Back to the road

I think that over the past week my ever patient friends and family were getting a bit bored with my continual updates about my toe, my metatarsal or general foot health. I chose to keep it down for a little while concentrating on ice therapy and keeping it protected by wearing my Merralls. Most important there was NO RUNNING.

Well I say no running....until the weekend when I ran the Buttons for Brathay Bells and Whistles race in Dover, Kent. This race promised to be a low key event comprising 16 laps of the seafront and pier, a tall order due to the flatness of the course and one that is very hard not to race.

I arrived with George at the appointed hour and after a very efficient registration  we were called to the start for a race briefing and sent on our way, not much to say about the course as we went backwards and forwards smiling and cheering each other as we passed. I was on fire and was running at pace such that if I had continued would have easily done a sub 4 hour marathon but at the halfway mark at 1:48 hours and very aware of the possibility of another marathon the next day I pulled right off the gas and took it very gently adding a minute to each mile so as not to push myself.

I soon discovered that the laps were not quite as expected and passed the 26.2 mile mark at 4.23 hours, not my fastest marathon but happy with a consistent run as I completed the 27.2 miles in just over 4.34 hours.

Finishing the race, I realised not all was well in the foot department so put some ice on it and rested it that night.

At 6.06am the next day I jumped from my bed, felt my foot hurting such that I made an almost instant decision not to run the second marathon and returned to my bed a little disappointed but not as disappointed as if I had to drop out of the GUCR due to a damaged beyond compare foot.

 

My Lazarushian Moment

The announcement on Sunday mentioned "...Snap, Crackle, Pop..." the noise of one of the UK's favourite breakfast cereals, the pain excruciating and there were thoughts of no more running.

Sunday evening saw me limping around the house, packets of ice surrounding my foot in an elastic bandage, hot baths to get the blood flowing and then more ice, by late evening a bruise began to appear.

Monday morning arrived and now a brown bruise had spread across the top of my foot from metatarsal 3 to 5, compression socks added, a pair of sandals and my trusty right crutch used all day, foot raised during the day in the office, that night, again ice pack treatment.

Then today I awoke to discover that the foot was still swollen slightly but today I attacked it with a hot water bottle, sitting in my home office with my foot resting on it. Chores completed whilst wearing my Merralls and foot raised all this evening (no running club of course).

Now not wishing to raise my hopes too high I think I maybe OK for the weekend's runs, let's hope so.

Snap, Crackle and Pop

That, Dear Reader, was the noise my 5th metatarsal made this morning whilst running with a group of club members who were doing a reconnaissance of the London Marathon route. 

The plan was to run about 20 miles today, some would say too far the week before a double marathon but I was assured that the pace was to be very slow as there were some first timers in the group so I was happy to tag long to get some distance in with a speed comparable to ultramarathon pace.

The run was  going without problems, the weather pleasant and the conversation light as we navigated the bumpy and lumpy pavements of south London, in part I was preferring to run on the road as ironically I thought it safer than the said pavements. At about 11 miles I ducked into a petrol station due to a call to nature and told the others I would catch them up. So running after them along the road I quickly caught them up and was within 20 metres of them when I stepped up onto the pavement and by pure bad timing right onto a broken kerb stone which had its corner jutting up into the air. My toe hit the kerb forcing my little toe down and then with my momentum it was forced to the side and I felt a snap, crackle  and a POP stopping immediately whilst shouting "OUCH" very loudly.

As I have a habit of, I continued to run with the others but found my gait had changed to me preferring to run on my big toe (or 1st metatarsal) which did not bode well as I knew this could cause issues later on this week so at about 13 miles I bid my farewells to the other runners and hobbled off to London Bridge Station for a 10 minute journey to the nearest station to my car.

 Outcome

Later that day I visited the hospital and was told that I probably have got a small break and then again I may not. I may have a stress fracture and maybe I don't, I may also have damaged the tendons but then again they are not sure as "We don't treat or diagnose metatarsal injuries unless it is metatarsal 1" 

Told to rest, not wear my Monkey Feet and if I am in the need to run, strap it up and go carefully.

"That's Jerry, he does his own thing"

The time neared 7.30pm and I had made arrangements to meet a neighbour, Rob, for a lift to the running track but just as I was about to slip on my left Monkey Foot there was a knock at the front door and a ring of the bell. Thinking it was Rob I shuffled to the door to find the familiar face of Michael who was obviously in the middle of a run and was requesting a drink and company to the track. Ribena blackcurrant cordial thrust in hand he was soon dragged through the front door so that I could cancel my lift with Rob.

