Hey people, I've upgraded from using Blogger to Wordpress.
You can find the new page over here:
https://trialsoftrevor.wordpress.com/
I like blogger, but it's too simple for the scope of things I want to cover in the future... Those big things I was telling you about.
Tuesday, 9 June 2015
A gift from me, to you.
I've been thinking a lot about running lately. Yes, I know. That's sound a bit obvious. But I really mean the theory of running, not just putting on a pair of shoes and running out of the door for as long as you can.
There are some big questions out there - Are champions born or made? How far can we go? When I think back through my own running history, and think how, with the right coaching and development, it is entirely possible I could have been running at an elite level (my PB for a 10k is 29:52).
For the longest while, I rued the missed opportunities, questioned whether I would ever really have been good enough to run at that level and worry that I've wasted my talent.
But recently I realised something amazing; It's not over yet. As I began training for a marathon after not running at all for eighteen months, I struggled to run even a mile without stopping for a little walk or two. In just a couple of weeks, with a couple of minor adjustments to my style and pace, I was running four miles without even thinking of stopping to catch my breath. Indeed, I wasn't even out of breath. I'll be approaching the half-marathon stage this weekend and next, and a month ago I wouldn't have thought that was possible.
I've read about nutrition, training plans, sports psychology, injuries, kit, weather, high altitude training, meal plans, water intake. I've learned a great deal about all these things and adjusted my lifestyle to match: my infamous peanut habit is now under control (although I did indulge a little yesterday, on a rest day), and I've seen my weight plummet (currently hovering around the 85kg mark). Kasia certainly approves of that one. I've studied muscle structures, bone density, had my gait analysed (and admired). Next month, I am contenmplating a trip to The Running School for a more in depth gait analysis and posture study.
And for what? To shave a couple of minutes off a four hour run? To satisfy my already enormous ego? Or to do something better with?
I always took the fact I can run for granted. I had a desire to be faster and better than everyone who lined up along side me on the start line, and I had a psychological need to win. If I didn't, I couldn't handle it. And so when I stopped winning, I stopped racing.
Now, with the wisdom of years, and access to the internet's wealth of information, I am a better runner than I ever was. I measure increases in performance daily, and know what I do right and wrong. I analyse every training run, know how to improve times or performance.
And I should be sharing that knowledge, and inspiring others too.
Something big is coming. Watch this space.
There are some big questions out there - Are champions born or made? How far can we go? When I think back through my own running history, and think how, with the right coaching and development, it is entirely possible I could have been running at an elite level (my PB for a 10k is 29:52).
For the longest while, I rued the missed opportunities, questioned whether I would ever really have been good enough to run at that level and worry that I've wasted my talent.
But recently I realised something amazing; It's not over yet. As I began training for a marathon after not running at all for eighteen months, I struggled to run even a mile without stopping for a little walk or two. In just a couple of weeks, with a couple of minor adjustments to my style and pace, I was running four miles without even thinking of stopping to catch my breath. Indeed, I wasn't even out of breath. I'll be approaching the half-marathon stage this weekend and next, and a month ago I wouldn't have thought that was possible.
I've read about nutrition, training plans, sports psychology, injuries, kit, weather, high altitude training, meal plans, water intake. I've learned a great deal about all these things and adjusted my lifestyle to match: my infamous peanut habit is now under control (although I did indulge a little yesterday, on a rest day), and I've seen my weight plummet (currently hovering around the 85kg mark). Kasia certainly approves of that one. I've studied muscle structures, bone density, had my gait analysed (and admired). Next month, I am contenmplating a trip to The Running School for a more in depth gait analysis and posture study.
And for what? To shave a couple of minutes off a four hour run? To satisfy my already enormous ego? Or to do something better with?
I always took the fact I can run for granted. I had a desire to be faster and better than everyone who lined up along side me on the start line, and I had a psychological need to win. If I didn't, I couldn't handle it. And so when I stopped winning, I stopped racing.
Now, with the wisdom of years, and access to the internet's wealth of information, I am a better runner than I ever was. I measure increases in performance daily, and know what I do right and wrong. I analyse every training run, know how to improve times or performance.
And I should be sharing that knowledge, and inspiring others too.
Something big is coming. Watch this space.
Sunday, 7 June 2015
Gait Analysis, New shoes, and a Crime scene.
Saturday saw me get up early. Again. With another crazy idea. Again.
"Let's go to the marathon store at Liverpool street," I said with far too much enthusiasm for someone who was not fully processing thoughts "I think it's only a few miles away. We can get the bus there and run back."
