Training rides and runs, and the odd swim over the last two weeks.

A month pretty much off from training prior to now: heat, mojo and circumstances before I left the sandpit; very much felt now; starting from scratch; hoping that progress will come quickly.
Seeing the farmers hard at work, whatever the weather: I chose to get up and out in the rain, they don’t have the choice, necessity dictates; I once liked the thought of being a farmer, not now; certainly not an easy life.

Noticing changes in the fields: one day long grass, the next day cut for winter hay and rolled into bales; cows moved to new pastures; sheep with the winter coats shaved.

Very hilly in la Creuse: my thighs are taking a hammering and need longer to recover; cold shower on the legs after a run helps; heart rate too high; need to sort my breathing out – steady and relaxed is the key; good interval and strength training but little opportunity for speed, not that it is a concern just yet; great views and a delightful change to the flat; downhill is harder than up!

Changeable weather each day: 14^oC, cold for me – need to get used to real weather; wind and gales not for my deeper rimmed wheels; 25^oC the next day and caught out by midday sun and a little heat exhaustion; following day, walls of rain coming across the valleys to toughen the softy, fair weather rider I’ve become; like the famer, necessity now dictates that I get out regardless of the appearance of my favourable sun.

Winter bike clothes: local bike shop has end of stock 50% discount sale; purchases made for the colder months the assistant asks; I’ll probably wear them tomorrow I think.

French country lanes: a handful of cars passing on a four hour ride and always giving a huge amount of distance and respect when passing, except for the black Audi with a GB number plate; hedgerows away from the roads’ edge allow me to see around the next bend on a 70km/h decent and are safer than English country lanes; much more practise on descending is needed before the Alps as still feeling nervous; perfectly smooth road surface makes me wonder if le Tour has passed this way recently; enforced rest on a climb as a herd of cows come the other way.

Off road running: great to have something other than concrete underfoot; care needed not to roll the ankle and bugger it all up; the lugs on the fore-foot of the Newton trainers not ideal for mud; sun on my back as I run with my top off without having to worry about cultural sensitivities of the sandpit.

Birds of prey: waiting nonchalantly on fence posts; I would like to know their names; maybe I will order a book of European Birds of Prey.

Rural French villages: economic downturn and credit crisis is not the cause of the abandoned feel some hamlets have, the buildings have been shuttered up for many generations; bakeries and grocers shut every time I am hungry, no wonder there is no thriving economy – every time I want to spend my money the shops are closed; where is everyone?; where do the older generations and those without cars go for shopping, the towns are miles, or kilometres, away for the daily provisions – how do they survive?; some of the farmhouses are so well cared for and in fantastic condition while others are totally neglected – why?

Cycling and running on these roads: rural farming countryside; up and down hills, through dense forests, around fresh and inviting lakes – not stunningly beautiful compared to other regions of France, but rather just pleasant, peaceful, delightful and lovely; an absolute joy being here and the freedom I feel.

Garmin Forerunner: set a Virtual Race route; 13.9km over rolling hills (every route is rolling hills here!); will race myself weekly to monitor progress; 1:01:31; 20 seconds faster this week compared to the first; much more still to achieve; aim for sub one hour race time within two weeks; 1min30 to take off; I’ll feel ready for Vichy if I can run it in 55 minutes; another personal challenge.

Strava: will upload rides and runs; do I need internet at home to play with this; can it be linked to this blog; to investigate.

Water on long runs: still discovering taps and standpipes on farms for rehydration; one benefit of the sandpit was regular water fountains; may have to run with a water belt as the summer progresses and the length of the run increase.

Hayfever: an absolute bugger!

Swimming:  at the municipal pool with totally irregular opening times; little lane etiquette and so it is better to swim in the main pool and use the weaving in and out of others as good sighting practise; pool swimming has the aim of getting me ready for the nearby lakes; aim to go every other day if possible but to never go more than three days without swimming, in fact – should be no more than two days; must be less than 25m in length as recorded 19min18 for 1km, small pool, far too fast for me at this stage; lots of swimming still to do.

Three weeks back in France have nearly passed: I feel I have made progress but still much more to do; training plan designed, with plenty of colour coding; August will really be the big month; consideration given to other commitments but focussed; aim to keep limiting circumstances to an absolute minimum; to be resolved with communication and planning; desire the goal; want the outcome; no more pissing about. 

The sun is most definitely out this morning and so five hours out on the bike with a smile on my face, and more posts to follow... Bo

Two weeks in Europe after the sandpit...

Two weeks in Europe after the sandpit and Bo writes for the first time – and that is the first point: shall I write as Bo, or as me?  To be decided another time.  Let’s see how it sounds as I go...

In France, home, without internet means that I write on Word to be uploaded at the local library later in the week.  However, I had said that I would update Yalla Bo on a more regular basis and after a couple of days I soon realised that I was not going to keep up with training rides and runs and their write-up daily (notice no mention of swimming – it will be addressed!!), and so my intention became to write after each event of the forthcoming summer but, and I’ll re-write that again: BUT.  And a big BUT – in bold!! – the first event was planned for Sunday 30^th June, or should I write juin?  The semi-marathon de lac de Vassiviere.  A half marathon in the Limousin region of France around a beautiful lake, following the circuit de Raymond POULIDOR (it even has a cycling theme, France after all – more on Poulidor in posts to come; I’ll tell you about the photo, albeit a print, I bought of him shoulder to shoulder with...  Like I just wrote, another time...).  I have known about the semi-marathon de lac de Vassiviere from the paint markings left on the road previous summers but I committed to entering the event when I saw their stand at the marathon de Paris expo and knew then that it would make a good opener to my summer way back in April, before the disappointment of the Paris marathon...

