I had an excellent start to my day today.
This morning I ran four and a half miles, and my ankle didn't give out or die on me, and it's still OK nine hours later. This means I can definitely do race number five next weekend!
I'm so relieved, I was really worried about this one.
To be honest, it's still a bit nerve racking - the current plan is a half-marathon, that's thirteen and a bit miles, and I've never run that distance EVER.
But you know what, it's OK. Even if it takes me all day to get round the course it's fine, all that matters is I finish.
Wish me luck.
Sunday, 12 July 2009
Thursday, 2 July 2009
On A Series Of Firsts
This post is a bit of a mongrel - partly it's going to be a report on the last race, very late for reasons which may become clear; partly it's looking back on everything I've done so far, and partly it's a preview of the final two races.
The last four months have been a series of firsts for me, most of which I'm proud of, and a few which are not so positive. First the good:
In March I ran my first ever competitive race, the Brooklands 10K, and beat my target time comfortably.
In April I took part in my first ever multi-discipline race, the Dunsfold Duathlon, five laps of the Top Gear test track on foot and bike.
May saw me run my first 10 mile race, a distance not long ago I would never have considered.
Most recently, in June I competed in my first triathlon, the AXLR8 Triathlon at Wellington College in Crowthorne. So far, so good, but this is where it starts going wrong.
The AXLR8 Triathlon was the first race where I failed to beat my target time. More seriously it's where I had my first injury.
It started well. I got there in plenty of time, set up my transition zone and had time to warm up. I had all the kit I needed, but for some reason I just didn't feel confident. I was more nervous about this race than I had been about any of the others, with the possible exception of the first one.
For the swim I was paired with a chap who said he was only there because he'd missed the registration for a half-Ironman. You can find details of what a half-Ironman involves elsewhere, suffice to say it's impressive.
We thought we were probably fairly evenly matched on the swim for speed, so he started half a length ahead of me. I overtook him on the second length, and in the end finished a clear length ahead of him. My technique was rubbish, but it turns out I'm a pretty competitive swimmer over that short distance.
Out of the pool, into the transition area. I towelled down a bit, struggled into my CA polo shirt, blister-proof socks and trainers, on with helmet, gloves and shades, grabbed bike and ran for the exit.
It took me ages to get my feet into the toe-clips, but eventually I was off. As this is my first cycle race on open roads I was cautious to start with, but I'm a reasonably strong cyclist so I set off well.
The 17km figure of eight course was over nice quiet roads, well signposted and marshaled. The roads were mostly good, but there were a few surprisingly tough hills which slowed it down. I did pretty well, I think - I overtook more people than overtook me.
In the gym I'll normally do this sort of distance in just over 30 minutes, but I was looking at 48 minutes in total by the time I got back to the transition. That put me eight minutes behind my schedule, and made me worry if I was going to be able to make it in the 75 minute target. Jo said that everyone was coming in complaining that the ride took longer than they expected, but I was still worried.
Running was always going to be the weakest of the three disciplines for me. This 5km course was short enough that I knew I could do it without too much trouble, but I had little confidence in being able to do it fast enough to make up time lost on the cycle. Worst of all though, it quickly revealed the limitations of doing most of my training in the gym and on even tarmac paths.
The course set off through the trees at the back of the college, and into the woods. Before the woods was a short gravel path, with treacherous tree roots pushing through. It was one of these that tripped me barely 500 metres into the run.
I went down into the gravel, grazing the palms of my hands and jarring my shoulder. The guy behind me helped me up and asked if I was OK. I thanked him and set off again, trying to shrug off the pain in my shoulder and feeling even more dispirited.
I kept pace with my new friend, only dropping behind him a little way for the next kilometre and a half. The terrain got increasingly difficult, this was obviously not a regularly jogged path, too narrow and uneven, more suitable for dog-walking than running. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, not wanting to push too hard this early in the course.
It was literally right in from of the 2km sign that disaster struck. A woman who had been ahead stepped off the path to allow first my new friend and then me to pass. I looked up from my feet to say 'thanks', and my left foot slipped off the edge of the path - I went over on my ankle, turning it over and outwards with a loud crack and a shout of pain as my full weight came down on it.
For the second time I hit the ground, but I instantly knew this time it was serious. Anyone who knows me knows that I have pretty noisy joints - I crack my knuckles, my neck clicks in a way that makes my work colleagues grimace, and my ankles sound like castanets when I walk up stairs. This sound was worse than all of that, but even now I'm not sure if anyone but me could have heard it.
