Not Running Over a Deer

Monday 2nd March

Run #59

2.5k Richmond Park in the Dark

I had almost arrived home in the light this evening (Yay! for Spring and an end to dark evenings) but by the time I got sorted into my run kit and headed out it was properly dark. And cold. A beautifully clear cloudless and crisp cold day had given way to an equally crisp and colder night and the air felt like it had ice in it. So I had on my thermal leggings and a vest top under my baselayer as well as a woolly bobble hat. That's the thing with super short slow runs: no chance to warm up. So, although it feels daft getting so many clothes on for what will be a less than 20 minute run it has to be done to enjoy the experience at all. I started out across the top of Richmond Hill - one of my favourite place for the awesome view out across to the West.

What I love about nights like this is that London has a crazy orange glow of light pollution that, where it hits the petrol blue of the darkening night sky, turns an almost coppery green. It is almost impossible to do justice to the luminosity of colour with an iPhone, or probably any camera in fact. But it sure is magical.

As I ran along the top a woman ran past me and into Richmond Park. The Park gates are locked at dusk to cars, but the pedestrian gates stay open all night and commuting cyclists use the direct route of the Park's roads well past dark. The fantastically inspiring Marathon Man Rob Young - running 367+ marathons in a year for kids' charities - was running his daily marathon around the Park at 3am with just a head torch. (read more about Rob here and, I urge you, donate whatever you can: he is the most humble amazing selfless runner I have ever met and is achieving something I would not even think was possible to raise money for vulnerable, disadvantaged and abused kids). But I have never ventured inti the Park in the dark. The idea of barrelling right over a deer and onto my face seemed too likely.

However, seeing this woman run past me and off down the (reverse) Tamsin Trail without even a head-torch spurred me on and I slipped through the pedestrian gate. The Park in the dark is surreal. In honesty, the Park without cars is odd enough. But the moon was a good 3/4 and, after a string of very clear days and nights, shone like a beacon making the path that I know so well easy enough to see even if I didn't, my unexpected shadow stretching out to my side.

Not planning on going more than a k in, and back I set off towards Pembroke Lodge. I was immediately struck by the silence. And then by every noise. Not rustles of animals in the undergrowth as I'd feared, but the scrunch of gravel under my trainers, and my breath loud in my ears. It all sounded amplified for the extra still crispness of everything around me.

I knew Richmond Park was high ground - there is a part called King Henry's mound where, on a clear day, you have a direct sightline through a special avenue in the trees all the way to St Paul's Cathedral - but in the dark I was aware of it in a very different way. Off to my left the sparkly orange haze of central London spread out on the horizon; the red lights of the cranes winking against the just discernible shapes of the Shard. Over to my right the spread of Greater London to the South West. Brighter for being closer. And me, running along alone in my bubble of darkness lit only by the moon.

Far from the fear I thought I'd feel I felt a cheery happiness bubbling up in me and it took all my focus not to rise up on my toes and sprint off down the path. But the congested tightness in my calves and tenderness down my Achilles kept me anchored to the ground and the reality of why I shouldn't, as I slipped back out of the gate and back towards civilization far sooner than I would have liked.

No LSD for Me Today (That's Long Slow Distance)

Sunday 1st March

Run #60

3k Richmond Park Loop

I woke up today despondent and moody from having been woken up by the tightness in my calves in the night and fully aware of my insteps before even setting a foot on the floor. Typically it's always when you most want to run that you can't. Today was the first day of Spring and felt like it: sunny, bright, warm and breezy, and I was itching to get out for the Sunday long run that usually feels like such a chore compared to the sacrificed lie-in. Today, I wanted to run. But I'd promised myself a week at least of minimal distance and keep trying to remind myself that a week, in the grand scheme of things, is nothing.

But this obviously wasn't sorting out my bad attitude as M told me again that I didn't have to run at all. And got the sharp end of my mood in response. To which he quite pragmatically pointed out that I can make it about performance, and times, and the Half Marathon coming up at the end of March. Or I can make it about The Streak and make peace with the cutting right back while I try and recover my feet. And just quit the bitching about it.

