Annual gardening

The fire-trail through Wambina
Nature Reserve.

Those who know me, or have seen my house, know that gardening is not one of my passions.  There is, however, an annual piece of gardening that I don't mind doing - clearing and marking the trail for the Terrigal Trotters "Fiji Run" which is scheduled for tomorrow.

I originally suggested the course to capitalise on two little-used trails in the Terrigal area that are not part of our other runs.  The first trail section is short and passes through a grove of palm trees, hence the name "Fiji", and the second, longer, section climbs through Wambina Nature Reserve to a forested ridge which it then follows to its end before descending back to the suburbs.

I first encountered the ridge when some friends took me mountain-biking up that way eight or nine years ago, and have since observed the trail gradually deteriorate through lack of use and rampant lantana growth.  For the last three of four years, since the "Fiji Run" has been on the Trotters agenda, I have been in the habit of spending some time in the preceding week clearing and marking the trail.

Overgrown trail.

Yesterday, after going for my usual Thursday 11km morning run, I grabbed some breakfast in Terrigal and drove to the little-visited Wambina Nature Reserve.  I savoured the climb to the ridge through quiet forest along the leaf-covered firetrail.  It's always a wonder to me how you can find such lovely and peaceful pockets of undisturbed nature amidst the hubbub of the Central Coast.  Most area residents would have no idea it was even there.  After a few kilometres, and having negotiated a couple of locked gates, I reached the narrow foot-trail section and donned my gardening gloves and pulled out my long-shaft clippers.

For the next three hours I walked along the trail, hacking at the lantana and other over-hanging vegetation to make the trail more runnable.  In one short section, the trail had virtually disappeared into a huge lantana thicket and I spent nearly an hour hacking and bashing a usable trail.  When I finally reached the far end of the ridge, I turned and made my way back to the start, hanging flouro pink flagging tape from trees where the trail was more obscure.

Cleared trail.

Knowing it had rained recently, I wisely wore my high profile hiking boots for the expedition, but still scored a couple of leech bites on my calf which are itching as I write.  I was lucky to only have two, since I removed about ten leeches from my boots and thick socks when I returned to my car.  On the way home I needed to visit the supermarket, and padded along the aisles with blood dripping down my calf, hoping I wouldn't get ejected.  Being on Warfarin, leech bites coagulate even more slowly.

It takes a large part of the day to clear the trail, but I see it as a community service.  The local council doesn't seem to have any interest in keeping the trail open and I fear it will disappear without some attention.  I also enjoy taking my club-mates to places they may not know about, or normally wouldn't go.

This morning, I was quite stiff in the back from yesterday's exertions, but otherwise OK, and jogged a very slow early 5km before playing nine holes of golf.

Chorleywood

Chess Valley, England.

For two short years in the early 1990s, I lived in Chorleywood, a village in the Chiltern Hills north-west of London.  The reason I say "short" is that it remains the best place I have ever lived for interesting running courses, and I would have enjoyed living there for much longer.  There was no limit to the number of public footpaths, public bridleways and country lanes that could be cobbled together to make a course of any length, many of which avoided any significant road travel at all.  An added bonus were the tiny villages, hedgerows, country churches, historic mansions, fairy tale woods and rolling fields that made up the Chiltern landscape.  For those unfamiliar with English public footpaths and bridleways, they are historic rights of way, often crossing fields or passing through farmyards, that crisscross the English countryside.  Most are very runnable, though the less frequently used can become overgrown with weeds and nettles.

Chess Valley watercress beds.

It was easy to come up with a different and interesting course for every morning of the week, and despite my relatively short life there, the memories still live large.  All the morning "garbage" runs were good, but if I had to choose a favourite, it would be a regular 13km which captured all of the best local elements.

Starting from home in the village, the route ran along a lane and a couple of back streets before turning onto a farm road and passing by some stables.  From there it crossed the dark Carpenter Wood, with its leaf-littered undulating floor, and under the rail line to London through an old brick arch.  Much of today's Chorleywood village was built by the owners of the railway as a means of encouraging population growth and consequently commuters, though signs of settlement date back to the Paleolithic era.