But: I entered and I was detailed at the end of the results published in the paper with the French equivalent of DNS after my name rather than 1 hour 20 something...  The first, and I pledge now, my only event that I will not start, or finish, having paid up and entered.  Circumstances meant that I was unable to compete but I also pledge that circumstances and ready-made excuses will not affect the forthcoming summer.

So now is the time to introduce the summer events:

Sunday 21^st July: Tour du Mont Blanc: 330km cycle around the Mont Blanc with Nick starting in France, via Italy, into Switzerland before returning to the start in France.  Oh boy; a very long day in the saddle...

Wednesday 24^th July: L’Aple d’Huez Long Course Triathlon: I felt it beat me, or at least the weather did, in 2011 and so a return this year in preparation for the next event... Oh dear; L’Alpe, a very hard day, but there is no easy way...

Sunday 1^st September: ETU European Long Course Championships at Challenge Vichy: Ironman distance triathlon representing Great Britain as an age-grouper and aiming for a sub-10 hour.  Oh my; so much training still to do in the next nine weeks...

Sunday 8^th September: Ironman Wales: It is a hilly course in Tenby; am I being too ambitious to aim for a Kona spot and the World Championships in Hawaii...? Oh bugger; two Ironman distance events a week a part, I am exhausted already just thinking about it, and I must be mad, but it will be September and I won’t be working so what the hell...?!

Mid-September: mountain biking the South Downs Way in one day with Toby... Oh joy: this is the big one – re-visiting childhood haunts!

And oh; the Henley half-marathon at the end of September has been mentioned too with Craig before one last go at a sub 2h45 marathon, or didn’t I say earlier, 2h40 (but where?) in Autumn...?  But I will need to consider circumstances before I commit to this one...

But before that, the next post will be about my last two weeks, the first of the summer in France: rides and runs in la Creuse (and I must admit, I have actually been swimming).  I will try and write about the training so far before the green and the trees and the hills and the rain and the countryside become commonplace and I become accustomed to the surroundings and unable to write about the rides and runs, and swimming, without originality.

Tomorrow, a ride then to collect some thoughts...

And so Bo leaves the sandpit...

And so Bo leaves the sandpit and begins to write a few lines as he sits in the Dasman Lounge having flashed his cancelled Diners Club card, fooling the old fashioned carbon copy slider, waiting for plane to board.  Ahh, the sandpit – will you be missed?

Those that Bo leaves behind will be missed.  A quick round of phone calls saying goodbye, promises made to ride again somewhere  around the world, already seem a distant memory but they are pledges to be kept.  And so is the commitment of the regular postings which has not been maintained this year.  Internet access is not yet confirmed at l’etoile filante and so maybe the posts will be uploaded on bulk, but regardless, Bo in Europe is the next chapter...

A promise has been made to write up Kuwait’s BIG Ride – I will give it some thought and it may read well written in hindsight as I recall the 250km’s in the sandpit...

But it is to the future that Bo now looks.  A busy summer awaits with plenty of events and fantastic training to look forward to...

For now, some African cycling passed to me to view but now for me to share...  It does get me thinking about Africa...

http://vimeo.com/67894909

Read about Paris in the guide books - this is all about me

I wrote the earlier comment for the podcast Marathon Talk immediately after the marathon and I penned the words below a few days after, although it has taken a while to upload the posting...

And so Bo writes of the Paris marathon.  The goal of the 35^th year, to be achieved before the start of the 36^th: a sub 2h45 marathon.  A goal since last June when I saw the date coincided with a holiday.  But now a goal not achieved.  A target set, and not met.  Failed.  No hiding the fact: failed.  As was the trust and faith of a close few.  Piece of cake.  Champagne at the ready.  But, but, but: no buts: 3 hours dead was 16 minutes too long.  Too much walking; too much time wasted; too little desire; too little confidence; too easily defeated; 2h45 not achieved – why?

(As I edit while I type I realise that my initial thoughts are harsh, unforgiving.  But I remember the raw emotion and intend to remember it as motivation to ensure I don’t underperform, and underachieve again.)

There are two reasons why I did not meet my goal: one; physiological and two; psychological. 

First: physiological.  I found it very cold and had an insufficient warm-up; barely five minutes.  Naive of me but running in the sandpit has never really required a warm-up; my muscles have always been warm and ready to go after a quick stretch.  Maybe the approaching 36^th year is a sign that the body will need a little more care in the years to come.  Could the lack of warm-up explain the sore, cramp-like feeling in both quads from 7km onwards?  Both legs were heavy and a laboured feeling was evident almost straight away.  I couldn’t find the rhythm; there was no fluidity; no bounce; no spring in my stride.  My shoulders were tense, not relaxed – was it because of the cold?  It felt as if I was fighting the discomfort from 5km onwards – the feeling that I was not hoping to see until the last 5km when I expected I’d have to dig in, but certainly not the first 5km!  I had no calmness of mind.  The mind...