I couldn't stop thinking about this as I trotted out my few k for the day. Once I got over the breeze (which was pretty windy in actual fact, and did seem to be a head-wind, irrespective of which direction I was running,) I took my time to luxuriate in the feeling of Spring. The Park was alive with smells of bracken and grass. The breeze on my face felt invigorating but with more warmth than any day this year. And full of promise for the Spring to come. And I was out here because I was choosing to be. And I was out here for only 2k for exactly the same reason.

And, feeling uplifted, I got home where even icing my ankles felt less depressing than yesterday.

What Runs Down Must Walk Up?

Saturday 28th February

Run #59

3k Round Richmond Loop

I'd told myself that, this week, I'd do the minimal each day to keep up the Streak. Earlier in the week I had sort of thought that by the time Saturday rolled round I might squeeze in parkrun… maybe go reeeeally slow? Concentrate on keep my heels down? Maybe walk the hills?? But by Thursday I knew in my heart that, if I seriously want to try and rehab an injury while still running I need the discipline to not run if the distance is too far or the demand too high. So on Friday I made peace with not parkrunning this week and added another week to my mental 'T-shirt tally'.

To cement my resolve I had an extra couple of pints on Friday night, therefore ensuring the hangover that would make staying in bed seem infinitely preferable. It did also occur to me that if my Streak days were all parkruns I'd have had a 50 T-shirt on my back for over a week now. Which is pretty crazy to me since I'm still 8 away from my actual 50 parkrun T and I've been parkrunning what feels like almost every week for over a year. Emphasis on the 'feels like' rather than the 'almost' I guess.

So I dutifully iced and stretched and massaged as per all the PF rehab info I've been devouring, while mooching off the after effects of yesterday's beers then headed out for a cruisy 3k loop round Richmond. Trying to avoid hills in Richmond without following some very dull main roads does seriously limit routes to very small loops and circles, or curious little shuttles along the river edge. So, while it really is still too cold to walk much at beginning or end, I have been running downhill, along the flat until time, then walking back up whichever hill I end up at the bottom of. It feels seriously slack and I'm longing to charge up a hill or two (oh the irony!). But that is a fast-lane to arch agony so am holding back. I keep reminding myself of all the hills I've ever had to run up that I seriously didn't want to and counting my blessings at the legitimate excuse not to now.

Typical Friday Night: Mates, Pints, Drunken Running...

Friday 27th February

Run #58

2k Drunken City Run

It was inevitable, I think, that in being someone that likes a drink and someone attempting a Streak, sooner or later there'd be a drunken run in there somewhere. Not surprising either that it was a Friday night.

After another week much like the other weeks of late I was looking forward to getting out of the office and getting to the bar. I hadn't done a runch today. To be honest, I really had thought I'd get home, slot in the couple of recovery k for today, then maybe pop to the local or maybe even a glass of vino at home. But an invite to meet M and his friends in a bar near St Paul's seemed like a much better way to start the weekend. The first pint went down like a dream, swiftly followed by the second.

At this point I honestly still thought I'd run when I got home. But some less-than-sober cajoling from M to 'get it out the way now' I found myself getting up from our table, squeezing between packed tables of City workers letting go of the work week, and out onto Cheapside.

On account of the PF I've been wearing my runners to work; the most arch supporting shoes I have so, feet-wise I was good to go. I can't pretend I looked like a typical runner though, as I paced down towards Holborn Viaduct in black leggings a grey marl slouch off the shoulder sweater and leather shorts. I half thought, in my less than half-sober brain, that maybe I'd pass as a normal pedestrian running for a bus, or back to the office for something I'd forgotten. The slightly less drunk half of my brain didn't care at all that that was pretty much total BS.

More than once when I had to cross a road I reached down to stop my Garmin only to encounter my heavy rose gold Marc Jacobs. Far from a GPS accurate timepiece. In actual fact, the banging around of my watch on the bones of my wrist was the least comfortable aspect of my less than typical attire.

Not having a clue on distance or speed I decided to run 13 minutes, which should cover at least my requisite 2k with contingency, without overdoing it. Pacing out through the City at 10pm, pretty squiffy, was exhilarating and crazy fun. I paused on Holborn Viaduct: somewhere I'd never been before and marvelled drunkenly at how pretty all the lights were, before looping round the block and back past Bow Lane and towards the Cathedral.

