Downtime

Another quiet day on the exercise front.  I didn't even go for a walk after the morning track session at The Haven.  There are still occasional traces of pain in my right arch when I walk, but certainly not bad enough to prevent me running if I wanted too.  I just have to tell myself that these few days, and perhaps weeks, will pass quickly enough and I will be glad I didn't try and rush back too early.  That's the theory, anyway.



Three failed attempts to break the record for riding solo
and unsupported around Australia occupied injury time
(2007, 2008 and 2009).

When running plays as large a part in your life as it has in mine, the absence of running leaves a large void that is easily filled with self-pity and eating.  Back in my prime, when I was running 200+ kilometres a week, these voids were even larger and sometimes longer.  I soon learned that the best way of managing them was to fill the space with meaningful activity and see them as an opportunity.  If other activities I enjoyed were still possible, such as hiking, bike-riding or kayaking, then I would pursue those.  If I could give myself some kind of challenge, then even better.  When studying, it was a chance to complete assignments.  In a worst-case scenario, it might mean some long-delayed DIY work around the house or gardening.


I completed the 250km River Murray Red Cross
Canoe Marathon twice while unable to run (circa 1980).

This week, I have spent a lot of time on detailed planning for my next adventure (since retiring, I've tried to have at least one adventure each year).  Two options I'm considering involve hiking part, or all, of two famous long-distance trails.  One is the 3,000 kilometre Te Araroa Trail which runs the length of New Zealand and the other is the 4,200 kilometre Pacific Crest Trail which follows the crest of the Sierra Nevada and Cascade mountain ranges from Mexico to Canada in the western US .  Both are on my "bucket list".  However, before committing I want to have a good idea of the terrain, gear I will need, the distance between resupply options, likely weather, best timing, and so on.  I enjoy the research, and it gives me something positive to think about, and anticipate, at a time when frustrated by my inability to run.

Another running anecdote

No training to report for today.  Instead, a day spent trying to detect pain in my arch whenever I walked around.  There's barely anything to note, but I'll stick with the plan to leave it for another few days before walking any distance.

I thought I would share another old running anecdote.  Below is an article I wrote that appeared in the June 1986 Victorian Marathon Club Newsletter about an event I had run while travelling in the US.

_____________________________________________________________

ST VALENTINE'S DAY DEBACLE

After an hour's drive in gale-force winds and heavy showers we arrived at the apartment in Sunset, the suburb next to Golden Gate Park, where Australian friends Martin and Veronica were staying, and then we all journeyed by tram into downtown San Francisco.  We arrived at the Hyatt Regency hotel on the Embarcadero 45 minutes before the scheduled 6:00pm race start and entered (with the exception of Veronica) for the St Valentine's Day Striders Fun Run.




Out for a jog in San Francisco more recently.

We were looking forward to competing on the four mile heart-shaped course through the downtown area - particularly Martin who had recently performed well as a guest in the Canadian World Cross Country Trial (where he distinguished himself by running the last half with his gloves stuffed down the front of his jocks, after deciding that frostbitten hands were preferable to risking the family lineage) - but wondered how the organisers were going to police the course.  Not only was it Friday night peak hour, but also the start of a long weekend and it was going to be dark.

In the Race Director’s preamble he informed us that this was a “stride”, not a “race”, and those running too fast would find that they beat the marshals to the corners (of which there were fourteen) – sigh!  Our sentiments were obviously shared by other “runners” among the 100 entries, who included Laurie Binder, former winner of Sydney’s City to Surf, but not by other “striders” who included people dressed in street clothes and even in oilskins.




The crowded streets of downtown San Francisco where the
1986 St Valentines Day Run was held
(I can't remember the route).

The route was complicated so the three of us each grabbed a map to carry.  The course began by crossing the busy six-lane Embarcadero.  A couple of officials (they were the last I saw for a long time) pushed the pedestrian crossing button, dashed out into the road waving at the traffic to stop, and signalled the starter to begin the race.  Miraculously, nobody died at this first obstacle, but the traffic had another excellent opportunity as the participants strung out along the gloomy main road running with their backs to the oncoming cars.  Martin was fortunate (and fit) and found himself sharing the lead with two runners who knew where they were going.  I was less fortunate (and less fit), and being 100 metres off the pace, lost sight of them in the dark and finally had to slow at an intersection to wait for the following bunch.  When they arrived, I discovered they knew as much as me, but were less well-equipped – no maps.  From that point, I was the “Pied Piper”, leading with my map, and shouting “Right on Powell”, “Left on Taylor”, etc., as we dashed across intersections and roads, dodging cars and cable-cars – it was becoming good fun.