"OK. Great idea," replied Kasia, much as before. I really don't know if she thinks it's a great idea, or if she's just callng my bluff.
I check on Google maps; the store is EXACTLY four miles away, door to door, and before I know it, we're dressed in our running gear and heading up to the bus stop, stopping only for a bottle of water and a few bananas.
The sights of Dalston on that Saturday morning were something to behold, but more on that later. It's one thing going past a crime scene on a bus, and quite another having to run past it.
The marathon store is quite something. It's the first time I'd ventured in and was a little overwhelmed as I realised what I had let myself in for.
Memorabilia adorns the walls; A rhino costumes stands in the doorway, guarding the entrance, a divers helmet languishes in a perspex box while street signs from the London route line the walls above each bay of brightly coloured running gear. Make no mistake, this just got serious.
Downstairs is where the Adidas "26ers" have a locker room. From what I understand, it's a running group full of elite types who train to win. Feeling a little more intimidated than I was before, I sheepishly reply "just looking" when a sales assistant asks if we need any help.
We sidle over to the display of running shoes (there aren't trainers here. These are all hardcore running shoes). and watch through the glass wall as someone goes through the gait analysis process.
I feel very self conscious at this point. I know I can run. I know I can run quite fast too, but all of a sudden, I feel like I'm on show and want to melt into the background.
Another sales assistant ask if we need any help. She's six-feet tall, with an Eastern European accent, and I get the impression that she runs ten miles to work every morning, and runs them home again. There isn't an ounce of fat on her. Any of them, in fact. All of the staff here look like the eat miles and poop personal bests.
"I want to do the thing," I stammer, somehow forgetting how to speak.
"The gait analysis?"
"Yes, I guess so."
She explains the process to me while Kasia, who has done this before just sits and laughs for the next twenty-five minutes.
some preliminary questions before we start (how often do I run, what distances are we covering), and I explain that we have a marathon coming in September. She's not impressed, of course. This is an everyday occurrence for her. Somehow, this makes me feel worse as I remove my shoes and socks.
The first step is to mould an innersole to the foot. According to the scan, my arches are much higher than I thought them to be. I had always been under the impression that I was somewhat flat footed, but apparently not. Once the scans are complete, the innersoles are popped into what can only be described as a toaster to warm them, and make them pliable, and then they are moulded to my feet in a curious form of massage, which I am sure, this poor sales assistant does not get paid enough to do.
Impressed with the imprints my feet have left on the new innersoles, I start to feel a little better, but now comes the worst part; the gait analysis itself. This is where I'm going to be told what my running form is like.
The innersoles are placed into a pair of neutral shoes, and I slip them on and head towards the treadmill.
"What speed do you run at normally?" I'm asked as I stare at the treadmill in fear.
"About 7:30 per mile," I reply, using my slower pace from the training sessions.
"That's nearly thirteen km an hour,"she replies doing some very quick maths in her head. "That's a little fast. I'll set it to eleven for now."
A little fast? That actually makes me feel better. and I step onto the treadmill with a new confidence.
As the machine picks up speed, I run for about thirty seconds, watching a video of Mo Farah running relentlessly through London's Streets.
The machine is stopped, and I jump off, and walk over to the screen where a video loop of my ankles is playing over and over.
"Your right leg runs with no over or under pronunciation at all. Your left has the tiniest outward movement, but is only a degree or two. This is perfectly normal."
I contemplate asking whether my back trouble maybe has caused it. But then think better of it. It's normal, so don't worry.
"Actually, I thought you were joking about the pace. But you run perfectly," the assistant adds as Kasia comes in to look at the video.
We pick out about four pairs of trainers for me to try. I explain that Adidas seem to give me blisters, and we reject them instantly, leaving three pairs; Brooks, Asics and New Balance, all of which are over the £100 mark. I've never spent that kind of money on shoes in my life.
I try the Asics first. Kasia bought a pair the day before. I jump back onto the treadmill and run for the required 30 seconds, again staring at Mo Farah trying his hardest to inspire me.
I get down and go over to the video.
"Look at this," the sales assistant says. "The consistency is amazing. You really do run perfectly."
I'm looking at a side-by-side comparison of my two treadmill runs. Frame for frame, they are identical. Without the two different pairs of shoes on my feet, you wouldn't have known you were watching a different take.
"Cool," is the only response I have, my already huge ego getting another boost that it really didn't need.
Next, the Brooks shoes.
Back on the treadmill, Mo Farah replaced by someone I probably should know but don't. It doesn't matter. I run perfectly.
