My Fourth Marathon – The Nottingham, Robin Hood Marathon, 2009

My eyes slowly open wide and at long last it’s marathon morning. Today I have a long-promised job to do, a job to do well. Rising, calmness is key and I follow practised habits in slowly preparing myself for the mass start on Nottingham Trent Embankment and the gun of 10.05 AM.

My partner Melanie and I call to collect our friend and my training partner, Lesia and on through Nottingham towards the big river. Hundreds of people mill in the same direction, some bounding slightly excitedly and some trudge, somewhat disconsolately. I sit thinking in the rear of the little Toyota, stilled in the fussy traffic. I know I have much to do.

I’m offering soft platitudes outwardly. I hear myself offering that, considering my recent injury problems, I’ll pull up and drop out of this race if it should become necessary – if the pain should become too much. I know deep down that this is not true though. I will end this race dragging my leg behind me in my wake if I have to. I will not stop.

The jittery last few minutes roll past quickly and it’s time to slip out of the swaddling comfort of my sweatshirt and step on to the road. Step up to the plate. Lesia lines up at my side to accompany me, I’m not sure how long she will be there, perhaps a mile or two, I surmise. There seems a happy and welcome symmetry to this considering how many training miles we’ve passed together. A shuddering jog, stop, walk, trot takes us towards the start line gantry and I gesture to Melanie who is echoing our footsteps on the paving next to us and the massed beginning runners. Drummers pound a rhythmic beat. I give my thanks to a power greater than I as I do at the inception and end of each and every run. Thank you for this.

It’s taken an awful lot to get here today and I heave a heavy sigh of recognition as we tread steadily towards the Meadows, past the wide ranks of cheering crowds lining our route.

The Marathon Diaries: Hamstrung

As has been mentioned in this diary previously, when injury strikes the runner, one often feels in the lap of the gods. Normal rational feelings desert us and the injury and its resultant diminishing prospects for successful running become based upon largely subjective emotions rather than the more useful objectivity one might assume.

Such was the case with me recently. A week last Tuesday I pulled up lame around five miles from home near Newstead Abbey in the midst of a ten mile run. A twinge or two in the rear of my left thigh had quickly worked itself into outright pain and as always seems the case with these things, I was a long way from home. I pulled up to a standstill and wondered what the heck to do next.

I got myself home at quarter pace and reached for the icepack. Later on that (very worried) evening the process of sorting this problem began, for here was a real and genuine threat to my prospects of running in the Robin Hood Marathon on September 13 and something needed doing quickly.

A little Internet research told me that the problem was a torn hamstring. It was good to at least have the knowledge of what the injury was. Ice, ice and more ice were interspersed with Ibuprofen after every meal. the next day, a disheartened Stu was persuaded by his partner to visit a physiotherapist and what a good idea that was. When injury strikes the runner it can affect him or her in so many different ways. Of course it can immediately feel like all of one’s hard work has gone up in smoke, that is one of the more obvious reactions. Perhaps consider too that there are social aspects to this, would I even be able to run and walk with my friends? How long would this take to get better (I read six long weeks in one report)?

It’s a week and a half later now and I can write about it. Physio appointments which included massage of the injury and ultrasound treatment, a succession of incredibly careful and wary runs as little as 1m in distance (actually more like ‘shuffles’ than runs) and I am now back on the road proper again with a five mile run yesterday. Fingers crossed, it worked out. What remains now is a difficult but attainable return back to the kind of mileage of late for the next two weeks. Two weeks to work very hard and then a taper week to the big day.

The Marathon Diaries: Peas in a Pod!

A very wet day today (all over the UK apparently) and the prospect of running more than a few miles was not a welcoming one. Rain pouring down, I pulled out some of my winter training gear, unbelievably for mid-summer, and decided on a few laps of the disused road near my home. the reasoning was that I could quit as soon as I’d had enough, call it a day and head home for a hot shower and drink.

Running laps always presents me with the problem of actually counting them them and keeping in touch with how far I’ve run and up at my little local route I devised a little system with a bunch of limestone rocks at the side of the road. Simply this, I’d count them off, one per lap, kicking them to one side after each lap was completed. I’m always confounded as to how mental arithmetic evades me whilst running as my brains appear to become increasingly scrambling the more tied I get.

Then some passer-by strangely took my rocks away!

I needed a counter and the first thing that came to mind were the fresh garden peas in the refrigerator, nestling still in their pods! Left-hand trouser pocket full of peas, I headed off on my initial lap, swapping a pea into the right-hand pocket after each lap. It worked like a dream!

An intended five miles (10 laps) evolved into eight miles then finally ten miles. It’s often this way when I get the bit between the teeth. A little music was important today and it was the Godfather of Soul himself, James Brown, that got things under way today as I skipped down the old lane. It was Get on the Good Foot rather appropriately.

Which I did.

Oooooowww!

The Marathon Diaries: Injury Strikes

It struck quite a while ago actually but I’ve been soldiering on with it as one often does – ill-advisedly and for several months. It’s ultimately not serious though I’m happy and relieved to say and whilst it remains uncomfortable for the moment, does not represent a physical problem that will stop me training, hopefully.