Many runners got lost or cut the course short.  Barb saw one runner miss a turn and continue towards the Pacific.  The organisers kindly included some of San Francisco’s steepest hills as well as a flight of over 100 steps and the race finished down the precipitous California Street, with cross-roads every 100 metres – no sprint finishes.  Martin, Barb and I all found ourselves just running in with whoever we happened to be with at the time.  The Finish was “low key” to say the least.  We turned the corner into Justin Herman Plaza, saw an official standing there all on his own, asked him where the finish line was, and were informed we had just crossed it.

Later, some refreshments were provided and a draw held for some nice prizes.  A unique and amusing experience was capped for the evening when I won a bottle of champagne and two fine crystal glasses.

Three days lost

Training for a marathon has seemed a distant fantasy for the past three days.



Crossing the line in the 1982 Boston Marathon
(49th in 2:22:39)

I woke early on Sunday morning with a severe headache followed by bouts of vomiting and dry retching and twelve hours later, at Sharon's insistence, was in the local hospital's Emergency Department on a drip having various tests and a brain scan.  The tests failed to show anything untoward and they eventually sent me home with instructions to return if there was no improvement.  I spent the next 36 hours in bed sleeping and dozing.  My headache gradually abated as my ability to keep down fluids and food gradually returned.  There was no thought of any exercise.

Today, although still feeling a bit spaced out, I have returned to the world of the living and am eating and drinking normally.  I'm hoping my ailment was just some kind of 48-hour bug I picked up, though the hospital tests didn't identify any viruses.  I decided not to exercise today either, and will now have missed three complete days.  The downtime seems to have been the catalyst for a more realistic assessment of my marathon training plan.  There was still some specific pain in my right arch when I got up this morning and I have decided I would be smarter to continue resting it than to resume jogging this week as intended.



Showing off my Boston Marathon medal after
the post-race presentation (it is engraved
Top 10, though awarded to each of the top
50 in recognition of the growth in numbers).

I know I am vacillating on the rehabilitation plan, but I am starting to recognise that there's less than 14 weeks to the Melbourne Marathon and my chances of a sub-3 are diminishing with each day that passes when I cannot train properly.  The pressure to resume training too quickly comes from the approaching Melbourne Marathon deadline and the reality is that Melbourne race is not the only race around.  Although I'm getting older as every day passes, there's no real reason why I should run slower in, say, January 2014, than in October 2013.  It's more a function of the length of the injury-free training lead up, than of age.

So, for now, I'm not even going to walk any distance until I feel the right arch is better.  If I'm lucky enough to be running pain-free by the end of next week, then I'm still a chance to be fit enough to run well in Melbourne.  If not, I'll just have to postpone my ambition for a couple of months and hope I get a better training lead-up.

First World problems

Mixing with runners, when you can't run yourself because of injury, can be challenging.  There were times in my running prime when I found it too demoralising and avoided social interaction with running friends.  Not only was it hard to hear them enthusing about their own running, but they were also very empathetic, asking questions and offering suggestions, when I just didn't want to think or talk about it.

Nowadays,  it doesn't seem to matter quite as much.  Maybe I have become more mature, or maybe my running ambitions are not as lofty.  For whatever reason, even if I can't run because of injury, I still generally drag myself out of bed at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning to join my fellow Terrigal Trotters.  If I can, when they head out for the scheduled run at 6am, I head out for an hour's walk so that I'm getting at least a little exercise, and won't feel quite so guilty when I tuck into my traditional post-run muffin and milkshake.

Matcham Valley

I miss the anticipation, the friendly competition and the sense of well-being associated with post-run fatigue.  And this morning, I also missed out on one of my favourite runs, Matcham Valley, which includes two beautiful local valleys and some good road running.  However, I do enjoy the company of my fellow runners, and more importantly, I appreciate the perspective that mixing with them brings to my own situation.  I am not the only one with a problem.

Two runners this morning had to be picked up by car because of injuries they sustained and another cut the run short and walked back because of injury.  Post-run, I chatted with one runner whose chances of running an excellent time in the Gold Coast Marathon tomorrow had evaporated with an injury sustained two months ago, and another who recently underwent cancer-related surgery and is still receiving chemotherapy.  To top it off, we heard that one of the Club's celebrated octogenarians suffered a serious heart attack during the week.

My running injury is very much a "First World problem".  I may be currently frustrated, but I know I have been exceptionally lucky during my running life and mixing with other runners (and non-runners) helps limit the self-indulgent introspection to which I can become prone, and perhaps did in the past.

I did manage to walk 6km this morning, but still with low-level pain in my right arch.  Despite pledging to myself that I would not resume running until the pain was gone, I am now thinking about walking and jogging tomorrow morning just to see how it goes.  I'll make a final decision when I get up tomorrow morning.