The next 25 minutes was taken at pace as we chatted and ran to the track via a few side roads and across the darkened park towards the bright lights of the track and the floodlit football pitches where Michael was to meet his son, this is where we left each other and I entered the track.

As usual there was a gathering at the 3,000 metre line, the Coach on the top step talking to his disciples informing them of their torture for the next hour. It was apparent that there were two coached tonight but as I was warmed up and ready I trundled out ahead of the speedsters and heard Mike say to his understudy "That's Jerry, he does his own thing"

The waves of runners passed me by, I on almost perfect 8 min/miles(5 min/kph) which I stuck at, after every 4 laps I had a 60 seconds break to then carry on, sometimes when I stopped I would hear Mike say "That's Jerry, he does his own thing"

Tonight I felt great, my running smooth, breathing was fine but have a niggle in my ankle and a toe. Overall made better by the impromptu arrival of Michael asking me to run to the track.

True Monkey Running in London

After my post on Saturday about my lack of motivation I looked out of my computer laboratory classroom later that day and basically said "Sod it, I am running" and so saying goodbye to my students I went to change into my kit.

Scuttling out into the hall, barefoot with Monkey Feet in my hands, I had planned to find a bench to sit at to put them on but t appeared all areas were taken up by students taking in the sunshine so I decided there and then to run, go for it as the weather was glorious, the pavement dry and I was looking forward to the chance of just running in bare feet for the sheer hell of it.

Today I had chosen to wear my union flag shorts out of necessity as my more conservative black pair were in the wash, this show of patriotism was met with smiles from the plethora of tourists on the streets of Soho and Covent Garden but it I soon saw a few point at me as they noticed my bare feet.

By the time I reached the South Bank I have to admit my feet were feeling a little sore but I was ecstatic to feel that I had just done what I had done but enough was enough when I put on my trusty Monkey Feet at the second mile to run the last 16 miles, have I told you that I love my Monkey Feet.

Grinding to a halt

Motivation is low at the moment and my running miles have reduced a lot which is probably down to the fact I am working 6 day weeks and part of the evenings as well.

When I have gone out for a run my performance is pretty good but I find myself slacking off not because I am not able to do it, it is just I can't be bothered a lot of the time.

Take last weekend, I was working in London on the Saturday at the university and was all kitted up to run back home, come 4.30pm I looked out of the window and decided then and there that I wasn't going to run and took the train home then opted out of a run on the Sunday as I was just too tired even to contemplate getting up early.

Today I am again kitted up and just have to drag myself out of the lab to get to the Thames Path and home.

I am not sure what my problem is (apart from the obvious tiredness) but emotionally I am trying to fight a downturn in my mood.

The IPhone compass test

I often hear runners entering long trail races that they are going to use electronic equipment such as a GPS tracker or an IPhone as a compass. Whilst the puritan in me bulks at this idea preferring the old fashioned compass I am a technophile  who is happy to use GPS equipment when necessary but be warned!

Ask the majority of users how an IPhone finds you they will tell you it is a clever satellite that can find you and there for work out your position on the Earth's surface but they do not realise it is the device itself that uses a magnetometer chip to calculate position using the Earth's magnetic field.

Look at the relevant work in that last sentence magnetic and now let us see what happens when you put a head torch next to it

By all means Dear Reader use your IPhone to navigate out there but remember they are as susceptible to magnets and electronic interference as their older counterpart the needle compass. 

New Shoes

One of my pet hates on social media are the same old questions about the same old shoes. 

This may be an unpopular post for some but I do find that some runners get sucked into the advertising and see what looks like a really good shoe, bright, shiny, the nicest curve to the outer and then you see questions like this:

"...What do you think of the new Hokas..."

"...should I get the Altras..."

"...Mudclaw, gotta be Mudclaw..."

These "helpful" message splattered liberally by a runner fan and people buy them, all on the recommendation of an anonymous online user. I have no problem with people getting ideas and trying them out but I am of the adage of:

"Let the foot choose the shoe, not the shoe choosing the foot"

This really means that every shoe should be tried on and even if the latest "trendy" shoe was publicised by a Friend on Facebook only buy it when you know your foot shape and size really do work with the shoe. Just remember that for every 100 runners, there are 100 unique feet with unique gaits, weights and posture. I have seen horrific foot injuries caused by ill fitting shoes that have been untested ( I retract this when infection and injury take hold) but I do get worried when it was avoidable.

