After such a successful week training, I took advice from one of our better distance coaches, the ever patient Mike, as to what I should do next and I got an emphatic "Hills". Now one thing we are blessed with in Wales is hills, and I live on the top of one just outside the magical city of Newport - magical in so much as bits keep disappearing such as historic murals. Anyway I digress, so hills, where to run safely without ten foot of mud, idiot car drivers and dogs: answer the canal tow path. But, I hear you cry, canals are flat - water and all that Newtonian gravity stuff. Ah - ha, not in Wales boyo, the canal that goes past my house goes uphill, seriously uphill.
It's known as fourteen locks, the canal rises 50m from the M4 motorway below Junction 27 to Cefn Walk a distance of less than 800m, and all this is less than half a mile from my front door. The little run therefore comprises of half mile gentle slope through Newport's unimaginative housing, before plummeting down the side of the hill in a series of steep drops alongside the afore mentioned locks to the M4 making it 1 mile to the bottom.
I made it down OK, dodging the odd mud puddle and startled squirrel and bemused children in 7 minutes dead. Getting back up was a whole new experience for me, I gave myself a 2 minute break to come to terms with the task and set off scaring the sh*t out of the squirrel, half way was tough and more muddy than I remembered on the way down. The world was now spinning, my breathing breathing hoarse, and I was now carrying the fridge (bear in woods an all that), I rasped, trudged (barely running) and gasped my way to the top where I was only too happy to stop to avoid being run over on Cwm Lane. Took two and a half minutes longer to come back than the trip down, got in and fell asleep on the sofa wondering if the world spins the other way south of the equator in places like Brazil- so that's hills is it then, must do it again sometime.
Sunday's run was an immense 3 miles and included a couple of hills as well, this was the first time I'd done this run for over a year and I was significantly slower, I was out and about for nearly half an hour. When I finally got in my butt seized up and no matter how hard I tried, the hot baths failed to cure it, so the ride to work on Monday was interesting.
Tuesday's session of 3x600m only served to remind me what the 3 mile run felt like again. All I say is I did finish it, at least the track is flat. I've checked the surface closely a few times now, it's definitely flat.
So to Thursday, definitely not fully recovered from the 600's so this was going to be fun. For some strange reason I thought 6x200 was a good idea and what was 32 seconds all about. First two were easy enough and inside the time two, third one I had to side step three twits jogging in the inside lane and passed them with a graceful left haded hand off and still managed 32 from lane 4. The short recoveries were taking their toll now though, and the next one slipped to 33, eyes open now its time for the bear. Sure enough only 50m in it all got a bit wobbly, I wandered off the track just managed to miss running into the discus cage, re-discovered where the track was but realised that I was in lane 2 as the track doesn't have a hard shoulder. Somehow I found the finish line where I commenced an in-depth study of the 4x100 change over box before checking out the contents of the bear's fridge, sadly no cold beers just some squash. 10 minutes later I did manage to complete the 6th rep but had to fore go any warm down in favour of being able to ride home the same night. Pain relief took the form of a double measure of my Welsh single malt Penderyn, lovely.
I didn't need much more motivation this week, but having seen my friends competing in the World Masters Championships in Brazil bringing home medals with performance that many senior can't match, I quite fancy some of that.
Thursday, 24 October 2013
Friday, 18 October 2013
Time to recover - almost
So three weeks in to the winter's training, and I have to endure all the FB postings of my Master Friends as they jet off to the World Championships in Porto Alegro, Brazil. I wasn't up to going this time, mostly due to the season full of injuries, but also down to being crap this year. I wished them mall well whilst smiling through gritted teeth. But seriously, I would really like to go to the next indoor champs in Budapest, now there's a goal.
Talking of goals, that's coaching talk. I finally succumbed to my club nagging me to get qualified as a proper coach. I slotted the first 2 day course into my schedule thinking it would make a nice rest - 3 days off. However, Welsh Athletics is not so flush that they could afford proper demonstration athletes, so as the course progressed we found we were demonstrating our own sessions and they quickly caught on to the fact I could run. Two days rest my foot - more like two days boot camp. Day 1 Sprint Starts, Drive and Acceleration, hurdles, I of course could not resist demonstrating block starts and acceleration and drive phase. Oh yes I can hurdle too, no-one else was daft enough to stick their hands up to that. What was I thinking? Thankfully I wasn't too tired when I got home, but my legs knew this wasn't like any rest I've done previously.