Not much more to be said, it becomes about how I feel in the trainers, rather than how I run.
I opt for the Brooks Glycerine 12 shoes. They're very expensive, but rather than seeing them as something to cover my feet, I see them as an investment, a tool to help me on my journey. But then I remember something.
I have to run four miles home.
We apologise to the sales assistant, but I make a promise to come back and pick them up later the same day (which I do), and head out the door on my long journey home.
Kasia is soon left behind (She cheated and took a bus in the end, still struggling with pain a little), and I battle Saturday afternoon crowds, dodging and weaving the best I can to avoid stopping.
I passed the crime scene I mentioned earlier, literally running alongside the police tape. There really was a lot of blood, covering the pavement, and the detritus of paramedic equipment still littering the area. I can only guess as to what happened at this point. It's when I see the running shoes lying in the middle of the pool that something hits home.
I want to leave it there for today. Whatever happens, nobody ever deserves to die like that.
"Let's go to the marathon store at Liverpool street," I said with far too much enthusiasm for someone who was not fully processing thoughts "I think it's only a few miles away. We can get the bus there and run back."
"OK. Great idea," replied Kasia, much as before. I really don't know if she thinks it's a great idea, or if she's just callng my bluff.
I check on Google maps; the store is EXACTLY four miles away, door to door, and before I know it, we're dressed in our running gear and heading up to the bus stop, stopping only for a bottle of water and a few bananas.
The sights of Dalston on that Saturday morning were something to behold, but more on that later. It's one thing going past a crime scene on a bus, and quite another having to run past it.
The marathon store is quite something. It's the first time I'd ventured in and was a little overwhelmed as I realised what I had let myself in for.
Memorabilia adorns the walls; A rhino costumes stands in the doorway, guarding the entrance, a divers helmet languishes in a perspex box while street signs from the London route line the walls above each bay of brightly coloured running gear. Make no mistake, this just got serious.
Downstairs is where the Adidas "26ers" have a locker room. From what I understand, it's a running group full of elite types who train to win. Feeling a little more intimidated than I was before, I sheepishly reply "just looking" when a sales assistant asks if we need any help.
We sidle over to the display of running shoes (there aren't trainers here. These are all hardcore running shoes). and watch through the glass wall as someone goes through the gait analysis process.
I feel very self conscious at this point. I know I can run. I know I can run quite fast too, but all of a sudden, I feel like I'm on show and want to melt into the background.
Another sales assistant ask if we need any help. She's six-feet tall, with an Eastern European accent, and I get the impression that she runs ten miles to work every morning, and runs them home again. There isn't an ounce of fat on her. Any of them, in fact. All of the staff here look like the eat miles and poop personal bests.
"I want to do the thing," I stammer, somehow forgetting how to speak.
"The gait analysis?"
"Yes, I guess so."
She explains the process to me while Kasia, who has done this before just sits and laughs for the next twenty-five minutes.
some preliminary questions before we start (how often do I run, what distances are we covering), and I explain that we have a marathon coming in September. She's not impressed, of course. This is an everyday occurrence for her. Somehow, this makes me feel worse as I remove my shoes and socks.
The first step is to mould an innersole to the foot. According to the scan, my arches are much higher than I thought them to be. I had always been under the impression that I was somewhat flat footed, but apparently not. Once the scans are complete, the innersoles are popped into what can only be described as a toaster to warm them, and make them pliable, and then they are moulded to my feet in a curious form of massage, which I am sure, this poor sales assistant does not get paid enough to do.
Impressed with the imprints my feet have left on the new innersoles, I start to feel a little better, but now comes the worst part; the gait analysis itself. This is where I'm going to be told what my running form is like.
The innersoles are placed into a pair of neutral shoes, and I slip them on and head towards the treadmill.
"What speed do you run at normally?" I'm asked as I stare at the treadmill in fear.
"About 7:30 per mile," I reply, using my slower pace from the training sessions.
"That's nearly thirteen km an hour,"she replies doing some very quick maths in her head. "That's a little fast. I'll set it to eleven for now."
A little fast? That actually makes me feel better. and I step onto the treadmill with a new confidence.
As the machine picks up speed, I run for about thirty seconds, watching a video of Mo Farah running relentlessly through London's Streets.
The machine is stopped, and I jump off, and walk over to the screen where a video loop of my ankles is playing over and over.
"Your right leg runs with no over or under pronunciation at all. Your left has the tiniest outward movement, but is only a degree or two. This is perfectly normal."