I include this post today for any budding, beginner or inexperienced runners reading as dealing with injuries is always going to be a part of running, unless one is inordinately fortunate. It’s important to consider the way one considers these inevitable problems when they come along and present themselves.

For some time now I have been experiencing pain in my lower stomach. This is always exacerbated by running and has led to many an uncomfortable time, during and after runs and more especially lying in bed trying to get comfortable at night. Like many injuries it’s always worse after being at rest for a little while – after sitting or when getting out of bed in the morning.

The problem is diagnosed by my physiotherapist as a Sacroiliac condition – basically my left pelvis was ‘stuck’ and causing the tendons in my front lower stomach to be stretched and therefore become inflamed. The lack of movement in the pelvis meant that upon movement, my spine would twist one way to compensate for it then the other further up, not a good scenario obviously. A few manipulations in the surgery this morning have left me a little sore but nevertheless hopeful of being on the road to pain free running, something I’ve not had the pleasure of in a while.

Read about this condition

As is often the case, anti-inflammatory medication in the form of Ibuprofen tablets has been suggested as a useful and helpful tool in alleviating the inflammation and discomfort. I was already using this rather spasmodically and have taken it at various times in the past for different conditions. I learned today that administering it properly is very important. It should be taken as near as possible to every eight hours as is achievable to spread it’s effect in an even manner. A problem and inconvenience with the taking of this kind of medication is that it should not taken on an empty stomach as this can be harmful to the stomach lining. It’s good to hear however that a ‘not empty stomach’ can simply be the ingesting of a piece of fruit (preferably not of an acidic variety), a digestive biscuit or similar just prior to taking the Ibuprofen, it’s not necessary to have a full meal which can of course be inconvenient to fit in adequately.

I have to take it easy for a day or two to let those manipulations settle down a little. That’s not always so easy to do! I feel that this is a blip on the marathon training horizon however and am encouraged that I now run in the full knowledge of what the problem is and how to handle the situation. That always has to be the best way, to operate in an informed way.

I’m a runner. I’ve been a runner since I was around twelve years old and that’s a long time. We runners tend to be obstinate, stubborn and set in our ways about the way in which we practice our chosen sport. I’m sure this is often a necessary part of the character of a typical long-distance runner – a hard activity that requires not a little determination and inflexibility of thinking, not to say downright cussedness and pigheadedness at times! It’s what keeps us going when the going gets tough but it can also be our downfall.

Onwards and upwards.

The Marathon Diaries: The Old Road

It’s three days after my initial run of thirteen miles as I write, the two intervening days containing a couple of single-mile runs which keep my ‘streak’ going and a seven mile walk around the Denton area of The Vale of Belvoir. This was partly due to sore lower stomach muscles from that last long run. Sometimes having the ability to run a long way without taking too much care about doing it can be a bad thing. I really should remember that it’s some five weeks since I ran such a distance.

So it’s back to the old disused road near where I live for a few laps to gauge my soreness. I know by doing this I can end at the appropriate time without being obliged to complete a circuit. The old road is a curious place. It’s a crumbly half-mile stretch of faded tarmac running parallel with its more modern successor of some forty or so years. It’s pleasant and fairly quiet though, often you won’t see a single soul around there. To one side is a small wood and to the other open farmland with a picturesque farm house perched on the red hills.

I set off and immediately feel my stomach tugging though this soon eases. I consult the set of limestone rocks near the beginning that I count off my laps with. I could never remember how many half-mile stretches I’ve run after the first handful!

The old road itself is largely set on a hill and is a healthy workout for that reason. The road is useful for a very short and necessary run near to home but when encountering the thought of running several laps, music become essential to me. A Sony Walkman Mp3 player plays some summery music into my ears under the watery May sunshine, dappled by the freshly green trees lining the route.

Today I ran twelve laps equalling six miles. The time was unimportant. I’m thinking of the long-term goal as usual. Now – what about that diet…

The Marathon Diaries: The Road Back

So here I find myself, back in the car park of The Nag’s Head at Woodborough in Nottinghamshire. Alone and ready to run. Five days ago I filed my entrance online for the Nottingham Robin Hood Marathon in late September to absolutely no acclaim at all. There’s not much going back now. It’s a pleasant Saturday afternoon in early May and I have much work ahead of me.

First name: STUART

Surname: FREW

Race Type: Marathon – non-AAA affiliated

Date of Register: 30 April 2009

Time of Register: 09:11:06

It’s familiar road, one I’ve know so many times. I’m breezing along steadily with that small Hibernian FC Harp on my chest and a Maple Leaf emblem on my shorts. The first stream appears with a duck paddling furiously underneath the brackish water, swimming against an insistent current.

The Streak

Okay it’s here.

Today marks eight years since I began a running ’streak’ – running every single day without fail for a minimum distance of one mile. In practice the distance has been anywhere between one and twenty-six point-two miles (The London Marathon) along the way. I’m going to save the full story for another day but I’d just like to relate how it began and a couple of memories along the way from this past eight years.

I’d been originally thinking of this project for some time and had even achieved a period of several months of marathon training before sadly succumbing with a broken big toe. Ironically that was not caused by the seventy/eighty miles a week I was training at that time but by stubbing my foot on a door frame in the home! Such is life I mused as I struggled through a couple of painful eight and five-mile runs with the fractured toe before realising that particular streak was sadly at an end.