Day 2, and yes everyone remembered I could sprint, so when we did the endurance bit (3x200m indoors) I lost it, we had to run at an even pace, which I managed for the first two, but half way round the 3rd one, the chap doing the coaching yells "fast relaxed!" and I kicked it in, so did the Swansea lad behind me and the race was on, a 40 second easy run ended up 32 seconds having sprinted the last 100m - bloody show off but there was no way I was letting a Swansea Jack beat me. The next session was speed walking, got carried away racing in that too, but that was far more hilarious than effort. Then we did shot, and I wasn't going to be the only one not hitting the wall - not that I'm competitive or anything you understand. Later in the afternoon's proceedings we covered long jump, so in my element again, being coached by two lovely young ladies who were courteous enough not to pick my rather shaky technique apart too much. However, that right arm does need to be higher so we did a drill using the rake being held above the pit and it worked so I'm trying that again, just need someone to hold the rake. By the end of the day I was too tired to do the evenings run so I settled down to a wee glass of 12 year of Balvenie (Double Cask) to take my mind off my now seized hamstirngs.
Tuesday, only one day's recovery later, and it was back to the reality of 400m, and the realisation that I'm nowhere near good enough to run three of them, so why the heck did I do four. At least I discovered that the blue line marking the 4x400m relay box at the finish, has been painted to a high standard and passed inspection closely 4 times. I put the temptation of single malt to one side on returning home, in favour of pain killers and an early night.
Wednesday dawned and the damage was clearly apparent, breakfast was only achieved by traversing the stairs sideways to cries of: Oh! not again! Thankfully a day at my desk, a cold bath and two massages later, and things had improved enough by Thursday to do it all over again. This time the torture took the form of 3x200m twice with 60 seconds recovery. I got through the first set relatively unscathed and no sign of my friend the fridge bearer - yet. Did two of the next set and the world went into reverse, fridge arrived intact during the 3rd rep, I must find out what's inside it. My new interest of "line studying" progressed with the inspection of the markings at the 200m start, nice white they've used. I did make it home in one piece, but I can't remember how.
Talking of goals, that's coaching talk. I finally succumbed to my club nagging me to get qualified as a proper coach. I slotted the first 2 day course into my schedule thinking it would make a nice rest - 3 days off. However, Welsh Athletics is not so flush that they could afford proper demonstration athletes, so as the course progressed we found we were demonstrating our own sessions and they quickly caught on to the fact I could run. Two days rest my foot - more like two days boot camp. Day 1 Sprint Starts, Drive and Acceleration, hurdles, I of course could not resist demonstrating block starts and acceleration and drive phase. Oh yes I can hurdle too, no-one else was daft enough to stick their hands up to that. What was I thinking? Thankfully I wasn't too tired when I got home, but my legs knew this wasn't like any rest I've done previously.
Day 2, and yes everyone remembered I could sprint, so when we did the endurance bit (3x200m indoors) I lost it, we had to run at an even pace, which I managed for the first two, but half way round the 3rd one, the chap doing the coaching yells "fast relaxed!" and I kicked it in, so did the Swansea lad behind me and the race was on, a 40 second easy run ended up 32 seconds having sprinted the last 100m - bloody show off but there was no way I was letting a Swansea Jack beat me. The next session was speed walking, got carried away racing in that too, but that was far more hilarious than effort. Then we did shot, and I wasn't going to be the only one not hitting the wall - not that I'm competitive or anything you understand. Later in the afternoon's proceedings we covered long jump, so in my element again, being coached by two lovely young ladies who were courteous enough not to pick my rather shaky technique apart too much. However, that right arm does need to be higher so we did a drill using the rake being held above the pit and it worked so I'm trying that again, just need someone to hold the rake. By the end of the day I was too tired to do the evenings run so I settled down to a wee glass of 12 year of Balvenie (Double Cask) to take my mind off my now seized hamstirngs.
Tuesday, only one day's recovery later, and it was back to the reality of 400m, and the realisation that I'm nowhere near good enough to run three of them, so why the heck did I do four. At least I discovered that the blue line marking the 4x400m relay box at the finish, has been painted to a high standard and passed inspection closely 4 times. I put the temptation of single malt to one side on returning home, in favour of pain killers and an early night.
Wednesday dawned and the damage was clearly apparent, breakfast was only achieved by traversing the stairs sideways to cries of: Oh! not again! Thankfully a day at my desk, a cold bath and two massages later, and things had improved enough by Thursday to do it all over again. This time the torture took the form of 3x200m twice with 60 seconds recovery. I got through the first set relatively unscathed and no sign of my friend the fridge bearer - yet. Did two of the next set and the world went into reverse, fridge arrived intact during the 3rd rep, I must find out what's inside it. My new interest of "line studying" progressed with the inspection of the markings at the 200m start, nice white they've used. I did make it home in one piece, but I can't remember how.
