Another Misogi Building Block
It was a solid week of training as I think about my misogi challenge in New York on 2 November this year. The week saw me clock 427 on the Training Stress Score on TrainingPeaks, versus a target of 415. This range is a good load for a veteran athlete. My total running kilometres clocked 35, versus a target of 28. I slid off a strength session due to poor readiness, but the extra running made up for the load.
My physiology is handling it well, with my HRV showing my recovery being on track, and my fitness improving. Indeed, KubiosHRV has a proxy physiological age reading, showing my age of 27. At this rate, I will be back in primary school. In seriousness, it’s a great tool to track things, and the readiness scale tells me loud and clear when not to push on.
Happy Birthday To Me
I turned 68 last Thursday, which led to me being a bit daft on Sunday. I set out to do my Sunday long run. In my well-thought-out training programme, the plan was to run for one and three-quarters hours at a slow pace, with a sixty-second walk break every two kilometres.
Walking is not cheating, as an aside, and some excellent marathon times are clocked using this method. Jeff Galloway most notably pioneered it, and my coaching team at Coach Parry, who specialise in over 50 runners, are also big fans. Another brick is another brick, walk breaks or not.
Off I trotted on a beautiful Sunday morning in May, heading from home and into the magnificent Regents Park in London. I planned to head down to Hyde Park, then Green Park, and St. James Park. London is a gift; you’re in one of the greatest cities in the world, yet you can experience so much greenery.
Here’s Where It Started To Unravel
Then, it all went a bit sideways. My careful plan to place another brick in the training wall began to experience mission creep. Around the four-kilometre mark, I felt like I was struggling. My right kneecap was refusing to track in the right groove and was niggling me. And I didn’t feel great.
I started having one of my patented self-flagellation discussions with myself, along the lines of, “You’re kidding yourself if you think you can run a marathon, you broken-down old man,” and other motivational lines. I have found it to be a pattern for me, a fight-or-flight mechanism that can enter the scene early in a lot of endeavours and tell me to stop.
Then my second pattern started to kick in—the “I’ll show you” moment. I guess this is the fight to counter the flight. Something in my head told me that I would run my longest ever run that day—17 kilometres, which sounded close to the half-marathon distance of 21 kilometres. A decision was made, and entirely out of left field, I decided to discard my plan and go for a personal record.
Ain’t So Bad
I very quickly clicked into a groove and thought it was doable. I squeezed the extra distance by going on a wide perimeter route of Hyde Park; it’s a big old piece of real estate. My left knee pain went away. My sacro-iliac joint stopped bothering me. I simply cracked on. My Shokz headphones played me an audiobook, and also gave me a nudge when going too fast or too slow, and kindly ticked off each kilometre for me: another kilometre, another brick in the wall.
Running gives me a different perspective of my adopted home city, and on such a gorgeous day, it was a pleasure to be out there. I often found myself saying, “Ain’t so bad”, which Rocky Balboa said in the Rocky III movie when being punched in the face by Apollo Creed. No, I have no idea why it came to mind either.
At around the 16-kilometre mark, I was in Soho, so I took a quick bathroom and double espresso break at the famous Bar Italia on Frith Street. This place opened in 1949 and is now run by the founder’s grandson, Antonio Polledri.
Here’s a little-known personal story. I went for a coffee there in early 2013 and saw a street photography exhibition. I liked the look of a couple of the photos and registered my interest. When I met the photographer two weeks later to pay for them, it was Mish. We got married a few months later.
The Final Push
Leaving my empty espresso cup on the counter, I pressed on for the final eight clicks. By now, I was feeling okay; there was no doubt I would get this done. My left knee had even started to feel normal. Another click, another brick.
Jogging up Regent Street towards Regents Park, narrowly missing the police cordon for the Palestine protest march, then Portland Place, then entering the park. As I stepped left around the roadworks in the park, I came across some of my friends from ChainGangCyclists waiting for the green light. It was a sign from above, I was sure.
I cut through the park and heard my Garmin tell me “lap eighteen”, and I knew this was on. Through Camden, half listening to a guy with a loud microphone extolling the virtues of Christ, and then up into Kentish Town. Lap twenty came up around the infamous Rio’s, which is a “naturist health spa” – that opens until 7 am at weekends. “Naturist”.
The joy of London, where I have been through the Royal Parks, seen the changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace, had a coffee in a legendary bar, and now pass by Rio’s. You can’t help loving London.
Job Done – Another Brick
I was almost home now, and had to finagle a little loop to get to 21 kilometres, doubling back from my front door and bizarrely hearing “Lap 21” in my ear at the loading bay at the rear of the local chemist. Job done.
My coach, Devlin, rightly tapped my ankles when I reported in. Adding an extra hour to the plan was not a wise move. The whole idea is to progressively add distance week by week and knock the distance off every four weeks to adapt. You can imagine how hard he rolled his eyes when he saw my training diary.
But for me, this was huge. There is no logic to my logic, as is often the case. But to run my longest ever distance, 72 hours after my 68th birthday, was motivational. And getting halfway to marathon distance did wonders for my confidence. It doesn’t hold water as an argument in the slightest, but having done a half marathon, a full marathon does feel more achievable. Another brick, a massive brick in the training wall.
Aftermath
I got stuck into rehydrating, surprised by how much electrolyte drink I could consume. Even though I drank regularly on the run, I hadn’t touched the sides. A brief stretching session, a good slug of whey protein, and a Magnum ice cream saw me deliver the optimum recovery regime.
I then went for calf compression sleeves, and a good hammering with the Theragun. All good.
Today is Monday, and my calf muscles are as tight as banjo strings. I am walking like a penguin. Other than that, I feel good. My HRV is in a good spot, and I have no aches and pains.
Another brick this week means listening carefully to my body. Today’s planned strength session is off. I will see how I feel tomorrow, when a one-hour run is planned. By Thursday, I will definitely be on the road. And Saturday’s two hours will get done. Now that I have stretched myself, a two-hour run seems doable. And it will be two hours, trust me.