Chorleywood Common.

The route then travelled along a bridleway which could get muddy after rain, before crossing a road and skirting the historic village of Chenies with its Manor House.  From there it followed a bridleway overlooking the Chess River Valley then descended through West Wood and over a field to cross the river beneath

historic Latimer House.  The next five kilometres followed the river downstream on beautiful and well-travelled public footpaths, through green pastures and passing a water cress farm before crossing the crystal clear river again on a small footbridge and climbing out of the valley through woods and parklands.

Chorleywood Common.

After crossing a busy road, it traversed the superb Chorleywood Common, to reach the village and a solid climb along Shire Lane to home, completing a run that changed with the seasons, and I never tired of doing.  One of the things on my bucket list is to go back and spend a few months, or longer, staying somewhere in Chorleywood, running and walking through the surrounding countryside, and making the easy commute into London to enjoy its attractions.

Today's exercise was the customary Friday golf game, and I was pleased to get around without any of the breathlessness and heart palpitations I experienced last Friday.  After the game, I visited the medical clinic to get my weekly blood coagulability tested, and the doctor checked my pulse.  She thought I was on some kind of medication, it was so slow, but seemed happy when I told her it was usually around 40bpm.  Her opinion was that I could exercise so long as I didn't get my heart rate near maximum, but I'll stick to my plan of only walking until the end of next week.

The other side

Running near Moab in Utah in 2012.

There's little doubt now that I will never run another sub-3 hour marathon.  So, you may ask, why is this blog continuing?

I always had at the back of my mind a plan to use these blog posts as raw material for a book that would organise the content more coherently, and hopefully, encourage people to run and explore their potential.  In a perfect world, the climax of the story would have been a sub-3 hour marathon, but life is seldom perfect, and this blog has morphed into a diary of ageing and its challenges to the obsessed runner.

Writing a blog post almost every day is not necessary, of course, but it's a good discipline on me to generate content and it also serves as a diary to record my thoughts and emotions on this part of life's journey if I do ever come to write a book.

Running the half-marathon leg in a relay Half Ironman
with my siblings in Geelong in 2010.

You never know how you will deal with serious health issues when they arrive.  I have had recent first-hand experience of friends diagnosed with cancer and pulmonary embolisms and it's hard to know how they are feeling about their condition, or what to say to them without seeming patronizing or out-of-touch with their reality.  Now I'm starting to see it from the other side of the fence.

One thing that has surprised me is how fatalistic I feel about it all.  Of course, I will do everything I can to get well, run again and have a long life.  But, suddenly, it's conceivable that none of these things will happen.  When you learn that the mortality rate from undiagnosed pulmonary embolisms is 26% and you have episodes when you feel your heart beating at 235 beats per minute (that's nearly four beats per second!) and your blood pressure crashing, a new reality dawns.

A member of the Tiffin Boys Grammar School Cross-
Country team (sitting on the grass) in 1967 in London.

Much to Sharon's concern, I have started getting my life in order, making sure my records aren't in too much of a mess, that my will is current, and that everything important can be found relatively easily.  If the worst suddenly happened, and it could always be an ill-timed truck, rather than a health problem, I want the clean-up to be as easy as possible.

"What ifs" don't figure at all in my thinking.  I have always been an advocate, when decisions arise, of gathering as much information as feasible, making a careful analysis, and choosing the best apparent option.  Once done, no regrets and no looking back wondering "what if".  Although there are many things I still want to do, experience and see, I can honestly say that I have had a full and interesting life.  If the lights went out tomorrow, I would be more worried about the impact on my loved ones than any missed opportunities of my own.

My exercise for today consisted of nine holes of golf with friends, Dave and Bruce, on a beautiful sunny morning.  Sadly, the conditions were not matched by my form.  I played quite badly for the first six holes, and more worryingly, had some episodes when I could feel my heart pounding and my blood pressure dropping while dragging my buggy up small hills.  This was a new and disheartening (literally) experience on the golf course, but my mood lifted somewhat as I parred the last three holes, something I can never remember doing before.