I waited for a what felt like a long time before the pain subsided enough for me to try and stand up. All the while the stubborn idiot in my brain was saying "get up, you're losing time, you've got to finish!" I stood up straight, and put my weight carefully on my left foot, as much to prove that it wasn't serious as anything. I waved the now very concerned fellow competitor off ahead, and started again at a careful half-speed. I was determined that this was just a twisted ankle, nothing serious, and although I was going to be slow I was still going to finish.
I soon came to a marshal who was coming back to find me, having been alerted by the woman ahead of me. With blase confidence I told him it was just a mild twist, and I was going to finish one way or another. It's only three kilometres, and the alternative is walking back for two and failing. No contest.
Yes, it was pig-headed and stupid, but I don't regret it.
I hobbled on, sometimes jogging with a weird lop-sided gait, sometimes walking when the pain got too much. As I got closer to the finish I was gradually admitting to myself that it was more serious than 'a mild twist.'
In the end I literally limped over the line, in the official photos I think you can see the pain on my face. I didn't matter, all I cared about was finishing, getting over that line under my own power. Here's those photos.
When I got there, Jo helped me limp to the first-aiders in their ambulance. The paramedic clearly thought I was an idiot for carrying on. I didn't have the energy to argue and just let her get on with it. She put an ice pack on my ankle to try and bring down the swelling. By that it was probably twice the thickness of the other one, and was rapidly turning an attractive yellowish colour.
I thought she was joking when she said I had to go to A&E for an X-ray, but quickly I realised she wasn't. She said it was a severe sprain, and there was a chance I'd broken a bone. Not good news. By this time the adrenalin and endorphins were wearing off, and I was starting to feel sick and a bit light-headed. It was also starting to properly hurt, but I didn't really believe her.
After Jo had a brief argument with a marshal and the race organiser about collecting my bike and kit, she drove me and my strapped-up foot to the hospital. The wait there was shorter than I expected, but longer than I hoped. I felt vaguely offended to be sent to Minor Injuries by the triage nurse, it really didn't feel minor, but I suppose compared to a car crash and all the other things you see on Casualty it was.
The doctor was nice, she said she thought it was just a sprain but I might have cracked my fibula so I needed an X-ray. That was quick and painless, so after a short wait I was given the all clear to go home and given specific dispensation to drink beer. That made me feel much better.
After two days of ice and elevating my foot, the swelling had gone down enough that I was walking more or less normally. The doctor's advice and my research (isn't the internet amazing?) led me to select an active recovery plan. I eschewed strapping my ankle after the first day, because this gives too much support and therefore impedes the healing process - you need to walk as normally as possible and build strength in the ligaments and supporting muscles as they heal. I think this has meant that the healing has been slower though - I was only able to put on my normal work shoes a few days ago, and it's still slightly swollen and discoloured.
I'm not ashamed to say that I am worried about the next race. I had five weeks to recover and prepare, that's now down to two weeks, and I'm still not sure if I'll be ready. I really don't want to miss one of my six races for anything, but I can't risk permanently injuring myself either. I'm planning on doing a half-marathon, my first of course, but thirteen miles is a long way to go on an injured ankle.
Today was another first - the first proper training session I've done since the fall. This was a low impact session. I strapped up my ankle with a sports support and started with ten minutes on the cross trainer. That felt OK, so I moved on to ten minutes fast walking, getting up to about 7kph. The ankle was feeling OK, a little bit of discomfort, but no pain.
I then tried five minutes of slow jogging, up to 8kph. I'm lopsided, but moving. 8kph is slow, but it's not far off where I started training in January. That goes to show how far I've come this year!
Finally I went for a cycle, 15km in 27 and a bit minutes, a good time. Cycling may be my saviour in this, I can use it to keep my strength and fitness up without stressing the injured joint. I've joined a "Tour de France" challenge in the gym - 210km over the course of the month in the yellow jersey division - I'm feeling confident.
I've now been back at my desk for several hours. I dosed up on ibuprofen as a precaution, but my ankle doesn't hurt and is no more swollen than normal. Obviously I'm going to keep being careful, but I'm getting more confident about this half-marathon. After all, I don't have to do it fast, just finish! Even so, with only two weeks to go, it's far from a sure thing. Stay tuned...
Looking ahead to August, to finish off my six months of racing I'm doing a long bike ride, something like 100km in a day. The "Tour de France" will be good training! Do you want to come along and do all or some of the trip with me? Even if you only join me for the last 10km, I'd really appreciate it.