Two: psychological.  It was hurting so early on but I maintained the pace regardless.  I was hitting the km targets: 5km at 18.50; 10km at 38.24; half at 1.22.12 – all according to plan.  But why not past 25km?  Why did the elastic band of mental stress snap?  I reached 27km and then realised I had another 15km to go – another hour and, with a slight change in gradient down an underpass and more strain on the fatiguing thighs, I just stopped – walked.  I couldn’t see how I could battle against the accumulating discomfort any more.  And once I started walking, hundreds of runners passed me reflecting the vast numbers in the marathon.  Further demoralisation.  “Courage monsieur” the crowds shouted but I knew, with seconds, then minutes being wasted, the target would not be reached.  I could have walked all the way or taken the metro...  I could have told people that I DNF’d due to injury.  But then pride finally came into effect and the desire for the medal, and the fact I refused to have DNF against my name, got my running again.  No longer 3min50 pace, but moving in the right direction nonetheless.  But there was nothing left for going any faster.  Maybe 2h50 could have been achieved.  Maybe.  But if wasn’t going to be 2h45, my goal, I did not see the point in hurting myself so.  I didn’t have the mental strength.

Why?  Because I did not want it enough?  Had I peaked mentally on earlier events of lesser, personal importance?  I do not know.  Why did I not push through?  Where was my mantra of it will only hurt when I decide?  But why did it hurt so?  The body struggled, the legs did not respond.  Why?

Back to physiological.  The sight-seeing the day before didn’t help – why was I walking the fucking streets of Paris the day before, seeing sights I know so well.  Because I was with friends who I wanted to show around the sights I know so well – because I considered others before myself.  Why wasn’t I strong enough to say I’ll be here – off you go, let me rest.  They would have understood.  But, I wanted to walk with them and I enjoy the streets of Paris, revisiting, exploring, and what else would I have done?  And the shwarma the night before – no carbo loading for me, but a kebab?!  But I’ve done it before and it worked.  I didn’t think it would be a hindrance.  I thought – again, psychological.

I wasn’t in the zone.  I didn’t rub the magic lamp.  I forgot my reason for going – I relaxed too much.  I became complacent.  Every single event I have done before has had some form of poor preparation or deliberate, non-textbook action, but I had always achieved my goal.  The beer the night before has helped me relax.  I always believed that the negative physiological effects where greatly outweighed by the psychological benefits. 

But was it that because I have always set my targets too low, not expecting more from myself, not challenging myself to achieve my maximum.  But do we ever know our absolute maximum?  Can we ever know?  One thing is for sure: the 2h45 marathon is not my maximum – it is achievable.  But I did not give the marathon the respect it deserved.  I thought that whatever I did 24, 48 hours beforehand wouldn’t make a difference.  Maybe not physiologically, but this time it did psychologically.  I was under-motivated.  If I was focussed, I would have warmed-up, been in the zone, prepared, and then the physiological reason would never occur.  And then I would have run 2:44:59.

I’ve tried to lead a balanced social and sporting life, and up to now, it is something that I have prided myself on.  Being able to go out for a few drinks, but leaving early.  But now one thing is clear: if I want to achieve my goals, compromise will no longer be sufficient.  I need to make sacrifices.  I need to be focussed on the goal at the exclusion of other pleasures and distractions; I need decide what is important to me and focus.  Time to stop pissing about and take myself, and my ambition, seriously.

I read my comments and feel there are very negative, and that I sound despondent.  It is not a bad thing, and I am not.  But I needed to make a mess of things before I realised what needs to be done to take it to the next level.  I will not be harsh on myself when I resume training – I will set realistic goals rather than unhelpful targets but one thing is for sure: a firm resolution begins the 36^th year with clear goals. 

Sub 10 hour Ironman and the marathon now in 2hours40.  And then I can drink the bottle of champagne.

It all starts tomorrow...

   

Paris Marathon 7th April 2013

I've just copied below my posting from the marathon talk podcast page. I'm on the podium, unless there are more results still to be submitted...!

Further comments from Bo after a period of reflection - 3:00:41. Not happy thoughts. Another time...

I set a personal goal of 2:45 and was found wanting. A few days to recover then I'll assess the training and preparation to work out what I could do to take the extra fifteen minutes off. I know I can do it, but not yesterday.... And then find another marathon for late spring or early summer to get my PB. My first marathon, fifteen ago, was 3:46 so I'm determined to take an hour off. But where? Somewhere warm as I do think the cold (for me) contributed to the quads not working as they should! 
But that is the great thing about marathon running and why it deserves so much respect: you set yourself a target, a challenge, and you never know if you can do it until you cross the finish line. 
And then regardless of achieving your personal target or not, as the medal is placed around your neck there will always be satisfaction and reward in knowing you've just run a marathon.
Chapeau to all those who ran and finished a beautiful marathon. Bravo!

Make it count...

I have not kept to the postings and for those I have seen are following, I'll make a pledge to post my ramblings at least weekly once I am back in the sandpit.  Uganda - how did you hear about Bo I wonder.

For now, a clip from YouTube.  There will be others, and even if you have seen this one before there is a definite benefit to seeing it again.  In fact, watch it daily until you make it count.  I like it because it starts with running out of your front door and the next place he runs is... I’m off there now! Yalla, Bo!  To make memories. Xx

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WxfZkMm3wcg&feature=youtu.be

1172.5km and just over 90 hours running since October - is it enough?

I upload the last of my runs to strava.com, although I think I’ll add a quick cheeky run before work tomorrow... I review the history on my Garmin since October and this ‘season’ and training focus: 1172.5km and just over 90 hours running.  Is it enough?  I fly tomorrow and will know by 11.30 Sunday morning. 

The not knowing is part of the attraction to the challenge but also part of its frustration.  I know I can run sub-three but I really do not know if I can make 2h45.  But that is the point: if I did know I could run 2h45 it would not be a challenge and thus no attraction.  We shall see...

Another rest day is best...

A couple of days without a posting: Friday morning was a 170km on the bike and, as this is about running and the Paris marathon, no posting.  Poor internet connection on Saturday is just a poor excuse, Sunday is rest day, and yesterday has also passed without the postings continuing.  Why?