I contemplate asking whether my back trouble maybe has caused it. But then think better of it. It's normal, so don't worry.
"Actually, I thought you were joking about the pace. But you run perfectly," the assistant adds as Kasia comes in to look at the video.
We pick out about four pairs of trainers for me to try. I explain that Adidas seem to give me blisters, and we reject them instantly, leaving three pairs; Brooks, Asics and New Balance, all of which are over the £100 mark. I've never spent that kind of money on shoes in my life.
I try the Asics first. Kasia bought a pair the day before. I jump back onto the treadmill and run for the required 30 seconds, again staring at Mo Farah trying his hardest to inspire me.
I get down and go over to the video.
"Look at this," the sales assistant says. "The consistency is amazing. You really do run perfectly."
I'm looking at a side-by-side comparison of my two treadmill runs. Frame for frame, they are identical. Without the two different pairs of shoes on my feet, you wouldn't have known you were watching a different take.
"Cool," is the only response I have, my already huge ego getting another boost that it really didn't need.
Next, the Brooks shoes.
Back on the treadmill, Mo Farah replaced by someone I probably should know but don't. It doesn't matter. I run perfectly.
Not much more to be said, it becomes about how I feel in the trainers, rather than how I run.
I opt for the Brooks Glycerine 12 shoes. They're very expensive, but rather than seeing them as something to cover my feet, I see them as an investment, a tool to help me on my journey. But then I remember something.
I have to run four miles home.
We apologise to the sales assistant, but I make a promise to come back and pick them up later the same day (which I do), and head out the door on my long journey home.
Kasia is soon left behind (She cheated and took a bus in the end, still struggling with pain a little), and I battle Saturday afternoon crowds, dodging and weaving the best I can to avoid stopping.
I passed the crime scene I mentioned earlier, literally running alongside the police tape. There really was a lot of blood, covering the pavement, and the detritus of paramedic equipment still littering the area. I can only guess as to what happened at this point. It's when I see the running shoes lying in the middle of the pool that something hits home.
I want to leave it there for today. Whatever happens, nobody ever deserves to die like that.
Friday, 5 June 2015
Baby, we were born to run... (I promised myself I wouldn't use that as a title. Sorry)
It’s been a god week for running. For me, anyway. As I said at the beginning of the week, I was going to use the shorter midweek runs to try a faster pace, but that isn’t exactly how it happened…
I ran three miles on Monday evening, at a steady pace of around 7:30/mile and was fairly happy with the results. Running slower, I can run far more consistently, and can feel my endurance levels building all the time.
Tuesday I decided to rest. Monday is officially a rest day, but I got bored, and felt the need to hit the streets. But by the time Tuesday came, I’d had a rough day at work, and needed to veg out with a beer and a movie instead at that point, so I’m glad I’d run on Monday instead.
Wednesday came, and I headed out for my evening run quite late. Kasia was working, so after I’d spent the evening on the Playstation with my son, it was time to head out. Running four miles at 10pm at night is actually a really good feeling. This run on Wednesday was when I finally realised how much progress I’d made in just a couple of weeks. I ran four miles, each one hitting 7:30/mile like clockwork. You could have set your watch by me.
A little secret though – knowing my split times, I realised I was flagging on the final lap and upped my pace, to hit the target. This was the first defining moment of the week; I realised I still had much more in the tank.
I removed the blister plaster before my shower that evening, and examined my foot. It had healed to the point that, while sore, the wound was closed and I could leave it open. This was to be the second defining moment of the week, although I was yet to realise it…
Thursday’s run was arrange with Kasia on my train home. We would get read and run straight away, around 7pm, thus leaving our evening free. Well, we eventually left the house around half past seven, but Kasia pulled up almost instantly with a pain. She said she was fine, and would walk it off, leaving me to run alone (She is fine, by the way).
About a mile in, I realised that the pain in my knee had gone, that it had been the blister plaster on the underside of my foot changing my gait slightly, and putting stress on my knee. Now it was gone, I was running as I usually would.
It was only a two-mile run tonight, and accordingly, I upped my pace. I finished both miles in 13:30, an average of 6:45/mile, which while much slower than my best, is still a vast improvement on the sluggish runs I was completing a fortnight ago, after 18 months out.
Friday will see a three or four mile run (I have yet to decide – it’s Playstation night with the boy again) which I hope to complete at the faster pace, with a rest tomorrow, and then an 8-mile run on Sunday, which Kasia, rather conveniently, is away for...
