Running blog - two choices when you reach a certain age
When you approach a certain age, you have a couple of quite specific choices - get divorced and buy a convertible or enter the Queenstown marathon.
It really is that simple.
Both options are hard on the family and the bank account and come with a fair amount of anguish and pain.
I’ve opted to enter the half marathon category at the Queenstown marathon on November 16, my first attempt at the distance. And I’ll be taking the family with me.
I’ve never been a runner, and I’m not one now. But I wanted to write this column because I think some people will be able to relate, and because it then means that I have to actually go through with it.
Training for me started on January 1, initially with some short walks on holiday and some hip strengthening (not a euphemism).
My usual training story was to take off in a blaze of optimism, get up to about 20km a week and then blow a calf before sinking into a deep malaise of pity and regret, only to start the process again six months later.
This time was going to be different.
Through January I walked, a lot, taking the dog out in the early morning quiet of Queens Park, trying to teach her how to behave on a lead, and myself how to be patient.
In February I started running, but only on grass. I’d walk across roads, across footpaths, only running if I had green stuff under my shoes.
I did so many laps around the finishing holes of the Queens Park golf course that I could have worn in my own track.
Bored with the never changing scenery, I started venturing a bit further in March. I tried a virtual running coach. I bought an eye-wateringly expensive watch which does almost everything except running for you.
This would turn out to be a blessing and a curse. Spending so much money on one item like that provides a certain type of motivation. Sitting on the couch, the giant watch face would stare back at me like a baleful, guilt-inducing black moon. The reflection highlighted the shame in my downcast eyes.
And I loved the numbers, I loved them too much. Average kilometers per week, heart rate, performance metrics, stride length, stride frequency, and more - much, much more.
The numbers were building. I was averaging 30km a week and my weekly long run was getting out to 15km at about 5:30 pace. Those numbers, eh.
It might not seem fast, and to the greyhounds reading this, it isn’t. But for someone who is a-hundred-and-plenty, I was starting to enjoy myself.
Often over the winter I wouldn’t get time to run until the kids were in bed, so I bought a headlamp. I loved the feeling of being out at night, training when not many others were, in a world of my own.
I bought a cheap running vest from Aliexpress so I could carry my phone, and an even cheaper knock off set of air buds from Instagram so I could consume podcasts and audiobooks while I pounded the pavement.
So, high on running endorphins, I decided the enter the Queenstown marathon; and almost immediately the wheels started to come off.
An injury here, an injury there. I got the ‘flu and couldn’t run for 10 days, then tried to not only start running at the same level I’d been doing before I got sick, but I tried to make up for the training I’d lost. Add some painful arches and ankles to the calf woes.
And now here we are. A month out from Queenstown. I have been able to complete a couple of short runs that haven’t ended in a hobble. By running very slowly – sort of learning forward into a fast walk, I’m developing some confidence that 21km could be a very long, but achievable thing.
I’m aware Eliud Kipchoge just completed the first sub-two hour marathon, and that Brigid Kosgei just went 2:14 at the Chicago Marathon.
Three months ago, I was dreaming of breaking 1:50 for my debut half. Now I just want to finish, in one piece, with a minimum of walking. Wish me luck.