Motivation had gone with a little despondency setting in.  It is just a state of mind that passes soon enough and I’ve tried to establish the causes from the symptoms but the clouds continue to gather periodically.  I decide to follow advice, put into practice what I read and think how I will establish the good habits and manage my mind.  I will write it up, document, share, explore, resolve.  And so back to the blog; the purpose – it is not for me to expose myself, not for me to promote myself, to garner support or understanding.  Rather, to practise writing and now, to provide focus.  As I now realise that the cloud hovers above casting its weak shadow when I lack focus or a clear direction, goal – when my agenda is mixed and I am busy being distracted by trivia.  I need to harness the sankalpa over the vikalpa; I need to follow my heart without being sidetracked by ego, cravings and mental acrobats: learn to embrace the here and now, not to centre on the past or be concerned with the unknown future.  I will refer to two books with more in due course…  Youtube clips to come too.

For now, I am prompted by Colin and his Two Oceans 56km ultra in 5 hours 12 minutes – fantastic and CONGRATULATIONS!  Colin provides evidence for the ‘undertrained and over-rested’ approach so I may not run tonight after all.  His last comment also provides me with encouragement for Sunday: 2:45 – piece of cake!  Thank you!

'Tip of the Day': Avoid alcoholic beverages

A welcome distraction after work and a little dust in the air were enough for me not to run.  Instead, now, as I write, a few beers.  Start early, finish early and hopefully to bed soon enough to get a little sleep and rest for a good ride tomorrow.  Regardless of the marathon, Friday is the day for the Friday ride, because it is Friday, and that is when we ride.  Plans are in the making to join the three separate rides for one BIG ride.  250km plus and 7-8 hours in the saddle at the end of April.  Another posting.  For now, thoughts about running.

The Paris marathon organisers have been sending daily updates and today was about the expo (always need to get some merchandise) and the start time.  8.45am – a lie in!  After the 6am starts here in the sandpit the 8.45 sounds so very civilised.  I somehow know that I will be late anyway!  I submitted my Dubai marathon time to request sub three hour starting pen.  After the 200 elites, 820 have a ‘preferential’ start ahead of the red zone of three hour runners close behind.  The website says that 50 000 have registered and that Paris has both the most number of runners who complete the marathon in under three hours, as well as the fasted average finish time, aside from marathons with set qualifying requirements.  Not a marathon for the pantomime horses then.

I’ve just read the ‘tip of the day’: avoid alcoholic beverages.  Some chance.  I know a great bar that serves very good absinthe...

Under-trained but over-rested

I remember listening to the podcast IM Talk with Bevan and John in the build-up to Kona and a coach of elite athletes was interviewed, I forget who now.  He said how his athletes may arrive on the big island under-trained, but they were over-rested.  A much better state to be in than over-trained and under-rested.  An experienced marathon runner (two marathons and a half in one month recently!!) sent an email with the Runner’s World tip of the day.  It was good timing and it took a little pressure off me.  So I went out on my bike for an hour instead.  I’ll run tomorrow...

I actually think being a more balanced person makes a healthier, happier, and thus faster person. The question I try and ask myself when I consider whether or not to train more is what is my body craving and what is my body ready to absorb? Sometimes pushing harder is not the answer. It takes self control, confidence, and intuition to know when to train and when to rest, but when in question error on the side of being over rested.  Ryan Hall

10km, and the legs are still heavy

A lovely summer day at 27^oC with clear blue sky gave promise of a good evening run as I walked home from work, eager to get straight back out.  But then the familiar feeling of fatigue overcame me as I walked in the door.  It is as if the adrenaline of a busy day suddenly subsides and cup of tea and a little rest is all that is desired.  Before I know it, an hour has passed as I wake from a far too relaxing yoga nidra meditation.  A little hungry, I have a bowl of cereal and a quick espresso before a stretch and then I’m out the door without considering the run I plan to do.  I’ll decide on the way as I run on the streets towards the walking track around Mishref.  A car pulls up with a shout of “go you machine” – Colin is off to Cape Town for a serious run at the weekend and he tells of his concern still of a weak Achilles tendon that has been hindering him for some time.  Runners: always carrying an injury and I’m now getting a little concerned about my calf and medial tibia that has been niggling away for some weeks now.  Once at Mishref I decide on a race pace 10km...

I’ve since revised my target time to 2 hours 45 minutes which needs a steady km pace of 3min55sec.  I aim to run 10km at that pace but after 3km I call it a day and realise that the fatigue is still in my legs, but also in my mind.  Mishref again.  I wonder how many kilometres I have run around this path – a thousand plus surely.  I had some good, fast tempo runs here last week but today I decide to see out the remaining 10km with an easy, steady pace.  And it is about now that a little doubt starts creeping in.  Have I done enough?  What can I still do that will make a difference?  I felt this before the Dubai marathon when I had serious reservations about how I might perform but come the finish line it all ended up better than feared.  I resolve to get lots of rest in and get on top of the early nights.  Some chance!  Work: keep off my feet and not become drained and exhausted so that I can get out without needing the sleep beforehand.  Eat less too; I didn’t need that bowl of cereal and I would still like to be a little lighter to get to my ideal race weight.

45 minutes and I’m back home feeling my calf.  A very localised pain close to the medial tibia, almost underneath it.  I can feel it when I run but it isn’t hindering me.  I’ll give it one more run before I consider the physio.  I’m holding out because of the cost possibly, but that is stupid when I consider how much I invest in the sport overall.  I’d spend more the pair of trainers, but am somewhat reluctant to pay for the physio.  I’ll give it another day...