Fourth of July adventure

Kids playing on Copa beach this morning.

My training for today was again another 6km walk around the hills of Copa, this time in warm and sunny conditions.  It was a beautiful day and holidaying kids were playing on a sand cliff on the beach.  My right arch was a little painful, but certainly tolerable, and it would be very tempting to resume running if I could be sure the pain wouldn't worsen.

Most years, when July 4th passes, I think back to the times I have been in the US on that date.  Usually, the day was marked with family picnics and fireworks on balmy evenings at the local high school, but one, in particular, sticks in my mind.

In the mid-1990s, on the July 4th weekend, my family was on its way back to St Louis, where we lived at the time, from a touring vacation in our small campervan through Utah and Colorado.  During the two-week trip, I had kept up my running and I persuaded my then wife to let me run a trail from the western side of the Great Divide to the eastern side in Rocky Mountains National Park while she drove our campervan round to meet me.



Flattop Mountain (at left) on a better day.

It had been a late winter and I was not sure which trails were open, so we called into the National Parks Kawuneeche Visitor Centre where I enquired, somewhat obliquely, about the trail from Green Mountain Trailhead across Flattop Mountain (12,324ft) to Bear Lake.  I did not let on that I was planning to run it, in case they prohibited me from doing so.  The ranger wasn’t much help and didn’t know what conditions were like, nor whether any rangers had hiked the trail yet this season.  Not a good start, but I was reluctant to scupper the idea as the opportunity might not arise again.

We drove to the Trailhead, where spice was added to the venture by the display of several posters listing details, including pictures, of hikers missing in the area I was about to enter.  I set off in shorts and a T-shirt with a rain-jacket tied around my waist and a map in my hand for the 16 mile run, which included 3,000ft of ascent and descent.  The weather was fine and the early running through pine forests, across alpine meadows and past cascading streams was magical.

After about five miles, I began to encounter some snow on the trail, although it was still quite runnable.  More worrying, though, were the ominous clouds gathering on the mountain ahead, accompanied by flashes of lightning and peals of thunder.  As I crossed Tonahutu Creek using a snowbridge, I saw two climbers, roped together and wearing all of the gear, descending the snowy slope ahead of me.  I waited for them to reach me and discussed the route of the unseen trail (hidden beneath the snow slope).  They had aborted their ascent of Flattop Mountain because of the thunderstorms forming on the upper slopes, but I felt committed to continue.  The climbers were not impressed, and one said he felt compelled to tell me that he considered me ill-equipped to proceed.  I thanked him for his input, put on my rain-jacket, for it was now getting quite cold, and headed off up the slope towards a gap in some trees ahead where I surmised the trail passed.  Where the climbers had been slowly post-holing down the slope in the deep snow because of the weight they were carrying, I was light enough not to break through the snow crust, and quickly ascended and crossed the snow slope.



My route across Flattop Mountain

Then began a steady ascent, above the tree-line, to the summit of the aptly-named Flattop Mountain.  Nearer the summit, the winds were fierce and visibility near zero in the heavy cloud and sleet.  It was impossible to see the trail, but fortunately there were stone cairns to follow across the plateau-like mountain top.  Sadly, it was not possible to see from one cairn to the next, so my pattern became to head off into the wind and fog in the direction I thought correct, but to return to the cairn after a hundred metres or so if I could not find the next cairn.  I would then set out in a slightly different direction and repeat the process until I did spy the next cairn.  I was bitterly cold and quite anxious, especially when a couple of my direction-finding runs found me at the edge of a seemingly bottomless precipice, but I remained methodical and careful, repeatedly telling myself that I was OK.  I was still capable of running and my brain was still working.

The three miles across the mountain top seemed to take forever, but actually took about an hour.  Finally, the trail began to descend and became easier to follow.  I was very cold and flew down the last four miles of steep switch-backing trail to Bear Lake in about 25 minutes, dreaming of some dry warm clothes and shelter.  Sadly, my wife’s journey with our two young kids in the under-powered campervan had been similarly epic.  Driving sleet and gale-force winds slowed all road traffic to a crawl and it took her five and a half hours to negotiate 45 miles of road in the appalling conditions with our young son asking whether “Daddy was going to die?”.

I ended up spending nearly two hours shivering in my shorts and rain-jacket in the car park, where there was no shelter, waiting for her arrival and wondering what had happened before she finally turned up and we were all happily reunited.

The edge of the mental envelope

It was an early start as usual for the 6am Thursday track session at The Haven in Terrigal, on a crisp and cold morning.  There was a good turn-out and it was pleasing to see so many of the runners showing improvement.  Running is a very honest sport, and barring injury, improvement is directly proportional to the effort invested.