So today, after a gargantuan search from all ends of the internet I discovered and purchased what may possibly be the last pair of UK size 9.5, Kanadia TR4 male running shoes in the most disgusting green colour but at least these shoes fit be in all the right places and can get me 100 miles without blisters, let us hope these will give me good service that my previous pair have.  

Grand Union Canal Recce

For a few weeks the plan has been that I was to do a 30 mile reconnaissance mission from Kings Langley to Little Venice along the Grand Union Canal, my running mate of choice was Gemma, my pal from many a race.

The late Friday message via Facebook was:

"See you tomorrow Jezza! We will wait probably just outside the main entrance of Paddington ... I think if we aim to start around the Trove (30miles out) that's a good bet- WD17 3TT." 

  The Day of the recce

Now on the 0559hrs train from my local station I sat there wondering if it had been a good idea having an Indian meal the night before and whether I should have worn my smock as the weather was pretty cool but miraculously dry and still. 

At Paddington, the well oiled worlds of Gemma and myself clashed when, as I stood at the main entrance I heard in a shrill voice "Jerry, JERRY, over here!" and there I saw them pull up in the car and I jumped in ready for the quick drive to the start point in Watford. In that short 20 minute drive I think every subject from mad pecking peacocks to house moves, pasta in tupperware and tennis lessons were covered leaving me with the thought of what Gemma and I were going to talk about during the next 5-6 hours! I was not to disappointed discovering that when we joined the canal path it was her turn to be called "Gemma, GEMMA, over here!" and there, just over 100 metres away was her parents gambolling down the path towards us on their morning walk!

The run starts

The Grand Union Canal was absolutely beautiful, mist rising from the water, the paths wet but easily navigable. I had noticed that Gemma, who wears the same 5 litre pack as me, was well padded out with extra kit and I had no doubt that after a few miles I would be carrying, hats, gloves, snood and arm warmers. I no longer grumble as I am so used to it when bits of kit get handed to me :-)

The next 10 miles went like a blur as we chatted and caught up on news that had happened in the past 7 months, when I say the two of us talk a lot, it is an understatement and we were seen laughing and jumping around the numerous muddy puddles. It was 5 miles into our run whilst Gemma was into a very in-depth story that she was shouted down by:

MMOOOOONNNKKKEEEEEEE

and with me jumping up and down in glee when I spotted the Springwell Lock Monkey, one of the more bizarre but iconic images on the canal. Even Gemma was taken aback by my antics but it was great to see it in the true light of day as I fear next time it will be in the dark as it will be 120 miles into the run.

 This mad moment set the theme of the run as ever so often when it went quiet or one of us hogged the conversation the other would shout "Monkey!"

As the run went on the topic of tactics, food needs, locations of pubs and taps were discussed and discovered. There were the usual trips and stumbles one where I tripped on a branch causing it to whip the back of my leg causing me to whelp ( I have a big red welt on my leg now) but there was nothing that was going to stop us today for we were strong, in great humour and determined our fitness showing through.

 Towards London

As the miles were eaten up we began to notice that the number of industrial and residential buildings increasing, the thoughts of Bulls Bridge in my mind, another iconic point where runners must turn left towards Paddington (see top image in report)

Although 17 miles in to the run we treated this as the halfway point to eat some food and enjoy the scenery.

We were off but for the first mile the path was a bit rough and I fear that footfall is less here but once we were over the worst the paths turned to solid gravel and concrete paths as we got closer to Perry Vale and Notting Hill. There is every point in a run when the moral dips and it was 22 miles for me when this mile just seemed to hang onto me and not change. I believe it was my little head getting confused and so I had a bite to eat and within minutes I was right as rain again, these are the small signals that I have got used to.

Gemma, has youth and experience on her side as her light step carried her ahead which was a great incentive for me as her back gave me something to aim for as we pounded out the miles. Her excellent knowledge of London evident when she told us the building to aim for as targets with distances and, as ever, a good story attached to it. Although separated by 10-50 metres we were in our own little worlds now as we focussed on our individual runs to then have a short walk break filled with the odd joke about how we seemed to have seen the same 2 swans the whole journey, always just ahead of us never behind!

The last mile

Having had 5 hours or so with countryside it is always a bit of a shock when in the last mile the city of London envelopes you like a sheet of glass, shadows and concrete. People appear from nowhere and where once there was an empty path you are dodging, people, bikes and pushchairs but up ahead, just around the corner we could spot the imaginary finish point of the run and ducked over the "line" as my Garmin clicked 30.05 miles.

Thoughts of of our run fresh in our head we strolled off to the coffee shop for a warm down and hot drink, very pleased with the run and absolutely loving the company of my trail buddy, Gemma