To give an idea of the general context of the night, I got back to the table in the pub to find another drink waiting for me and some ribbing on how long I'd taken in the loo. A typical girl apparently.

Not so typical tonight.

The slightly surreal experience of running drunk through the City is perfectly summed up by this fantastic stop motion video by the incredibly talented videographer Anatoleya:

N.O. to P.F. A.S.A.P.

Thursday 26th February

Run #57

2.2k Round the Block Lunch Shuffle

Another day another runch. Though I now feel like I can't even call this a runch given that this was no run, and a jog at best. Maybe just a pootle…

But I am determined to try and make these recovery runs as close to a rest as possible. Even more so than yesterday. S.H.O.R.T. and S.L.O.W. So I can see this whole 'active recovery' bit is going to get tough before it even gets going. Not physically but mentally. But mentally because not physically. Argh.

There is, I thought as I forced myself into a geriatric paced shuffle around Eaton Square today, a massive irony in the fact that 'running' like this feels like cheating the Streak. Whereas actually it’s the running at all that's cheating the recovery. Which is all precisely not to cheat the Streak. I have muttered to myself more than once today that 'the definition of a qualifying Streak run is one where at least 1 mile minimum is run in one go'. And in the war in my head me myself and I have all done our best bargaining and I’ve only permitted myself to keep up the daily ‘running’ on the proviso that 100% of the focus is on getting over this PF asap. I was not expecting this would be the fun bit, I knew it would be boring. But my God it’s boring.

Bigger picture dammit.

Bigger. Picture.

And I am boring myself whining about it so; no more of that. Instead, here is a list of all the Embassies it is possible to run past the front door of in less than 2.5k out and back from my office, provided you know where to go:

• Embassy of the Republic of Cote D’Ivoire
• Italian Cultural Institute
• High Commission for the Republic of Trinidad & Tobago
• Malaysian High Commission
• Belgian Embassy
• Embassy of Luxembourg
• High Commission for the Republic of Singapore
• Singapore Embassy
• Portuguese Embassy
• Embassy of the Syrian Arab Republic
• Embassy of Finland
• Ghana High Commission
• Embassy of Austria
• Brunei Darussalam High Commission
• Embassy of the Federal Republic of Germany
• Royal Norwegian Embassy
• Embassy of the Republic of Serbia
• Embassy of the Kingdom of Bahrain

And that’s not to mention the Bolivian Consulate, Lesotho High Commission or Consulate of the Arab Republic of Egypt, all a mere stone’s throw on side streets I didn’t venture down. Basically like shooting ambassadorial fish in a diplomatic barrel. On a sunny windy day the flags will look amazing. I might plan a longer ‘Emabssy runch route’ for when the rehab pootling is done, see just how many it might be possible to fit into a 5k. I feel it may be a lot which, considering my flag knowledge is on par with Top Gear’s Richard Hammond, can only be an educational bonus.

No Good Run Goes Unpunished

Wednesday 25th February

Run #56

2.5k Round the Block Runch 

In the grand scheme of Universal cosmic debt and 'what goes up must come down' the first foot on the floor out of bed this morning was like stepping on an upturned power plug. Stiff ankles, tight calves and the return of the shooting heel pain and instep ache are, it seems, the price I'm paying for not listening to the angel on my shoulder about the ill-advised carefree sprinting yesterday. With a heavy heart I have to admit that too much forefoot running of late on my inherently floppy fallen arched hobbit feet is exacerbating the PF tha seems to not have come and gone as I'd hoped.

Typically for plantar fasciitis is a peak of stiffness and pain first thing in the morning, as the fascia has tightened overnight. Usually as everything gets more warmed up through the day the discomfort eases, giving a false sense of security on a run as it feel better the further you go and the warmer you get. So I was naturally wary as the morning at work went on and I was still very aware of my right foot every time I got up from my desk.

Nevertheless, I headed out for a runch, with an aim to keep it so slow and short that it would be as close to resting as a run could get. It takes so much focus and discipline to go super slow I find. It takes constant mental remindings, as my patterns slip back to my 'comfort pace', to hold it back. I tried for a little loop across a pretty square in Belgravia with some galleries I love to nosy in the window of, and then up past the Lister Hospital and back round to work.