On my way to 2:31 and 2nd place in the 1976 VMC Marathon

We were chatting after the session and I voiced my opinion that improvement will continue to come if the runner keeps nudging the edge of the envelope, both physically and mentally.  It is easy for runners to settle into a routine where they are fit and healthy, but don't push themselves to realise their full potential (of course, this is absolutely fine if running is primarily for the purpose of maintaining good health).

Improved physical ability through harder training is, perhaps, easier to achieve than the mental self-belief needed to fully realise running potential.  The latter does come partially from confidence that you have done the training necessary to run your best times.  However, even then, your performances can be constrained by  the boundaries you set yourself, often unconsciously.  You can think that you are performing at your limit, but in reality, you are not.

My Hamilton Marathon
race number

This was certainly the case in my running career.  For most of the early 1970s I was training hard, running marathons in the 2:30 to 2:40 range, and believing that improvement would come in minor increments, if I was lucky.  Then, in June 1976, I ran a marginal Personal Best time of 2:31 in the Victorian Marathon Club (VMC) Championship for second place behind a visiting New Zealander.  My prize, as the first VMC member to finish, was a trip to run in the Hamilton Marathon in New Zealand in October 1976.  I was over the moon with this prize, my biggest reward to date.  I can still remember walking along the beach near where we were staying after the race feeling a great sense of exhilaration and anticipation. I dreamed of breaking 2:30 in Hamilton, which had a reputation as a fast course.



Barely legible 1976 Hamilton Marathon results

As it turned out, the Hamilton Marathon changed my life.  I ran 2:22, a personal best by nine minutes, to finish in sixth place in a fast field.  I think I just got sucked along and then solid training kicked in over the last half where I gained eight places.  I could not believe my time, and still have doubts that the course was accurate.  A few fellow Australians in the race also ran their personal best times that day, but so far as I know, I'm the only one who ever improved on their Hamilton 1976 time.  However, for me the breakthrough was more mental than physical.  I had probably been capable of running that time for a few years, but had never done it, nor believed I could do it.  Suddenly, I believed I was a 2:20 marathon runner instead of a 2:30 marathon runner and that belief carried me to faster times, and not only in the marathon.

Of course, I have subsequently wondered whether I should have been a 2:15 or 2:10 marathon runner, but there's evidence I lacked the basic speed necessary.  I never broke 4 minutes for the 1500m or 2 minutes for 800m, despite plenty of attempts.  Then again........

After the session I walked a little over 6km as my training for the day.  I could still feel pain in my right arch but am moving a little more freely.

Adjusting for age and gender

Not much training to report again today.  I walked the same 6km course as yesterday, on a crisp and sunny morning.  The arch pain was barely perceptible when I walked on the outside of the right foot, but there were occasions during the day when I stepped awkwardly, for some reason, and felt sharper pain.  The plan remains to continue the daily walk until Sunday and then maybe jog a little.



Age wasn't an issue during the 1983 Victorian Marathon
Championship (4th place in 2:22:12)

Later in the day, I devoted some time to calculating the finishing scores for various annual running competitions held this year for members of Terrigal Trotters (I am the backup calculator).  Our competitions run from July to June and most are based on points scored using a system developed for the World Masters Athletics organisation.  The system assigns points to a performance based on the age and gender of the athlete.  To gain 1000 points the performance has to be virtually the world's best for that age and gender.  Lesser performances are assigned points based on their relationship to the world's best performance.  Calculators are available on the web (an example can be found here), and you can also download a table of all the factors for use in spreadsheets and other software.  This is what I have done for the Terrigal Trotters calculations.

It's a great system for clubs, such as Terrigal Trotters, whose members are mostly past their athletic prime.  It creates a level playing field for all of the runners in the club and gives something for old blokes like me to get excited and competitive about.

A sub-3 hour marathon for someone my age would earn 875 points, and I have in my mind the need to be capable of a performance earning 900 points to give me a buffer.  Coincidentally, or perhaps not, my best ever marathon time of 2:19:06 when I was aged 29, would have earned me 900 points, so a symmetry exists.

The highest points I have earned for an event in the past year were 846, so it's evident that, assuming I can resume training properly in three weeks time, not only do I have to get back to my recent fitness, but I have to take myself to a new level.

Shoes

Yesterday, I took delivery of some new Nike Pegasus shoes I had purchased online and christened one pair with a 6km walk around Copa this morning, including some steep hills and steps.

I wore the new shoes in the hope that their cushioning and arch support would be better than my current Pegasus shoes.  I could feel the arch support pressing on the painful area of my right foot, suggesting that it was, perhaps, offering more support than my older shoes.  Consciously walking on the outside of the foot almost eliminated the pain and I remain hopeful that I might be able to jog lightly, pain-free, on Sunday.