A brief run, a brief post...

I used my rest day, Sunday, to write up my long run from the day before.  And so today is my next run and its accompanying entry.  Like my run though, the post will be brief.  My legs felt fine before I went out; the test of up and down the stairs at work suggested that I had recovered from the marathon distance training run after one rest day.  But five minutes in and my ambitious 20km with some speed intervals quickly came to an end.  My legs were still too tired to get any running of value or quality done.  I could have laboured on, and I was tempted, but I realised there was no point.  I could have gone out on my bike instead for an easy spin but I didn’t think of it as I was too keen to get some more running miles in.  So, a pleasant walk back along Messila beach and I’ll be back out tomorrow instead...

The last long run...

Ten slices of pizza the night before as well as the 130km on the bike the yesterday, have me feeling a little heavy and very much over my perceived ideal race weight.  Lead for legs, but at least no beer in the belly this once.  I tried really hard to avoid the alcoholic inducements last night but coca cola instead is a poor substitute – I realised I made a school boy error at 2am when I couldn't sleep for the sugar and caffeine.  It would have been better if I had fallen to sleep in a drunken stupor; at least the alarm in four hours time wouldn’t be so daunting.  While folk in the UK worry about the snow, my problem is the exact opposite: summer is here in the sandpit and I think it wise to finish before it reaches 30^oC.

As I start along the Corniche at Ras Salmiya, I realise it is likely to be my last long run in Kuwait.  There will be plenty of time to reflect on all the runs I’ve had, and all whom I’ve run with over the years (and some editing at a later date will put the names in), but for now I have to concentrate to avoid the stray cats jumping out from the rocks that line the path that follows the coastline of the bay of Kuwait.  Feeding off the scraps from the fisherman and picnicking families provide these cats with a comfy, easy life.  And it is the easy life I am looking to move from; to really live a life, away from the easy petro-dollar I ponder as I settle into an easy pace.  4min15 per km. Easy pace now but I know it will not be so easy in an hour or two’s time.

I decide that I will run the 42.2km this morning with the intention of a negative spilt.  I’ll do some more speed work later in the week to get the legs turning at the 4min per km race pace, but not today, not after last night.  I’ll just run; run past the now familiar Hard Rock cafe, the ubiquitous Starbucks next to Costa next to Coffee Bean next to Starbucks, again, next to Coffee Republic next to another and another around Marina Crescent, remembering how these were not here ten years ago, when bad man Saddam was still resident not too far away.

5km and the first water-stop.  I’ll state one positive of running in Kuwait: the frequent water fountains that provide welcome, cool water at regular intervals.  I tell this to the Bangladeshi scrubbing the nearby yacht moored at the marina – he doesn’t seem to appreciate my observation, but I guess my hydration needs are the least of his concerns.

I continue on with the sun beginning to be felt on my back and a shadow cast in front of me.  I should have bought my hat for the return direction.  I doubt I’ll need it in Paris and the potential cold weather reminds me to get hold of some old tracksuit bottoms and jumper that I can wear at the start line and then discard into the gutter – certainly better than the black bin liner approach.  I slow a little to 4min20-25 but am happy just moving, glancing at my Garmin for feedback every now and then, not really concerned at the pace, just moving, running.  Past McDonalds, then KFC, TGI Friday’s, Appleby’s – there are all here as the oil state continues its love affair with all things American.  I see more Union flags on the clothes being worn though and surely a Land Rover is so much more classy than a GMC...

On the grass that banks the side of the corniche running along the roadside are the remnants of the picnics and bbq’s from the night before.  Rubbish everywhere: disgusting!  An army of yellow-boiler suited cleaners approach like ants picking up the debris mechanically.  By the time I come back the grass would have been cleared and by the time everyone else is walking, running, cycling, driving by, the rubbish would have been removed and no-one would be any the wiser.  But I wonder if it was left a day, a week, would the picnicking families still bbq amongst their own mess, oblivious to the squalor they are responsible for; the lack of civic pride here tells me they would not even be aware of the plastic bags accumulating at their feet.

10km and another water fountain.  Then onwards towards the Towers, then Souk Sharq – now in the city – past the fisherman unloading the dhows; a drink at their fountain.  Getting hotter now: mid to high 20’s.  Plenty more space on the thermometer for a considerable increase.  With the gradual rise in temperature as summer approaches I know I can run at 40^oC but for now I’m beginning to feel the heat.  I look at the distance: 20km.  I’ll do one more km before I turn round: past the Grand Mosque and the Emir’s Palace and then opposite the National Assembly building there is a small pavilion like structure on the corniche.  Perfect positioning.  I run round it – you always need something to run around as the goal – as the watch says 21km.  Half marathon at 1h36.  Easy and steady out and the negative split for the way back?  I now decide not.  Just run; I don’t have the motivation to push myself hard, to dig in and hurt.  I’ll just daydream on the way back; thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.  I compromise and say to myself I’ll push the last 10km...

Coming back the same way makes me realise I have come some distance.  Looking along the coast I can only just see the Scientific Centre as my landmark, a long, long way to go.  I lose concentration at notice my pace has dropped right down to 4min45.  Focus.  Get back into the rhythm.  But I’m tired now.  The ride yesterday is being felt.  Energy levels are running low.  The last 10km and I try and hold it at 4min30 – way slower than my target pace but I’m not that concerned as I know the Paris marathon will have more regular aid stations that will help, rather than relying on the irregular water fountains, as well as plenty of other runners to keep the momentum.  But will it be enough?

