Mount Doug (hills)

Please excuse the brevity but the taxi is coming in less than 40’ and I still have to hop in the shower having just returned from a pre-plane run. Oh, and I hear the baby.

Yesterday I had what was probably one of my best workouts in months, perhaps even a year or more. I felt as if I broke free from a restrictive cocoon and now have only possibility in front of me. Granted I was nervous at the start of the session given last week’s slugfest, but the Gods were on my side, eith er that or it was the homemade sausages from Rumon.

For those of you who know Mount Doug, I made my way over to Whitaker and ran the dastardly steep sand hill for my 30” intervals. The forth one left me with my balls in my mouth while gasping for much needed air. And then the lactic acid. Feck!

I then jogged down toward the bottom of Whitaker and started the 1’ pieces. I timed, and then marked the first three after which I aimed for the literal line in the dirt. I almost stopped at six, and perhaps I should have. Nevertheless, after allowing an additional 10” recovery I launched into a seventh repeat, knees rising and arms pumping amazed to hit the top marker with 5” to spare. Epic.

After such a great w/o yesterday, I fully expected the pins to be throbbing today but it was not to be. The sun was shining, the birds busily preparing for fall and every step better than the last. I’ll try posting a bit from the UK, got to run, ciao!

Training:
Monday: 1:07:42 with 4x30” (2’) hills + 7x1’ (2’) hills
Tuesday: undulating 32:24

London Calling (again)

No. I’m not doing the London Marathon again. What was it that Frank Shorter said, “You have to forget your last marathon before you try another. Your mind can't know what's coming.” Forgetting my 2007 London experience, will take longer than a year.

No. Ally, Isla and I are travelling to the UK for a family vacation. We’ve both been eagerly anticipating the trip for a variety of reasons. The missus wants to visit the Tower of London after reading every book possible on the Boleyn sisters. Me, I’m looking forward to running in the Brecon Beacons, along Cornwall’s coastal pathway and perhaps the odd trail on the outskirts on London (this time sans Rumon and hopefully bulls). And, perhaps I’ll have to see if I can’t find myself a quiet pub where I can enjoy a pint or two. Unfortunately, any structured training will be taking a back seat, just as it was getting started, but with some luck I hope to squeeze in a few jaunts.

For the adventurous out there, or anyone who wants to live vicariously through some crazed individuals, check out the husband and wife team of Rumon & Aviva Carter, competing in the upcoming TransRockies Run (TRR), a 6-day, 112-mile trail running stage race through the Colorado Rockies.

And Brad, yes, I, we, hope to come over for the BC Championships although I aim to run as a Master… you young ones are too quick.

Training:
Saturday: rolling 42:54 progression run
Sunday: day off (unscheduled)

Cedar Hill Golf Course

Although the pain wasn’t instantaneous, thank God for small miracles, the indifference and unresponsiveness in my legs was immediate.

I haven’t run any workouts at Cedar Hill Golf Course (CHGC) in years, and reacquainting myself with a session of tempo miles might not have been the best of ideas. The plan was simple, 4x mile with 1’ recovery. Having not raced in months I’m unsure of my current fitness but aimed (perhaps ambitiously) to hit somewhere between 6:00 – 6:05 mile/pace. Even if you take into account the rolling terrain and the bark mulch footing, I was hopelessly disappointed.

I met Hicham at the start of the upper loop and after a light warm-up we “eased” into the first mile. It was about the 1200m mark that I started to second-guess myself on competing in my first cross country season later this fall. What have I gotten myself into?

6:27, 6:16, 6:29 & 6:23

Hicham was a trooper and completed a fifth mile whereas I, after licking my wounds, decided to limp back home in anticipation of a cold beer.

Training:
Wednesday: easy 38:15
Thursday: 1:19:35 w/ 4x mile tempo (1’)
Friday: day off (unscheduled)

Managerial Experience

The large picture window to my left is open allowing a damp breeze to enter. I sit at the keyboard, write, and hear nothing but the incessant beating of the rain outside. It’s strangely comforting.

Getting out the door this evening required a disproportionate amount of energy that left me questioning my decision to head out. Whether the summer doldrums or otherwise, I turned down the street with the same determination I had when heading for detention. To make matters worse, rather than rolling through an easy jaunt I’d scheduled hills for this evening (my first session in months).

Oh joy.

I trudged along toward my spring stomping grounds, reacquainted myself with Maltwood and eased into the first interval. I was surprised at how long and painful an uphill minute can be on a concave hill.

Run. Gasp. Recover. Repeat.

After number six, I used the recovery to jog over to a terrific little hill circuit that I’d scoped out earlier. The shorter intervals took me almost to the peak of a very steep convex hill, after which a long curved gentle descent brought me back to the beginning. My fitness and or natural talent much more suited to the shorter repeats. Still, I ended the session earlier than planned, stopping while ahead and leaving the remaining two intervals for another day.