When runners consult me about injuries, I often suggest they try wearing different shoes to see if that makes a difference.  Even if they are the same brand, slight manufacturing variations and differing levels of wear can make a difference.  I have been wedded to Nike Pegasus and its forerunners for many years and am now reluctant to change brands for fear of creating new injuries.  However, I don't think there's anything special about them - it's more the devil you know versus the devil you don't.



Taking a break while hiking the Appalachian Trail in 1986

Like many runners who started in the 1960s and 1970s, some of my earliest shoes were cheap Korean and Japanese imports bought primarily because they were light and cheap.  Later I graduated to some of the early Tiger models which met the same criteria.  I think that, when you are young, your body is more adaptable and forgiving, so you can get away with less support and cushioning in your shoes.  Someone once told me that there are fat pads in our feet which provide cushioning and that these break down as you get older.  This is consistent with my own experience.  For instance, back in 1986, at the age of 35, I hiked the 2,200 mile Appalachian Trail up the east coast of the U.S., mostly in a pair of New Balance running shoes.  Despite carrying a pack that averaged 20 kilograms, I had few foot-related problems.  When I resumed my long-distance hiking career a few years ago, wearing running shoes, I experienced severe pain in the soles of my feet after a few days.  After switching to good quality hiking boots, offering support and cushioning, I have had no foot problems.

Although I favour Nike, I think that there are many excellent running shoes out there these days.  In my earlier career, apart from Tiger, I also wore Brooks, New Balance and Adidas for extended periods and found them all good.  Every individual is different, and every individual needs to experiment with different shoes until they find the brand and model that suits them best.  Sometimes, if injuries persist, orthotics might be needed.

A road rage story

No training today, just an easy 4-5km walk favouring my right arch.  So long as I walk on the outside of the foot, there is not significant pain.  The sore right arch does feel a bit better, so the plan not to run, but walk, for the rest of the week still seems viable.

Since there's not much running to discuss today, I thought I would relate another anecdote from my long running career.  It relates to road rage, and if there's any moral to the tale, it's probably to avoid it if possible.

Back in the 70s, I sometimes did my long runs with a friend from the running club I will call Harry.  I can't remember what Harry's best marathon time was, but I think it was around 2:40.  He was small and stocky, and not really built for running, but he trained hard and was quite obsessive about sport, running in particular.



Bridge Road, Richmond, these days.  Not much
changed in 40 years.

We both worked around the Melbourne CBD and commuted by running to and from our offices.  Occasionally, after work, we met up for a run of about 32km, finishing at my house.  I would then drive Harry home.  One twilight, we were about 25km into our run, travelling on the left-hand footpath of a main road, when a car travelling in the same direction turned left into a minor street right in front of us, causing us to pull up sharply.  Road law said that, when turning left or right, a driver had to give way to pedestrians.  I tended to get annoyed when drivers cut me off in this fashion and had adopted the custom, learned from another running friend, of giving the offending vehicle's boot (trunk) a bang with my palm as it passed in front of me.  This didn't cause any damage, but sounded very loud inside the vehicle.

That's what I did on this occasion, before Harry and I continued on.  However, the unhappy driver made a U-turn and followed us for the next 5km, stopping periodically to remonstrate with us.  He didn't try to physically stop or harm us, and each time we encountered him we just gave him a wide berth and continued on.  Harry was enormously impressed with the impact of my action on the driver, and filed the technique away for future use.

About a year later, he was running home along Bridge Road through the Richmond shopping strip when a tradesman's vehicle exiting a narrow side street from the left blocked his path.  Harry banged a panel on the side of the vehicle and began running round its rear.  Unexpectedly, the tradesman quickly jumped out of his vehicle, ran around the front, grabbed hold of Harry, and began roughing him up.

Suddenly, yells were heard from shoppers and the tradesman turned to see his vehicle rolling slowly across busy Bridge Road.  In his haste, he had not applied the hand brake.  He released Harry and raced back to his vehicle but was unable to stop it from mounting the opposite kerb and rolling into the front of a florists shop.

Harry seized his opportunity to escape at speed up Bridge Road and never again ran home via that route.

Highs and lows

Just over a week ago, I rose early with a sense of enthusiasm and anticipation for my Saturday morning Trotters' run, knowing that I had reshaped my hiking body into a running body.  I ran well, felt fit, and publicised to the world my plans for a sub-3 hour Melbourne Marathon in October.

The next day my right arch was a bit sore, for no known reason, and now, eight days later, I had great trouble dragging myself out of bed for my Sunday morning run.  My sleep had been disturbed many times during the night by the sharp pain in my right arch.  I was now struggling to come to terms with the likelihood that my chances of October marathon success were now much reduced and eventually conceded that a Sunday run was a bad idea.