Re-approaching marina crescent I scan the restaurants for a familiar face or two; maybe to stop for a granola smoothy before the last 5km!  No luck.  I’ll push on for the last twist and turns towards the end.  The last 3km I run a little harder but without exerting myself too much.  If the race clock is too close to call, it really will be the last 3km that the last minute can be saved – any later there just won’t be the time to make the time.  Come race day I know there will be a certain point where there is no return, and that point is to be reached.  But not today, Kafka.

42.2km says the watch: 3 hours 16 minutes; 3h12min moving time.  Well, I won’t be stopping for drinks in Paris so that saves me a kilometre.  Overall, I’m happy with the run as I reflect with my legs up in the air against a nearby wall.  One last week of hard running, some speed after work, but now I really fancy a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

Two weeks to the Paris marathon

Two weeks to the Paris marathon.  The build-up over the last few months has not been documented for various reasons but the clichéd last long run before the marathon has me thinking: keep the updates simple and daily; get thinking, reflecting, use my words, get writing.  Again, I go back to my motivation for writing up my thoughts of Bo in the desert.  I’ll keep these to myself, for now, but I know at least one person will read my rambles...

So, the last long run before a marathon.  Where did that concept come from?  Tim Noakes? Arthur Lydard? Runner’s World February edition?  I know there is physiological adaptation to the stress-loads that need time to come into effect but what is the time frame?  When should my, and that is me, not anyone else, when should my last effective training load be done for maximum benefit?  Two weeks before, ten days, a week – long enough to recover but not too long before it is lost.  What other runs should I do beforehand?  I don’t know – but as I get ready to go out, I decide that I will write about it and decide afterwards if it was the right thing to do.  Sounds completely the wrong way round but hey ho, off on a run I go.

Dubai Marathon 25th January 2013 - Race Day

No appetite in the morning as others around me have their porridge and oats.  Two cups of tea and a shortbread biscuit for me is sufficient.  I’ve never needed, or felt like, eating before running.  In fact, I’m not a fan of dinner the night before either.  None of the pasta-carboloading hype for me.  It is the previous week of nutrition which is stored in the cells of the body that accumulates to make the difference.  Eat well as a routine, not just the 24 hours before an event.  And not eating dinner the night before reduces the risk of getting the stomach cramps and GI problems on the run I’ve decided.
But boy – I’m thirsty! ‘J’ai la guelle de bois’ I once learnt from a Frenchman.  Little bit of a headache too.  At least that’ll take my thoughts of discomfort away from my legs...

Rushed taxi to the start line.  Meet others at the bag drop-off.  Bad nights’ sleep due to nerves they say.  Four pints and a bottle of Rioja I say.  You look shit they say.  See you at the finish I say.  Ten minutes to the start.  No time for stretching; I’ll do the warm-up in the first three km’s!  Toilet first.  Past the portaloos and endless queues.  Not for me.  There is always a fancy hotel or restaurant open nearby... Get to the back of the start line behind two thousand other runners as the start gun goes off with barely enough time to touch my toes.  Here it goes: 42.195km.  It is not going to be pretty...

No sight of the Ethiopians and Kenyans for me this year at the rear but it really is a great thing about marathon running that you can line up on the start line with the world’s best and compete in the same event as them. You couldn’t turn up to Wembley for a kick-about with your mates...  I move up past the back markers.  Thankfully no pantomime horses obstructing the way.  Settle into a steady pace as I continue to move up the field.  No sign of the others.  Should I have left the hotel five minutes earlier to avoid this congestion?  Not to worry.  The runners thin out soon enough.  It won’t make much of a difference to my time, certainly no more than the bottle of Rioja.

No looking at the Dubai skyscape for distraction.  A thick fog hangs in the air hiding the top of the Burj Khalifa.  Eyes ahead instead.  I feel a little disorientated as we come out of the Business Bay and the Dubai Mall until we pass the Trade Centre, the original ‘tall’ building of Dubai completed at the start of Dubai’s building frenzy and modern day invention but now dwarfed by all those all around it.

Towards the sea and the flag at Customs House.  The fog opens temporarily 5km in and I quickly grab water at the first aid station.  A runner besides me says, unknowingly, that it is a little early for being so dehydrated already.  He has no idea...

I see Matt and Steve on the other side after the U turn behind me, followed by others: Toby in his build-up to Ironman South Africa; James, Tom; the trio of Danny, Richard and Craig together; then I pass Colin at around 8km.  He says I’m looking good and strong which is encouraging.  I think how I need to get in touch with Colin when we are back in our sandpit for some runs together... And by now I’m beginning to feel strong.  I settle into a steady rhythm. 4min15 per km pace as I go through the 10km after 45 minutes.  Maybe this won’t be as bad after all.

Along the Jumeriah beach road the fog thickens again.  It keeps the temperature down.  No wind either.  Near perfect conditions.  Visibility ahead is about 75 metres.  The fog and poor visibility has another benefit.  I can only see a couple of runners ahead, and certainly no sight of the Burj Al Arab at the turnaround point some way still to go up ahead.  I remember the previous marathons here that the out and back route is psychologically difficult with the Burj Al Arab or huge flag at the other end never appearing to come any closer despite the accumulating fatigue.

But today the fog creates a quiet space for me to be in.  I run in a little zone, exclusive of others.  The hang-over came and went at the 15km mark and now I’m enjoying myself.  This is it: running free of constraints, expectations, pressure.  I’m running because I want to, because I enjoy the breathing, the rhythm, the feeling.