Finally, another attempt to get you to visit my sponsorship site and donate some cash to the CA. It's a really good cause and you'll feel good about it all day long. Besides, I'm not putting myself through all this just for fun you know!
So go to https://www.bmycharity.com/V2/60kmtoLourdes right now!
To paraphrase Sir Bob: "Give us yer bloomin money!"*
*Edited for a family audience, rated U for mild peril and irish hairstyles.
The last four months have been a series of firsts for me, most of which I'm proud of, and a few which are not so positive. First the good:
In March I ran my first ever competitive race, the Brooklands 10K, and beat my target time comfortably.
In April I took part in my first ever multi-discipline race, the Dunsfold Duathlon, five laps of the Top Gear test track on foot and bike.
May saw me run my first 10 mile race, a distance not long ago I would never have considered.
Most recently, in June I competed in my first triathlon, the AXLR8 Triathlon at Wellington College in Crowthorne. So far, so good, but this is where it starts going wrong.
The AXLR8 Triathlon was the first race where I failed to beat my target time. More seriously it's where I had my first injury.
It started well. I got there in plenty of time, set up my transition zone and had time to warm up. I had all the kit I needed, but for some reason I just didn't feel confident. I was more nervous about this race than I had been about any of the others, with the possible exception of the first one.
For the swim I was paired with a chap who said he was only there because he'd missed the registration for a half-Ironman. You can find details of what a half-Ironman involves elsewhere, suffice to say it's impressive.
We thought we were probably fairly evenly matched on the swim for speed, so he started half a length ahead of me. I overtook him on the second length, and in the end finished a clear length ahead of him. My technique was rubbish, but it turns out I'm a pretty competitive swimmer over that short distance.
Out of the pool, into the transition area. I towelled down a bit, struggled into my CA polo shirt, blister-proof socks and trainers, on with helmet, gloves and shades, grabbed bike and ran for the exit.
It took me ages to get my feet into the toe-clips, but eventually I was off. As this is my first cycle race on open roads I was cautious to start with, but I'm a reasonably strong cyclist so I set off well.
The 17km figure of eight course was over nice quiet roads, well signposted and marshaled. The roads were mostly good, but there were a few surprisingly tough hills which slowed it down. I did pretty well, I think - I overtook more people than overtook me.
In the gym I'll normally do this sort of distance in just over 30 minutes, but I was looking at 48 minutes in total by the time I got back to the transition. That put me eight minutes behind my schedule, and made me worry if I was going to be able to make it in the 75 minute target. Jo said that everyone was coming in complaining that the ride took longer than they expected, but I was still worried.
Running was always going to be the weakest of the three disciplines for me. This 5km course was short enough that I knew I could do it without too much trouble, but I had little confidence in being able to do it fast enough to make up time lost on the cycle. Worst of all though, it quickly revealed the limitations of doing most of my training in the gym and on even tarmac paths.
The course set off through the trees at the back of the college, and into the woods. Before the woods was a short gravel path, with treacherous tree roots pushing through. It was one of these that tripped me barely 500 metres into the run.
I went down into the gravel, grazing the palms of my hands and jarring my shoulder. The guy behind me helped me up and asked if I was OK. I thanked him and set off again, trying to shrug off the pain in my shoulder and feeling even more dispirited.
I kept pace with my new friend, only dropping behind him a little way for the next kilometre and a half. The terrain got increasingly difficult, this was obviously not a regularly jogged path, too narrow and uneven, more suitable for dog-walking than running. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, not wanting to push too hard this early in the course.
It was literally right in from of the 2km sign that disaster struck. A woman who had been ahead stepped off the path to allow first my new friend and then me to pass. I looked up from my feet to say 'thanks', and my left foot slipped off the edge of the path - I went over on my ankle, turning it over and outwards with a loud crack and a shout of pain as my full weight came down on it.
For the second time I hit the ground, but I instantly knew this time it was serious. Anyone who knows me knows that I have pretty noisy joints - I crack my knuckles, my neck clicks in a way that makes my work colleagues grimace, and my ankles sound like castanets when I walk up stairs. This sound was worse than all of that, but even now I'm not sure if anyone but me could have heard it.
I waited for a what felt like a long time before the pain subsided enough for me to try and stand up. All the while the stubborn idiot in my brain was saying "get up, you're losing time, you've got to finish!" I stood up straight, and put my weight carefully on my left foot, as much to prove that it wasn't serious as anything. I waved the now very concerned fellow competitor off ahead, and started again at a careful half-speed. I was determined that this was just a twisted ankle, nothing serious, and although I was going to be slow I was still going to finish.