Even keeping the pace steady and running a nearly flat route I wasn't sure I was holding back enough. The focal spot of pain on the medial edge of my heel and corresponding arch-ache dulled off as expected, but in response was an unexpected congested feeling in both calves. Like all the blood that was feeding those muscles was rushing there to deposit all the lovely oxygen but then Just. Not. Leaving. Stopping to stretch this out was a no-no as stopping gave an instant pain in both lower legs like the flood of feeling back into an arm you'd fallen asleep on. Which forced me to walk off the run for a good while before I could stretch.

All the conventional wisdom says the cure for PF is REST. Honest to goodness just NOT running. But I am not ready to throw in the towel on the Streak just yet. Which probably makes me stupid. But I'm hopeful that I can listen to my body enough to know when stupidity becomes f*ing idiocy and stop before then.

In the meantime I am going to find out as much as I can about what I should be doing to minimise the impact of continuing to run, albeit the bare minimum and rehabbing to recovery at the same time. 

I'm starting here.

The Underground, Overground: Windmilling Free

Tuesday 24th February

Run #55

6k 5 Tube Stop Loop Round Knightsbridge & Belgravia

Continuing on my quest to keep my runchs interesting I devised a loop for today's run that follows the most direct route between the 5 London Underground stops closest to my office. GoogleMaps suggested I should be able to achieve this in about 5.7k so I saved the route to my phone and, because there is part of me that is old school and just finds it easier - scribbled the main roads in order on a post-it and tucked it into my sleeve pocket.

By the nature of demarking my route with tube stations I knew I had set myself up for people congestion, so I was prepared for a lot of duck-and-weave on this run and didn't mind. Straight out the door I felt light on my feet and buoyant in my step. I felt like a boxer dancing around the trundle suitcases of Victoria as I headed towards St James's Park tube. I could tell my pace between crowds was good but I paid little attention to my Garmin other than to stop it at road crossings or when the tourist throngs became full on stationary knots to unravel my way through.

My first mistake was to take the cut through I know well down the St James's Park tube. While this got me to the back exit OK, I was off my map and none of the roads were on my post-it, so I doubled back - basically round the block - to get back on track at the front of the tube station.

With fewer people now I was off the main road, I windmilled along, past the Ministry of Justice and the next door barracks, finding myself back in front of Buckingham Palace for the second time this week. 

Then off through Green Park. Constitution Hill seemed so much shorter than when I last ran in this Park: intervals last Summer. In fact, the whole Park seemed smaller and I was out at the Bomber Command Airmen and on to Hyde Park corner before I knew it. 

I can't lie, often enforced waiting at pedestrian crossings is a pleasure and relief that I take no guilt in and usually relish. But today I could feel myself fidgeting and jumping on the spot waiting for the green man, eager to be off.  

The slowest part of this run was the section round Hyde Park Corner tube. Partly because I got all turned around and couldn't quite work out which side of the road I needed to be on: cue several unnecessary runs under the underpass, popping up like a meerkat only to scurry back to the other side in indecision. Having chosen the side of the road I thought I needed to continue down, within 500m I met a police blockade that had closed the entire walkway. Conscious of losing time and keen to be underway again it was back under the road and on down Knightsbridge.

The strip of pavement down to Knightsbridge tube isn't particularly wide and I was bobbing and weaving like a rubber duck in a rapid, equally eager not to slow any more than I had to or take out any unsuspecting shopper. But over the road at the tube station and I was onto Sloane Street which is considerably wider and quieter. Like finally getting a fast car out of traffic and on to the autobahn I could feel my pace pick up. It was joyous to feel my legs circling under me and the spring in my step propelling me forward. I so very very rarely get this feeling that it was a struggle to rein it in. But a little voice in the back of my mind was trying to remind me that it's front-foot running that aggravates plantar fasciitis and that I needed to get my heels down.

All too quickly I was at Sloane Square tube and the number of roads to cross and increase in traffic necessitated slowing and stops again. Knowing I had little time to spare as this loop was closer to 6k than my usual 5 that fits, along with the showering and changing, neatly into a lunch hour I abandoned my post-it for the route I knew and got back to the office feeling elated and refreshed, if a little more tired than usual.