Looking south from Cromarty Hill

I had managed to get through yesterday's hard run despite the sore arch and the emotional part of my brain was telling me that I should stick to my training plan, ignore the pain, and eventually it would go away and I would have lost little time and fitness in my marathon quest.

The rational part of my brain was telling me that the pain would just get worse and worse if I tried to train through it, and the worse it got, the longer it would take to get better.  I knew, deep within myself, that I had to get the arch right, and be sure it was right, before I tried to resume hard training.  My benchmark rehab time for soft tissue injuries is three weeks, but maybe I can get away with losing less fitness if I can do some walking and light jogging during those three weeks.  We went for an easy family walk in the afternoon from Crackneck to Cromarty Hill and the discomfort wasn't too bad, but when I tried to jog for a few steps, there was sharp pain high in the arch.

My general plan will now be to walk about 5km each day this week, jog and walk next week, and jog the week after.  I will only follow this plan if there is no pain at each stage, and only shorten the staged rehab if I'm very confident the arch can handle it.  I have already lost a week through not immediately resting it when the pain first became apparent last weekend.  However, on balance, it was probably worth taking the chance that the injury was not serious.  The goal now is to not compound the error by trying to come back too soon again.  In the back of my mind, I know I need to begin coming to terms with the probability that sub-3 in Melbourne is unlikely.  In the scheme of things, it's not really a big deal.  I did expect that injury would intervene, but right now it's very disappointing.

Handicapped

I fronted up early for the Trotters' Kerry Anderson 10km Handicap Time Trial on a miserably wet and dark Saturday morning.  After getting the post-run drinks ready, I ran over to The Haven and for four laps of the road, splashing through puddles and trying not to trip over in the misty darkness.  It was important that I run about 3km for a warm-up if I want to be able to start the event at a reasonable pace.  I also wanted to see how sore my arch was and found it to be detectable but not painful.



Runners get ready to start in Terrigal Trotters' Kerry Anderson
Handicap on the Terrigal promenade

A couple of years ago, I began to notice that I was going into oxygen debt very early in races and struggling to get enough oxygen into my lungs.  After persevering for a year or two, I sought medical advice, was diagnosed with exercise-induced asthma, and have been on medication since then.  For the first time in a while, I began to feel like I was able to fill my lungs with a deep breath, and have been, on average, running more comfortably since.  However, it still works better if I start out slowly.



Backmarkers watch from shelter as the frontmarkers head out

The Trotters' Handicap is a fun event, generating lots of pre-race banter on social media and in person.  The Handicaps are published a week beforehand on the web and runners keenly scan for their own handicaps and those of potential rivals.  The handicaps are calculated to have all runners finish exactly at 7am, but of course this is not the way it works out.  There are always a couple of runners who get generous handicaps and then run their best times by a large margin.  I was off the same mark (6:18am) as two friends, Mike and James, and found the early pace just a little faster than I liked.  I could feel some minor pain in my right arch, but it wasn't causing me to limp, which was a good sign.  After a couple of kilometres, I warmed up and was running more freely to about the 6 kilometre mark, where my lack of racing caught up with me and I lost some momentum.

I finished with a time of 41:37, which was a little slower than I had hoped, but acceptable.  On the downside, high in my right arch there is now a some quite specific pain, even when I walk around.  I am fearful that I need a more extended rest from running to get it right, which will significantly impact my Melbourne Marathon preparation.  I won't jump to conclusions at this point, but will see how it feels tomorrow.

Tempo runs

As I feared, this morning's easy 5km run, after two days of light running and two days off to rest my sore right arch, was inconclusive.  I didn't feel the minor burning pain after half a kilometre or so, as earlier in the week, but it didn't feel 100% either.  As I warmed up during the run, I moved more freely and felt better.  There remained some minor discomfort in the arch, although it's not as bad as earlier in the week.

Later in the day, I went for a 5km walk with the same result.  No real pain, but a sense of warmth, and maybe inflammation, in the arch.  It's hard to know what's best.  Maybe a slow build up in mileage would make most sense, but I also don't want to waste more training time if it has repaired enough to resume normal training.  Tomorrow is the annual Terrigal Trotters Handicap 10km Time Trial, which provides the chance for a fast run, something I need.

Hard runs at speed form an important, and often shirked, part of a training program.  I find it difficult to do these tempo, or speed endurance, runs solo (though many do).  I have always found it easiest, and most effective, to run fast with a group.  The competitive juices flow and there's peer group pressure to hang in there when the going gets tough.  In the various clubs I have belonged to over the years, in Australia and the UK, there has usually been a weekday evening tempo run of 15 to 20 kilometres.  We all head out at a modest sociable clip, but finish at virtual race pace.  For a few years, my club's (Kew Camberwell) Tuesday 15 kilometre evening run from Olympic Park in Melbourne was a classic.  Below is an edited copy of an article I wrote for the Club's May 1980 Newsletter about the run.