The East Africans fly past on the other side of the road; the half-marathon mark for me is still up ahead.  Only a half-marathon! Not the full thing some might scoff but it still is a long way nonetheless.  Maybe it needs another name to make it sound less like the inferior relative of the 42.195km but an achievement in its own right, as has the half-ironman become known as the 70.3 event has due to the all pervasive American marketing.  But that then annoys the purist in me when I hear 70.3 finishers say they are ironmen – no you are not!!  But those that scoff the achievements of half-marathoners, or even the 10km, won’t be runners themselves.  What do they know!

Half-marathon mark: 1h30min and a few seconds and I’m feeling good. My concerns begin to recede.  I’m actually feeling strong both mentally and physically and I begin to think about this as a race for the first time.  In an instant the race plan comes to me: to attack the last 10km with everything I have left in my legs.  Push myself to my limits, to find where those limits are today.  The whole build-up has not been about this marathon with the Paris goal still work in progress, and although I seriously thought I’d be happy with this as a training run and therefore a time of 3h15/3h30, I now decide with intent that the fiasco of this morning and the recklessness of last night should not get in the way of a sub three hour time.  The symbolic sub three is well worth the effort: it is too close an achievable target to pass up.  And even if I do blow-up, to hell with it – it will be fun trying!  It will be a valuable experience regardless of the outcome.

I start breaking down the segments: 10km to run before its 32km and then I’ll start to really push myself.  No.  Too big a chunk – something smaller.  3km to the 25km mark and I’ll take the isotonic drink – no idea which one it is – rather than water.  Then it is three more kilometres before the 2 hour mark. ²/₃’s done.  After that, it will be 15 minutes before I start pushing myself.  I remember Michael Atherton saying how he broke up the time at the crease into bite size chunks: in 15 minutes it will be 10 minutes before tea...

Currently running at 4min20 per km pace. I’ll aim to hit 4min pace – the target pace for Paris.  Too challenging.  No, not today; the last 10km in 40 minutes; too much to ask.  I work out that if I can manage 45 minutes for the last 10km I will have three minutes to spare.  It will be close but that strengthens my resolve. 

31km. Last of the ‘easy’ kilometres before the fun starts...

The Abu Dhabi triathlon last year was the first time that I really, really, pushed myself to my limits.  Competing with an injury could be considered unwise but I gained a far more valuable lesson and knowledge of myself compared with what I lost from a month of missed running training afterwards.  After the 100km bike I managed a 39 minute 10km and was absolutely spent at the end – totally and utterly, with nothing left having ran through pain to finish to collapse onto my knees.  But when considering the bigger picture, it gave me the confidence and knowledge that I can push myself to my limits if I desire it enough.  And today, although I did not earlier, I do now.  I flick the switch: let’s take this seriously.  10km to go.  Time to start running; no more pissing about; time to dig deep and to use my experience and confidence to do this.  I can achieve, but it will hurt and it won’t be easy.  The achievement will be greater as a consequence.  I try and recall a passage from a book I read recently: we decide for ourselves when it will hurt and it will not hurt unless I decide.  I reword it into my running mantra. 

I will decide when it hurts, and it will hurt when I decide.  Or is it better the other way round?  It will hurt when I decide, and I’ll decide when it hurts.  As I increase my pace the point is made: it is going to hurt, but not yet.  Stay focussed.

My breathing deepens but I remain relaxed.  First target is a runner about 100m ahead.  This is now the game – try and tick them off one by one.  I am the strong one toady, no fading for me.  I wonder how many are up ahead?  All those that had five minutes less in bed this morning and were in pole position on the start line.

35km mark.  Going well. No wall in sight to hit, but no heartbreak hill on the flat Dubai course either.  Garmin says 4.05 min pace.  I push myself to try and hold 4 minute km pace as I past the zoo.  The Lime Tree cafe isn’t too far.  The fog remains keeping it cool.  I pass on the water at the aid station but take a sponge to suck the moisture instead.  Less chance of getting a stitch from the sponge than guzzling from a bottle.  4 minute pace is too much; five seconds over a kilometre makes a difference.  I ease slightly.  It is beginning to hurt.  But not yet – I’ll decide when.  Push on.  Relax.  Remain steady; breathe steady; stay with the rhythm.

5km to go.  Still three minutes to spare but I’m aware they could evaporate quickly.  Then I remember the 195 metres to add to the 42km.  That will use up over a minute.  Now less than two minutes to spare.  It is going to be close.

Then I hear my name and a shout: “Go! Go, Go!!” That picks me up.  It is a long time waiting on the pavement as a spectator and it will be a long wait for the others from the sandpit to come past, but they are doing it and will appreciate the cheer and support as much as I do.

This really is going to be close.  My pace drops to 4min15.  There goes the two minutes if it stays like this.  I know I am going to be pissed off if the clock says 03.00 and then a handful of seconds.  There is no way I am wasting the effort of the last eight kilometres of hard running.  I will not betray that effort now.  I dig deep.

The twists and turns as I approach the Dubai Mall ruin my rhythm.  Relax.  Calm.  Clear my mind.  Keep the rhythm. Breathe steady.  I’m at my limit and wonder how much I have left for the last 2km as the sub three hour looms precariously close.  No need for water at the last aid station – dehydration won’t be a factor now, only my resolve.

I decide it can hurt now.

This is going to be very close.  Dig deep again, deeper.  3min50 pace.

Last kilometre.  Single-minded, focussed vision.  The fog has cleared but I am not looking up, not to the side, not acknowledging the claps and cheers from the spectators waiting for those behind; straight ahead only.  Fuck – this is going to be close.  I decide it can hurt a little more.

