Manchester - Week 9

The week in numbers ...

Miles ran: 53
Mushrooms eaten :  a few
Chocolate eaten: 2 large white chocolate bars
Crisps eaten : 1 large bag jalapeno cheddar
Wine drank: 1 bottle

Weight: Monday 11st11lb
                    Sunday 11st8lb

It's GP tonight, I'm not looking forward to this in any way whatsoever.

I decide to do my usual warm up run which I'm hoping will magically wake my legs up so I can smash the GP.

It doesn't work.

The 4 mile warm up feels so hard and I'm doing 9 minute miles, heading back towards Whitley and all the cycle lane works means I'm on the pavement on the other side which is very narrow and two ladies are hogging the whole thing, I wait for a break in the traffic so I can run on the road.  

My time comes but two main problems here.

Firstly, I forget there is a curb to go down and secondly I'm blind and don't see the manhole with the raised edge.

Oh and thirdly I completely misjudge the timing of the car that's coming.

Anyway, I go to the right to go on the road and stumble down the curb, as I stumble I catch my foot on the manhole and fly forwards, I see the headlights of the car very close behind me and I have a sudden panic that I'm going headfirst into the tarmac and this car is going straight over the top of me. Somehow I manage to comedy fall forwards and actually remain upright and stumble back into some kind of run and quickly step to the left as the car behind goes flying past me. My heart is beating fast but nothing damaged.

Head to GP start and my legs are wrecked, I've struggled at 9 minute mile pace and I consider going home but I'm here now. We start and I'm with Jenni and Ruth and Jenni is out of sight in seconds, after about a minute Chris and Natasha both catch me and the three of us all try and keep each other going and we somehow manage to get to 7:20 mile pace. We start the second lap and hit the prom and can see the lights of the tail bike following us towards the finish. I finish 6th last and jog home in pain.

Threshold Thursday but already decided that I'm not doing it. It would mean doing 7 miles of intervals at the pace I raced the half at and I 'think' I can do it but it's gonna hurt and recovery from it will knacker my weekend run.

So....

Here's a moment of seriousness from me.

A plan is great, it gives structure and for me a sense of accountability but it's just a guide, life gets in the way, Injuries and niggles and a million other things so tweak it and amend it when you need to and this week that's what I've done.

Thursday instead became 8 miles steady pace same distance as I should have done with thresholds but slower and I felt much better for it. In the evening I was at the club and headed out to do a few hills strides and then jumped in with D team to do a few effoets which was fun and made my legs feel way better.

Then home to have a glass of wine and watch some telly.

No booze on Friday as I'm doing my long run on Sat instead of Sunday. I'm enjoying long runs on a Saturday so I can take parkrun on the end and the hard last few miles are then in a group and feels way easier.  

The downside of this having to get up and be out early. I don't like waking up early.

I'm supposed to be doing 22 miles today but I just don't fancy it, legs feel much better but not 22 mile better just yet. I flip things round with next week, so today is 18 miles. The plan is easy, it's 18 miles at slow aerobic and ending at fast aerobic, this means 15 miles at 8:30 pace and then do the parkrun at 8:00 miles and that's the session nailed.

Let's not pretend I'm anything other than a bit of a twat so here we go.

Mile 1 in 8:03, 5 of the next 6 miles are sub 8's and the slowest mile at mile 8 is 8:09. At 11 miles I turn to head back down the coast road and this is all a little downhill so pace picks up and now it's all 7:30-7:40 pace.

Get to Cullercoats Watch House and check the clock, it's 8:48 and I planned to got this point at 8:52 so I'm going to arrive in Whitley early. I try and slow down but The Prodigy are playing so that ain't happening, Smack My Bitch Up comes on and I relive the moment when I fist pumped the air at York marathon like a fucking boss, that's how I remember it anyway.

Arrive in Whitley, parkrun hasn't started, I go past and drop down onto the prom, and run back up the hill, parkrun still hasn't started, run with Jim and complain parkrun still hasn't started, Jim stops and I loop back past and back down the hill, see Graham and complain parkrun still hasn't started, see Andy Fury and he's doing the same as me and trying not to stop.

This is silly now, I head down on the prom and do a couple of laps up and down and then they're off, quick run round to loop back and jump in, keep the pace steady under 8 mins, near the end Helen passes me and I watch her open up a 20m gap and decide I should go after her, a little sprint finish to come in behind her and finish in about 23 mins. A good day's running.

Go home, strip off my very, very sweaty clothes and ready to have a shower.

You remember yesterday when I dyed my socks bright red, bright, bright red? Yeah, about that.

Now, when you dye clothes they go a very bright colour and then you wash them to get the excess dye out and they tone down a bit. Well these socks were very bright red and in hindsight I'm starting to think I may have forgotten to wash them.

My sweaty feet made my red socks dye my feet red, tried scrubbing them in the shower but they're still red. Made Lily laugh, made me laugh. I'm writing this on Monday morning and they're still red.

Sat night and the family are off to town to see Antony Szmierek at the Boiler Shop, who's this Szmierek fella you uncooth people are saying, well I'll tell you who he is. He's a fucking legend, he's a spoken word poet who makes superb dance music and is someone that made me realise that I actually really love spoken word poetry. It's something that was taught so boringly at school and I hated it but as I've got older, artists like Szmierek and Kae Tempest write beautiful lyrics, so much so I've had them tattooed on my wrist.

Anyway, Szmierek was immense. He gave some shout outs to the Jamison's and he definitely winked at me, I said winked Bain you dirty boy.  

A few beers, a brilliant night with my wife and kids and friends and back home sweaty and loving life.

Want to read all about my London adventure in 2023.

It's mostly about Ben, my sausage dog nemesis and wine.

LONDON CALLING