Saturday, 12 October 2013
Hyperventilation
Seems I've struck a chord with all this guff, well that's good and
bad. Nice it's appreciated, but bad that you'll expect more of the
same, so here goes.
This week was a bit different, my nice neice, the air hostess was getting married, so we were all trogging off to Hythe in Kent for a couple of days so a chance to rest. The gig was in Lympne Castle, a 13th century relic about 5 miles from Hythe just along the coast from Folkstone. I have to say it all went really well and the party afterwards was a great craic, but all that "dancing" left me and others a little tired (as a newt), so how would Thursdays session pan out after all that.
A handful of 200's followed by a couple of 300's, at this point in my fitness regeime I was probably going to struggle. Sooooo, the twos went OK though, hitting the target time was rather like pushing a Ford Transit uphill, but I was close enough. The first of the 300's was amazingly close to the required number of seconds - shock nearly killed me, but that's where the success came to an end and half way round the second one, the bear I had been aquainted with last year, leapt on my back and introduced me to the fridge he was carrying and the wheels came off, that was much more like it. Head spinning I found excuses to sit whilst I was amused by the world spinning gayly past.
The weekend brought fresh rest, and fresh opportunity for punishment, the road runs saw to that nicely, such a chance for hyperventilation could not be overlooked - twice! So Monday off then.
Tuesday was a more civilised affair 3 x 400 - simples. Not! Managed the first easy enough, and was sill able to breath at the end, second one not so much. You may remember the bear and his fridge, well we meet again old friend. The drive home was somewhat delayed, and full of questions such as why am I doing this and where did I put the 12 year old Highland Park?
So we reached Thursday's rather vicious looking session - 7x200m. One of the coaches I annoy by asking 'Mike, how do I . . . .' week in week out, suggested reducing the recoveries. Hmmm seems logical with all that Lactic and Aerobic stuff going on (The Alactic only gets me through the warm up). But I chickened out and just walked back each time progressively more slowly after spending a few seconds intently studying the ground beween my feet, re-learning how to breath. I got to the last one having made my aquaintance with the fridge carrying bear, and things got really interesting. 100m in as I wandered across the lanes like a drunkard and completed the slowest 200 of my life, mind you, I ran further than 200 having used all three inside lanes to get there. Needless to say I was late getting home, again, but at least I know where the Higland Park is now and I have a 3 day break to recover.
Oh, did I get that wrong, but I'll tell you all about that next week, in the mean time I have a single malt to finish, recoveries can be "such fun".
This week was a bit different, my nice neice, the air hostess was getting married, so we were all trogging off to Hythe in Kent for a couple of days so a chance to rest. The gig was in Lympne Castle, a 13th century relic about 5 miles from Hythe just along the coast from Folkstone. I have to say it all went really well and the party afterwards was a great craic, but all that "dancing" left me and others a little tired (as a newt), so how would Thursdays session pan out after all that.
A handful of 200's followed by a couple of 300's, at this point in my fitness regeime I was probably going to struggle. Sooooo, the twos went OK though, hitting the target time was rather like pushing a Ford Transit uphill, but I was close enough. The first of the 300's was amazingly close to the required number of seconds - shock nearly killed me, but that's where the success came to an end and half way round the second one, the bear I had been aquainted with last year, leapt on my back and introduced me to the fridge he was carrying and the wheels came off, that was much more like it. Head spinning I found excuses to sit whilst I was amused by the world spinning gayly past.
The weekend brought fresh rest, and fresh opportunity for punishment, the road runs saw to that nicely, such a chance for hyperventilation could not be overlooked - twice! So Monday off then.
Tuesday was a more civilised affair 3 x 400 - simples. Not! Managed the first easy enough, and was sill able to breath at the end, second one not so much. You may remember the bear and his fridge, well we meet again old friend. The drive home was somewhat delayed, and full of questions such as why am I doing this and where did I put the 12 year old Highland Park?
So we reached Thursday's rather vicious looking session - 7x200m. One of the coaches I annoy by asking 'Mike, how do I . . . .' week in week out, suggested reducing the recoveries. Hmmm seems logical with all that Lactic and Aerobic stuff going on (The Alactic only gets me through the warm up). But I chickened out and just walked back each time progressively more slowly after spending a few seconds intently studying the ground beween my feet, re-learning how to breath. I got to the last one having made my aquaintance with the fridge carrying bear, and things got really interesting. 100m in as I wandered across the lanes like a drunkard and completed the slowest 200 of my life, mind you, I ran further than 200 having used all three inside lanes to get there. Needless to say I was late getting home, again, but at least I know where the Higland Park is now and I have a 3 day break to recover.
Oh, did I get that wrong, but I'll tell you all about that next week, in the mean time I have a single malt to finish, recoveries can be "such fun".
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