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TUESDAY NIGHT TRAINING

The clicking of the turnstiles is answered by the clicking of the wristwatches as the runners file out of "the Park".  The first "hurdle" is encountered almost immediately.  The runners dash twixt rush hour commuter cars across Batman Avenue.  Ken baulks and misses a gap, losing 50 metres immediately (he "hates this ******* course!").  The main pack moves on towards Anderson Street hill with Ken almost catching us before he misses the lights at Alexandra Avenue and loses another 50 metres (he "hates this ******* course!").  The pace picks up as we ascend the hill with Andy making the running and occasionally expectorating on the pack to make sure they kept their distance.  This occasional shower for the following runners usually elicits some good-natured comment from Pratty such as "Do you want a punch in the face, Andy?".  Undeterred, Andy presses on.  Ken catches the bunch.  At the top of the hill, those who are already finding the pace a bit hot announce that they "were only going to do track training tonight, anyway" and continue around The Tan back to the Park where they do something easier like 20 X 300 metres in 45 seconds with 100 metre recoveries.




Some members of the Kew Camberwell distance squad
 at Olympic Park, Melbourne, in 1977.
(l. to r. JB, me, Kev, Dicky, Rod, Ray and Ken)

The pack heads off towards Fawkner Park at an ever-increasing rate with Greg now sitting on Andy's shoulder and Stan covering them both. JB and Pratty, at the back of the pack, chat nostalgically about the good old days when training pace never exceeded six-minute miles.  Ken gets caught again by the traffic at Toorak Road (he "hates this ******* course!").  We skirt the edge of Fawkner Park with everybody making sure everybody else runs around the correct trees.  Greg is really starting to push the pace a bit now. Andy spits on Pratty again - more good-natured banter.  Everybody is psyching themselves up for the next big obstacle: St Kilda Road - four lanes of traffic trams and traffic lights.  You can see Ken sweating in anticipation.  With much whooping and hollering, we dash across.  Brakes squeal, tram drivers curse and we all make it - except for Ken (he "hates this ******* course!") who loses 50 metres.  We cross Queens Road in similar fashion and encounter a new obstacle: Albert Park Golf Course in the pitch darkness.  Those who don't run into trees, fall into bunkers, trip over raised greens or drown in ponds, build up a good lead by the time we reach the Lake.

The Lake is a dangerous place.  Dangerous because Ken makes way for no man, as a number of cyclists on the bike path will testify.  Heading north along the western side through the hockey fields the pace is really on.  Greg and Andy are striding out.  Conversation has dropped to a minimum and the only sounds are heavy breathing (particularly Cashy) and the monotonous click of Stan's ankle.  A few fences are encountered and JB's steeple-chasing skills get him a 20 metre break, though this is quickly made up as he swerves to avoid being clobbered by the backswing of an overzealous hockey player.  We round South Melbourne Cricket Ground and run along Albert Road towards the Shrine.  Moves are coming from everywhere.  Stan makes a break up the service road with Dave in hot pursuit.  Ray, under cover of darkness and trees, moves up on the inside.  Fortunately, Ray's break is halted by a red light (traffic variety) at Queens Road and we all catch up.

A good position is vital now, as we have to negotiate several major roads before the long surge northwards along St Kilda Road.  Ken gets caught again and loses another 50 metres (he "hates this ******* course!").  The race is really on now with Dave, Pratty and Ray pushing to get to the front, and JB and Andy attempting to block.  Andy spits on Pratty again, and receives a good-natured tap on the shoulder that nearly knocks him over.  There are more pedestrians around now and quick thinking is called for.  Cashy nearly runs Dave into a traffic light and is then, in turn, steered into a post by Dave as we round Princes Gate Station.  It's on for young and old.

Dave puts on the pressure along Flinders Street, but is nearly fouled out by a rather stout Italian lady who steps sideways at a critical moment.  Ken is getting scared - a missed traffic light now and he knows he won't recover.  Pratty's crossed the road and piles it on.  Cashy, JB, Ray, Stan and Andy settle back to a leisurely 5:30 pace whilst Dave and Ken chase Pratty.  Ken misses the light (he "hates this ******* course!").  Has Pratty made his move too soon?  Self doubt takes over as Dave comes up to his shoulder and they race up the Lansdowne Street hill.  At the top, Dave eases off, but Pratty doesn't and surges past - the race isn't over yet.....