I soon came to a marshal who was coming back to find me, having been alerted by the woman ahead of me. With blase confidence I told him it was just a mild twist, and I was going to finish one way or another. It's only three kilometres, and the alternative is walking back for two and failing. No contest.
Yes, it was pig-headed and stupid, but I don't regret it.
I hobbled on, sometimes jogging with a weird lop-sided gait, sometimes walking when the pain got too much. As I got closer to the finish I was gradually admitting to myself that it was more serious than 'a mild twist.'
In the end I literally limped over the line, in the official photos I think you can see the pain on my face. I didn't matter, all I cared about was finishing, getting over that line under my own power. Here's those photos.
When I got there, Jo helped me limp to the first-aiders in their ambulance. The paramedic clearly thought I was an idiot for carrying on. I didn't have the energy to argue and just let her get on with it. She put an ice pack on my ankle to try and bring down the swelling. By that it was probably twice the thickness of the other one, and was rapidly turning an attractive yellowish colour.
I thought she was joking when she said I had to go to A&E for an X-ray, but quickly I realised she wasn't. She said it was a severe sprain, and there was a chance I'd broken a bone. Not good news. By this time the adrenalin and endorphins were wearing off, and I was starting to feel sick and a bit light-headed. It was also starting to properly hurt, but I didn't really believe her.
After Jo had a brief argument with a marshal and the race organiser about collecting my bike and kit, she drove me and my strapped-up foot to the hospital. The wait there was shorter than I expected, but longer than I hoped. I felt vaguely offended to be sent to Minor Injuries by the triage nurse, it really didn't feel minor, but I suppose compared to a car crash and all the other things you see on Casualty it was.
The doctor was nice, she said she thought it was just a sprain but I might have cracked my fibula so I needed an X-ray. That was quick and painless, so after a short wait I was given the all clear to go home and given specific dispensation to drink beer. That made me feel much better.
After two days of ice and elevating my foot, the swelling had gone down enough that I was walking more or less normally. The doctor's advice and my research (isn't the internet amazing?) led me to select an active recovery plan. I eschewed strapping my ankle after the first day, because this gives too much support and therefore impedes the healing process - you need to walk as normally as possible and build strength in the ligaments and supporting muscles as they heal. I think this has meant that the healing has been slower though - I was only able to put on my normal work shoes a few days ago, and it's still slightly swollen and discoloured.
I'm not ashamed to say that I am worried about the next race. I had five weeks to recover and prepare, that's now down to two weeks, and I'm still not sure if I'll be ready. I really don't want to miss one of my six races for anything, but I can't risk permanently injuring myself either. I'm planning on doing a half-marathon, my first of course, but thirteen miles is a long way to go on an injured ankle.
Today was another first - the first proper training session I've done since the fall. This was a low impact session. I strapped up my ankle with a sports support and started with ten minutes on the cross trainer. That felt OK, so I moved on to ten minutes fast walking, getting up to about 7kph. The ankle was feeling OK, a little bit of discomfort, but no pain.
I then tried five minutes of slow jogging, up to 8kph. I'm lopsided, but moving. 8kph is slow, but it's not far off where I started training in January. That goes to show how far I've come this year!
Finally I went for a cycle, 15km in 27 and a bit minutes, a good time. Cycling may be my saviour in this, I can use it to keep my strength and fitness up without stressing the injured joint. I've joined a "Tour de France" challenge in the gym - 210km over the course of the month in the yellow jersey division - I'm feeling confident.
I've now been back at my desk for several hours. I dosed up on ibuprofen as a precaution, but my ankle doesn't hurt and is no more swollen than normal. Obviously I'm going to keep being careful, but I'm getting more confident about this half-marathon. After all, I don't have to do it fast, just finish! Even so, with only two weeks to go, it's far from a sure thing. Stay tuned...
Looking ahead to August, to finish off my six months of racing I'm doing a long bike ride, something like 100km in a day. The "Tour de France" will be good training! Do you want to come along and do all or some of the trip with me? Even if you only join me for the last 10km, I'd really appreciate it.
Finally, another attempt to get you to visit my sponsorship site and donate some cash to the CA. It's a really good cause and you'll feel good about it all day long. Besides, I'm not putting myself through all this just for fun you know!
So go to https://www.bmycharity.com/V2/60kmtoLourdes right now!
To paraphrase Sir Bob: "Give us yer bloomin money!"*
*Edited for a family audience, rated U for mild peril and irish hairstyles.
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