I ran three miles on Monday evening, at a steady pace of around 7:30/mile and was fairly happy with the results. Running slower, I can run far more consistently, and can feel my endurance levels building all the time.
Tuesday I decided to rest. Monday is officially a rest day, but I got bored, and felt the need to hit the streets. But by the time Tuesday came, I’d had a rough day at work, and needed to veg out with a beer and a movie instead at that point, so I’m glad I’d run on Monday instead.
Wednesday came, and I headed out for my evening run quite late. Kasia was working, so after I’d spent the evening on the Playstation with my son, it was time to head out. Running four miles at 10pm at night is actually a really good feeling. This run on Wednesday was when I finally realised how much progress I’d made in just a couple of weeks. I ran four miles, each one hitting 7:30/mile like clockwork. You could have set your watch by me.
A little secret though – knowing my split times, I realised I was flagging on the final lap and upped my pace, to hit the target. This was the first defining moment of the week; I realised I still had much more in the tank.
I removed the blister plaster before my shower that evening, and examined my foot. It had healed to the point that, while sore, the wound was closed and I could leave it open. This was to be the second defining moment of the week, although I was yet to realise it…
Thursday’s run was arrange with Kasia on my train home. We would get read and run straight away, around 7pm, thus leaving our evening free. Well, we eventually left the house around half past seven, but Kasia pulled up almost instantly with a pain. She said she was fine, and would walk it off, leaving me to run alone (She is fine, by the way).
About a mile in, I realised that the pain in my knee had gone, that it had been the blister plaster on the underside of my foot changing my gait slightly, and putting stress on my knee. Now it was gone, I was running as I usually would.
It was only a two-mile run tonight, and accordingly, I upped my pace. I finished both miles in 13:30, an average of 6:45/mile, which while much slower than my best, is still a vast improvement on the sluggish runs I was completing a fortnight ago, after 18 months out.
Friday will see a three or four mile run (I have yet to decide – it’s Playstation night with the boy again) which I hope to complete at the faster pace, with a rest tomorrow, and then an 8-mile run on Sunday, which Kasia, rather conveniently, is away for...
Monday, 1 June 2015
Hitting my stride...
Sunday’s long run was only as long as Saturday’s in the end –
four miles, but I used it to control my pace and breathing. Doing laps around
the block, each one a mile long, I ran like clockwork, completing each of the
first three miles in 7:30, and only speeding up (and nearly killing myself) on
the final lap, when I knew I didn’t have to keep anything in the tank. It’s a
great feeling to lengthen your stride and open up the throttle on the home
straight, stretching muscles you thought were spent and finding reserves you
didn’t know you had. Always finish strong, no matter how the race went.
I finished the four miles in 29 minutes, (which means the
last lap was a full minute faster than the previous three) which is a vast improvement
in consistency; there was no stop-starting, no run-walk-run, just a steady pace
throughout.
While I wasn’t happy with the overall speed I was running
(It’s a very slow pace for me), I know that with longer runs, the endurance
will pick up and the pace itself will quicken as my body gets used to running
longer and longer. This week is a series of shorter runs, mostly only 3 miles,
so I will use those to run at a quicker pace, probably around the 6 minutes per
mile speed, with just an extended eight mile run on Sunday.
My morning weigh in told me that I’ve lost nearly half a
kilo in the last week too, which is great, considering my peanut habit seems to
have been replaced by a biscuit habit…
It used to be that when I ran, I used the time to clear my
head, to stop the world for a little while, and just focus on the road. Since I
started training for the marathon, however, my mind during the run is focused
on figures, on times and distances, on where I should be at any particular
point, on what lies ahead in the next minute. I’m not sure if I prefer it or
not, but it is certainly sobering, knowing that in exactly forty-five seconds,
I will be approaching the steepest part of the course, but once that has
passed, It will be back onto that home straight, a little over 600 meters of
wide pavement, with no obstructions and a chance to really stretch my legs.
Injury wise, the blister on the sole of my foot is healing
nicely, my back is the best it’s been in years, and the only issue I have right
now is that nagging pain in my knee, which I think is due to me running
slightly different because of the blister. It doesn’t hurt that much though,
and when I run, I don’t feel a pain at all. All in all, I’m in great shape and
looking forward to running crazy distances over the coming weeks and pushing
myself further than ever before.
I’ve read some interesting stats online; that marathon
runners tend to be older – it seems that as we slow down, we tend to run
further. Most marathoners tend to be in their mid-to-late thirties, with no
upper age limit. Sprinting it seems is a young man’s game, but endurance is for
those who endure…
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