Inspiration

Another day of no running, though I couldn't resist jogging a few metres on the grass while the Thursday morning track group went through their paces at The Haven.  I couldn't feel any pain, but it was only a few metres.



Some of the Thursday morning track group go through their
paces in the pre-dawn gloom.

I'm not an essential part of either of the track sessions I supervise each week, but I enjoy encouraging the athletes' efforts and am inspired by their commitment and effort.  I get great satisfaction from playing a small role in their development and watching "ordinary people do extraordinary things".  Within Terrigal Trotters and elsewhere, I have seen new runners discover that with regular and sensible training they can accomplish feats they never dreamed possible.  Their self esteem gets a boost, as does their quality of life.  It's easy to see some wish they had discovered the sport earlier while others recapture the joy of running they had experienced earlier in their life, but which had been lost to the pressures of family and work commitments.

Of course, no runner escapes injury if their career lasts long enough, and there's always someone struggling with a new injury or coming back from an injury.  I try to offer relevant advice and some encouragement, but everybody is different and nobody, including doctors, is infallible in diagnosing injuries or prescribing the correct treatment.   Runners have to learn to deal with uncertainty, and often disappointment.

If my planned 5km jog tomorrow morning is pain-free, or near enough, then I hope to return to my marathon training program.  Of course, it may not be that straight forward, but I am an optimist.

Unexpected hazards

I stuck to my decision of yesterday and did not go for a run, or even a walk, today.  The pain in my arch is minimal walking around the house, so I'm hopeful that after another day off tomorrow, the pain will no longer be an issue.

With no training to report on today, I thought I would include a copy of an article I wrote for my Kew Camberwell District AAC's July 1981 newsletter about an incident in a race earlier that year.

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IT'S NOT ALL BEER AND SKITTLES UP THE FRONT

The gun fired (Fred's whistle blew) for the start of the annual Victorian Marathon Club Tullamarine Half Marathon on 2 May 1981 and the field settled into the traditional bunch to fight the gale-force headwind. The pace was extremely slow, but like half a dozen others, I was more than happy to let a "bigger bloke" bear the brunt of the conditions. The course consists of two equal laps with three-quarters of each lap passing through windswept rural land and the remainder through suburban Tullamarine. Initially you head north into the country and I waited until we turned south out of the wind before making my move to the front. By the time I had covered five miles, I was into the suburbs again with a lead of some two minutes.



On my way to 2nd Place (2:31) in the 1976 Victorian
Marathon Club Marathon Championship.

As I ran along the left-hand side of the broad suburban road (as instructed by Fred) I was contemplating the hazards of starting too fast when another hazard drew itself to my attention. The extremely loud screech of brakes and tyres immediately behind caused me to simultaneously break the Club high and long jump records (not to mention heart rate). I landed in a quivering heap on the grass verge and looked back to see that a bright red panel van complete with wide wheels and chrome trim had stopped about two metres behind where I had been at "lift off". Inside were two lads having a good laugh at a joke I failed to see. We exchanged a few pleasantries, which did little to dissipate my fear-turned-to-fury, and I looked for a more tangible means of expressing my disapproval. My gaze fell on a small stone in the grass and picking it up I took hurried aim (I was now running again) at the open passenger window. Alas! I missed and hit the bright red duco on the door. This was a joke the lads failed to see. The van was quickly in pursuit and pulled into the curb a few metres in front of me. The driver and passenger started to get out but were too late and I was past. The driver's IQ was not as bright as his duco and he tried the same thing again only to miss me by a wide margin. At this point he must have been hit by a flash of inspiration because he drove to a point one hundred metres in front of me this time before stopping.

I unleashed my finishing burst eleven kilometres early and rapidly closed on the rear of the van as the driver struggled for traction on the road attempting to round the front of his vehicle. He was wearing football boots and they were slipping on the bitumen! The passenger was also getting out and I really put my head down. The driver reached the grass verge and accelerated rapidly but not quite quickly enough and I just managed to evade his outstretched hands. My nascent sense of victory was aborted by the sight of another van stopping further up the road. Two large fellows got out, and with arms spread-eagled, blocked the path in front of me. The footballer was still hot on my heels and I had visions of the rest of the field seizing their opportunity to overtake while I was pummelled to a pulp on the footpath. On my left was a metre high school fence. Just as I was about to vault it and head for Mildura, the fellows in front yelled to my pursuers to leave me alone and moved apart to let me through. They then jumped on the footballer and I never looked back. However, I did run on the right-hand side of the road for the remainder of the race (despite Fred's remonstrations) figuring that if the lads wanted to run over me from behind they would at least have to drive on the wrong side of the road to do it.

[Footnote:  I finished 1st in 68:16]