The last minute, the last bend; it straightens out and I see the finish.  Nearly there but still too close to call. 

Bollocks.  Fuck.  I’m shagged. 02.59.35.  I need a beer.  Then I start thinking if I can take another fifteen minutes off in Paris... That will surely hurt.

Dubai Marathon 25th January 2013 - The Day Before

As I open the first little green can from the Royal Danish Court I think ahead to 07.00 tomorrow.  Dubai is the setting again but rather than with my bike, tomorrow’s challenge will be 42.195km on foot.  And a challenge it will be.  Although my running goal this year is the Paris marathon in April, 11 weeks away, and tomorrow is as much a training running as a weekend away, I remain a little daunted.  There is no doubt the marathon deserves respect.  As I sip from the little green can, I wonder if Haille begins each marathon with trepidation.  I doubt he sips from little green cans the day before though...  But it is my way.
For reasons I can’t quite work out yet, I’m not confident about tomorrow.  I know I have the experience in my legs, if not the required base km’s at the moment, to get me through, but maybe that experience and knowledge tells me it won’t be pretty tomorrow.  Assuming that to be the case, I am expecting a big wake-up call and a clear idea of how far I am away from my Paris goal of 2hours 45 minutes.  This would be an hour quicker than my first marathon nine years ago, also in Dubai.  Boy!  How time has flown by here in the sand. But will I be flying tomorrow...?

So, what will need to be done to achieve the 2h45?  No more boozing.  Unlikely.  Compromise: no more hang-over’s – know when to stop, and then stop before that.  Possible.  In fact; achievable. It must be.  The desire for quality training is there.  Improved recovery time too.  That means strategies at work to reduce the workload and spend less time on my feet pacing around, as if my urgency is really required.

No sugar or the ever tempting biscuits.  Is it the sugar highs and lows that causes my mood to fluctuate so – the mildly bi-polar personality that means when I’m up I’m with the 10,000 men but when I’m not, self-doubt and the need for reassurance dominate?  The jaded morning after the night before contributes to the mood swings I’m sure.  While Dr. Steven Peters and the yoga gurus will have plenty to say about my state of mind, what I eat and drink, and to not be tired, are the easiest variables to control and get me on a consistent path.

What else for the sub 2h45?  Training.  The illusive, perfect training plan.  To include the swim and bike too: there is still Challenge Vichy in September and the ETU European championships and the sub 10 hour ‘ironman’ time to aim for and achieve...  How about some core and strength work?  More yoga?  Possibly, but the key sessions will always be in the water, on the bike, or out on a run.  But how to structure the three disciplines brings us back to the illusive perfect training plan.  Joe Friel and Gordo Byrn, Tim Noakes and every issue of Runner’s World or Tri247 have the plans, but do they work?  Would they work for me?  Consistency they all say is the key.  But I like the angle presented by Dr. Peters in his Chimp Paradox.  Enjoy the process.  No pressure.  Rather than “I must go for a long run”, instead “I might”; rather than “I should – I could”.  Don’t beat myself up about missed sessions: for fuck’s sake, it is hard enough training in the sandpit as it is with essentially only threes rides, and another three runs, to base my training around.

Ahh, the mind games to play on a long run.  Imagination is the best companion on the run down to Fintas.  Telling Mike Canning one day at work that I took the cliff top path at the weekend and saw that the dolphins had come close to shore, with him replying that he took the muddy track through the woods and ran amongst the wild flowers instead, puzzled the eavesdroppers, confused as to where we were talking about.  We left the incredulous enquires unanswered.  But we knew where we had been...

But back to marathon training.  Don’t complicate it: just run!  But what do I know about proper training?!! In preparation for the Abu Dhabi International triathlon I have vowed not to swim, having not been in the water since my last triathlon in August.  I somehow know Alistair Brownlee won’t approve but I am curious to see how my 1500m swim time will compare with the previous three Abu Dhabi events at all around 25 minutes.  Hours in pool hasn’t seen a great return for my swim split so let’s see if the opposite is true...

But again I digress.  The familiar descent over the man-made Palms and then past the Burj Khalifa brings me back down to the task in hand: the Dubai marathon tomorrow.  Only one thing for it: Dubai Duty Free and a dozen more little green cans from the Royal Danish Court and a couple of bottles of Rioja...

I better go to bed – it is 1am and the alarm is set for 05.00.  Good job I am not taking this seriously but do I drink the night before to provide a poor excuse for a poor performance.  Do I look to self-destruct?  What would Dr. Peters say to my night before preparation?  I say not to be so precious.  The preparation is very rarely perfect or ideal when you have to travel to events, as I do coming out of my sandpit, with things like flight delays and nutrition often compromised.  Pissing about the night before is relaxing for me in its own way.  You are unlikely to sleep well, tossing and turning in a new bed, paranoid that you may miss your alarm, having the A/C keep you awake – may as well have an alcohol induced slumber I say.  But why do I take the night before a big training run or ride more seriously than the event itself?  Maybe because race day is the cherry on the cake and is to be savoured as a result of accumulated previous sacrifices.  I feel the whole event is to be enjoyed: prior, during, and after the race.  And anyhow!  It has not done me harm in the past.  But the question is how much more could I achieve without being boozed up? 

I remember reading something about the boxer, Ricky Hatton.  He would always have a big fry-up breakfast the day of a fight to demonstrate to the assembled journalists that he was ready, at his peak, and that nothing at this late stage would make a difference to his performance.  A sign of confidence and intent.  I like his sentiments.  Enough of this though.  To bed at last.