the program wants, the program gets.

So, off I set at around 8pm for a 20km slog. It’s simply not possible to map out a 20km route near me that is reasonably well provided with street lighting and tolerably flat. The route I chose was well-lit for about 19km, but I spent between kms 2 and 3 pretty much blinded by the high-beams from oncoming traffic and striding forward into a black void.

Also, the hills. There’s a particular stretch of Canterbury Road that runs from Heatherdale road up to Mitcham Road. I’m not a big fan of that bit, let me tell you. It just seems to go on for unnatural length of time.

Aside from the black void and the mountains, it was a fairly good run. Here it is on mapmyrun.com.

April stats
I ended up running 375km for April, which was pretty strong for me. There were 24 running days and 6 rest days. There were 4 runs over 28km.

I’ve noticed improved fitness. I’m coping with the training a lot better and running with more fluency.

Next month will be the heaviest of the marathon program. I’d imagine 400km is possible.

that can’t be right

I woke up ridiculously early this morning, as is my wont, and headed out for a run. These early runs have their good points, in a “what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” type way, but they’re not a lot of fun. They also don’t tend to results in terribly fast times – I find it takes me 20 minutes for the legs to warm up and 40 minutes for the brain to kick into gear.

So anyway, a run at 5am this morning, and not even an easy run. I did my little hill rep session, plus warm up, cool down and 6 strides at the end. It worked out to be 13.55km.

The funny thing is, my stopwatch said 51 minutes. That can’t be right!

I do not run that fast at 5am, up hills. It doesn’t happen. I think we’ll file this under “defective equipment”.

gyms are evil

The sky is blue. The ocean is wet. Mount Everest is a long way up. Gyms are evil. All pretty self-evidently true statements. It’s hardly worth thinking about them really.

I only ever go near the places (gyms) when:

1. it’s either 40 degrees outside or raining cats and dogs and looking like staying that way
2. its been days since I last ran and
3. I simply CAN’T wait

In those conditions I’ll go into a gym, pay whatever it costs and run on the treadmill. I should add, this has only ever happened once, and it was not entirely successful.

However, last week being the week that it was, and running outside looking indistinguishable from suicide, I went into the gym next to my office in the city, thinking I’d have a quick session on the treadmill. If only it were so easy.

Me: How much does it cost for a one-off session in the gym?
Girl behind counter (GBC): If you’ll just wait one minute, I’ll arrange for one of our membership consultants to come and discuss plans with you.
Me: No, you misunderstand me. I don’t want a membership, I just want to use the gym once.
GBC: Oh, but I don’t handle membership queries. Just wait a minute and the consultant will be with you.
Me: But I don’t want a membership, and I don’t want a contract. Can’t you tell me how much it would cost?
GBC: I don’t handle that sort of information. The membership consultant will be with you shortly.
Me: Forget about it.

I’d seriously rather die of heatstroke somewhere between the city and the tan than have to sit through some sales pitch and get locked into some plan.

Running
I didn’t end up running during the week thanks to the extremely humble functionary at the gym-that-will-remain-nameless, but I did run this morning. In something of a repeat of last weekend’s stupidity, I had a long-ish run incorporating a bit of a mountain and long stretches of what can only be described as “goat-tracks”.

I started before the dawn, heading along the Dandenong Creek Trail right to the end at Liverpool road, then up (up being the operative word) the hill to Olinda. Then along a very deserted Mount Dandenong Tourist Road to Sassafrass, and then down towards the Basin. Then home.

It was 29.6km at a fairly gentle pace – due to all the goat tracks. Here it is on mapmyrun.com.

If you want some advice from a man of the world, here it is: if you happen to be running down from Sassafrass to the Basin early on Sunday morning, avoid the Old Coach Road like the plague. There’s a succession of very vocal, very angry and very un-leashed dogs right the way down the road. There’s one particular doberman that chased me for a while, giving me something of a fright. The dog gave me the very strong impression it was about to take a big bloody bite out of my throat.

I wasn’t so keen on the idea. I like my throat to remain intact: it’s one of my favourite bits.

all downhill

Hills are a bit of a bugger really, aren’t they? I mean – you work your guts out, running, walking, staggering, crawling to the top of the things and when you get to the top you justifiably feel as if the worst is over.

After all – they’ve even invented a saying for this very situation: it’s all downhill from here. As I understood it, that’s supposed to imply every thing’s easy-street from here on in.

In reality, going down is about three times as fast, but it also takes your quads and bashes them with a meat tenderiser. And not gently, either.

The family members are not exactly brimming over with sympathy either. They seem to feel that if I choose to run up a mountain then I deserve whatever I get.

Sigh.

Leonard Cohen
In all the excitement I neglected to mention the Leonard Cohen concert on Saturday night. I’m a bit of a fan – no, make that a FAN – so I’d probably pay to watch him snoring, but he was surprisingly entertaining. He was in fine voice – for him – and the band was great. He played for an astonishing 2 and a half hours plus interval, and skipped on and off the stage like some bizarre 75 year-old leprichaun, even in the 5th encore.

And the music was great. Bird on a Wire, which I’ve never really liked, became a really cool blues number. Hallelujah, which probably everyone was waiting for, was also inspiring, completely different but on a similar level to the Jeff Buckley version.

A very happy JH left the Yarra Valley on Saturday night. Little did I know what the morrow would bring, mountain-wise.

slight undulation

A lovely run this morning. A beautiful, clear cool morning in splendorous natural surrounds; invigorating conversation courtesy of Messrs Supersam, Eat em, Hobble’s husband Jed and the lovely Em and Michelle.

You can’t beat it.

I spent plenty of time admiring the flora and fauna, including an enormous goanna and a smallish kangaroo. We even managed a quick dip afterwards, in the little creek at the base of the Maroondah Dam wall.

Very pleasant all round.

I think we manage 24km, according to SS’s go at mapmyrun. Have a look at the map if you like. If you can get the elevation to work, you’ll see there was a slight undulation between kilometres 3 and… oh… 21.

Really, it was nothing: hardly enough to notice.