old lady running

The really long run (getting ready to go the distance) This week I am preparing for the long run. 28 kms of it, to be exact. Which is a thoroughly epic distance for me. In honour of the occasion I have been preparing all week. Actually, the main thing I have been doing to prepare is NOTHING. I have prescribed myself ‘rest and relaxation’. The injured toe has given me the perfect excuse to do not very much.   But this weekend all that will change. If I want to run this marathon the long run is crucial. There is no escaping it.   During the week my toe has been iced to near extinction, bound in bandaides, and dowsed with anti inflammatories. After such intense treatment   I am hoping it won’t let me down. This practice run will be crucial in determining how my body will cope help with the 42 km challenge in October. Most importantly, it will help me sort out what I need to eat and drink to go the distance. So today I am shopping for supplies.   Fir...

What to do with a broken toe! It’s week 11 of training. But it’s has been ‘one of those weeks’. It all started with an unexpected head cold. A running nose. A pounding head. A barking cough. Throat on fire. The works.   Then the hubby went off to China for a week, which meant I had to keep the home fires burning on my own. (We have a very labour-intensive fire that requires much hauling of wood -)   I also had lots of extra tutoring to do, which meant long hours at the workplace.   It was all getting bit knackering. Then. . . To top it all off. . .   I think I broke my toe. I know! Careless! Stupid!   Unlucky! It was one of those ridiculous accidents involving a bare right foot, a chair leg and a very innocent little ‘clip’. I didn’t think much of it at the time. A slight shriek, some mad hopping, a few swear words, and that was it. Because it was 8:30 on a Saturday morning and I had a two hour run to complete. There was no time for ...

It’s the Dunedin half marathon. Here we are, all lined up, at the start line. And its all arms and legs, shoulders and   elbows, knees and shins. Nervous breathing and jogging on the spot, frantic last minute gulps of sports drink.   Calf stretches and hamstring strapping. Heavy sighs and nervous chatter. On your marks Get set   Go! The race is jammed packed and at the start it’s all ‘jostle, jostle, jostle’. It’s a case of finding your pace, calming the nerves and settling in for the race. For me ‘race’ is too strong a word. I don’t actually want to beat anyone here. (Not that I could. LOL) All I want is to go the distance. And going the distance, for me, will require a very long slow plod.   Although I am ready for this, the nerves are firing. My inner coach has leapt to the fore to wave her pointy stick about. As usual, she’s giving me a lecture. Like. . . . “What the heck are you doing, girl??!” “OMG - there are a thousand hills i...

Ready to race (Blogpost 10, in which I learn that there is a whole lot more to running a race than actually running a race) Having just completed the Dunedin half-marathon on Sunday I have learned a few things about running events. The first thing is   -   I will never be able to run as fast as my daughter (not in a million years!) and the second is, I will never be one of those really organised people who are good at preparing for races! Who knew that entering a half marathon would require so much organisation? Aside from the training there are a million things to think about -   like, registration and transport and what to wear and what to eat and how to get to the start line and where to park and what to take and what to drink and how to stretch and when to poo and whether to run the day before and what to do afterwards. And, of course, there’s the stretching. . .   Always the stretching. . .   If you thought running was just running you ar...

Halfway there Eight weeks down and eight weeks to go. Yay! That means I am exactly halfway through the training. Halfway is like half-time. It’s like ‘intermission’ at the movies. Time for the oranges. Or an ice cream. It’s time to change ends. To watch the ads.   Time for the coach to start ranting and raving. . .   Let the team talk commence! Half-time is when people stop and stretch their legs and take a breather. It’s when the cheerleaders come on and get everyone hyped up. It’s when people queue for the loo. For me it’s time for a nice bowl of fat greasy chips. And some bubbles to toast the past eight weeks’ effort. Hallelujah, bottoms up and cheers to the training so far.   It is fortuitous then, that I have also recently had a very significant birthday. One that I can’t let slip by unacknowledged. And, adverse as I am to taking centre stage on these occasions, I reckon I have to do SOMETHING. And SOMETHING usually involves a glass or two of...

The Crappy bits - (or what to do if you get caught short!) Warning -   the content of this blogpost may offend some readers. That’s because there are a few crappy bits in it, which may not be up everyone’s alley - so I wont be offended if you need to skip the odd paragraph or two. But for those who want to hang in there. . ..   This is a story about bowel movements. Which is to say it’s a story about, poop, poo, number twos, crap, jobbies, tollies . . .or whatever you prefer to call the waste product that comes out our rear end at (hopefully) regular intervals!   When you first start running you might find that the movement of your bowel suddenly takes on a whole new significance.   Where, when and how - becomes a thing of utmost importance. And getting it right usually means getting it over and done with before you start the run.   Remember the last time you were on an airplane. And you hit turbulence. And the cabin luggage ended up all over...

Okay, I know it doesn't look like fun. It’s not balloons and bugglegum and party frocks. It’s not champagne or roller coaster rides or whoopee cushions . It’s running! Plain and simple. Pound, plod, pound. Plod, pound, plod. Nothing more, nothing less.. .   And it’s not always a pretty sight. Like, there you are 45 mins into your run. You’re struggling a bit. Sweat pouring, hair everywhere, face grimmacing, open-mouthed, red-faced and breathless. A passerby could be forgiven for thinking ‘that woman is not having much fun out there’. And you can guarantee that no one is jamming on brakes, doing a double take and thinking ‘WOW! That looks like fun! Can I do that too?!’ Please. . .   I will agree that, from the outside, running doesn’t look like the most fun activity in the world. And obviously a jog round the block doesn’t compare to a sunny Sunday arvo at the ‘Rainbow’s End’ theme park or a bungey jump off the Skippers Canyon. But there are definitely some f...