My current supervisor recently returned from Harvard where he was taking a course on governance, problem solving and negotiations. With me beginning a new job at the end of the month, he came into my office today and mumbled something about him passing on knowledge and books on managerial experience. Given his recent studies, his comment piqued my interest. I shook my head and laughed as he handed me two soft cover books and wished me well… 26 Miles to Boston and The Perfect Mile.

Training:
Monday: day off (scheduled)
Tuesday: 57:41 with 6x1’ (3’) + 6x30” (2’)

Beginnings

He paced slowly. His hands already perched on his hips as he tried to bring his laboured breathing under control. Sweat poured down his face, tracing toward this chin before falling away into an abyss. In a city where winters are damp but mild, and summers are pleasantly warm at best, today brought the arrival weatherman trying to fry an egg on the pavement.

After a short reprieve he cautiously approached the kilometer marker prepared to tackle his final interval. He stood motionless, and then gradually, unapparent at first, he leaned forward, his legs compressing before driving ahead.

Although his turnover was quick, his gait looked uneven, rough, like a child hopping on a bike for the first ride of summer. He powered down the tree lined trail, branches from opposite sides joining overhead, his private passageway of pain. The next marker passes and then he slows, before circling back and coming to rest. He is bent over, his chest heaving as sweat continues to pour down as a smile, barely visible between gasps, begins to creep over his face.

[Without having performed a recent time trial or race I had little idea of my fitness. I hoped, perhaps unrealistically, that I could knock off a 36’ 10k and therefore aimed to split my repeats in 3:40-3:43.]

My times were as follows: 3:37, 3:40, 3:37, 3:40, 3:39, 3:41, 3:44 & 3:39

Training:
Thursday: 1:04:29 with 8x1k tempo (1’)
Friday: day off (unscheduled, took the long way home on the bike; Marc would be proud knowing I didn't wear red shorts)
Saturday: easy 2:46:27 with the clinic
Sunday: 1:01:08 with 8x(2' (1'), 1' (30"), 30") (30")

T.S. Eliot’s The Return

Some day, if you are lucky, you’ll return from a thunderous journey trailing snake scales, wing fragments and the musk of Earth and moon. Eyes will examine you for signs of damage, or change and you, too, will wonder if your skin shows traces of fur, or leaves, if thrushes have built a nest of your hair, if Andromeda burns from your eyes.

Do not be surprised by prickly questions from those who barely inhabit their own fleeting lives, who barely taste their own possibility, who barely dream. If your hands are empty, treasureless, if your toes have not grown claws, if your obedient voice has not become a wild cry, a howl, you will reassure them.

We warned you, they might declare, there is nothing else, no point, no meaning, no mystery at all, just this frantic waiting to die. And yet, they tremble, mute, afraid you’ve returned without sweet elixir for unspeakable thirst, without a fluent dance or holy language to teach them, without a compass bearing to a forgotten border where no one crosses without weeping for the terrible beauty of galaxies and granite and bone.

They tremble, hoping your lips hold a secret, that the song your body now sings will redeem them, yet they fear your secret is dangerous, shattering, and once it flies from your astonished mouth, they—like you—must disintegrate before unfolding tremulous wings.

Beckwith Park (session #1)

The door gently closed and I reluctantly paced out onto the street, my legs already heavy and any motivation left lacking. After countless sun-drenched days the clouds had returned together with an uncommon towering humidity. At this point I couldn’t help but remember a quote from an ultra t-shirt, “pain is inevitable, suffering is optional”. I was to run my first scheduled workout since completing the Ottawa Marathon in late May and I was already being tested.

The session was to be a combination of 200s and 400s but as we’re now a one-car family, and with no reasonably close track I was left with little alternative. In hindsight, I think this worked out for the best as I’m flirting with the idea of jumping into what may be my first cross country season later this fall.

Nobody could ever say I wasn’t a creature of habit, and so I trudged along to Beckwith Park and traced a 200m section out on the grass. My plan was to run an out-and-back on this portion and then use an undulating pathway around a small pond (approximately 500m) for my next piece.

30.3, 32.3, 1:48.8
29.9, 29.7, 1:44.3
33.3, 33.7, 1:46.8
34.3, 33.5, 1:42.2
34.8, 34.9, 1:40.8

The workout unfolded a good deal better than I had anticipated. My turnover definitely fell off on the latter 200s but I managed to maintain my momentum and worked the rollers on the 500s. After posting a 1:46.8 for my third 500 I was worried that I’d opened too fast and made sure to push the remaining two, the last one leaving me gasping for air.

A good session, felt content afterwards.

Training:
Tuesday: 1:00:07 with 5x (2x200 (1’) + 500) (3’)
Wednesday: easy 30:31