T-shirts

T-shirt Quilt - Side 1.

I am a bit of a hoarder and in 45 years of running have collected quite a lot of trophies, finisher's medals and T-shirts.  The trophies and medals are mostly stored away in a cupboard and just don't evoke the same sentimentality as the T-shirts.

Some are treasured because they were from a memorable race, such as the London to Brighton in the early 1990s, my first serious ultra.  Others date from early career, such as the All Weather Running Club from my school in London.  Still others are valued because they are reminiscent of a particular era in my running life, such as the Bacchus 12000 shirts earned on the trips with club-mates to Griffith in the early 1980s.  Many just have a great eye-catching design, such as the Quivering Quads and Pere Marquette trail races from St Louis in the mid-1990s and several were given to me by people returning from events such as the 1981 World Cross-Country Champs.  A number don't relate to running events at all, but are still meaningful, such as the souvenir US T-shirts that were all I could find to buy and run in (along with some fleecy shorts!) when my baggage got lost on a business trip to Washington DC.

T-shirt Quilt - Side 2.

The common denominator with all of these T-shirts is that they have covered many kilometres, visited many places, and been laundered to within an inch of their lives.  Even as they shrank and lost their shape, I still loved them and couldn't bring myself to throw them out even though they were no longer wearable.  So, a couple of years ago, I asked a friend whether she would be willing to cut them up and sew them into a quilt.  The result is a superb piece of art and artisanship that fills me with pride and memories whenever I look at it.

No specific walking for exercise today, but I did play nine holes of golf which equates to about 5km (probably longer, the way I play).

Frosty Fairways

The frosty fairways of the West Herts Golf Club

For a year or so in the late 1980s, I was living near Colchester in the UK and commuting most days to a business park near Watford, a little north of London.  My route, along the A12 and the M25, London's orbital motorway, became very busy during peak hour and I developed the habit of leaving home around 5:30am and driving to our small office, before setting out on my morning run shortly before 7:00am.

Whippendell Woods

I soon found a 10km circuit that remains one of my favourite morning runs, and I still love to run it whenever I get back to the UK these days.  I christened it "Frosty Fairways" because there were many clear crisp winter mornings on which I would leave my footprints, the first of the day, on the frost-covered fairways of the West Herts Golf Club that formed part of the route.

Bluebells in Merlin's Wood

The run started within the exceptionally mundane precincts of the stereotypical Croxley Green Business Park, but after a kilometre or so, entered woods on the western edge of the magnificent Cassiobury Park.  From there it followed a narrow tarred path northwards through woods and beside the gentle and shallow Gade River before crossing the narrow Grand Union Canal and climbing onto the elevated fairways of the golf course.  By this time I would be warmed up and often enjoyed bounding along the mown grass, up and down small rises, skirting bunkers and greens.

Across the wheatfield

Then came a totally different experience as I entered the often gloomy, and sometimes misty, ancient Whippendell Wood, running along undulating foot and bridle trails past atmospheric oak, beech and ash trees for several kilometres before crossing a lane and traversing Merlin's Wood whose floor would be carpeted with bluebells in the spring.  Exiting the Wood, my route crossed a wheat field on a public right-of-way, before rejoining the fairways of the golf course after a short steep lung-busting climb.

The Grand Union Canal

From the other side of the golf course I used a narrow country lane to reach the Grand Union Canal and then turned southwards along the towpath past quaint cottages, moored long-boats and a small marina back to the Business Park.  If I was feeling good, I would often fly along this section and particularly enjoyed passing under a main road invariably clogged with commuters.  I did not envy them one bit.

My exercise today consisted of a 6km walk from Terrigal while my fellow Trotters ran the Muzza's Run course, another of my favourites.  I did envy them.

Some cause for optimism

Near the start of the Dubbo Gully Run

As the early test results come back, I'm becoming more positive about a return to running.

So far, no evidence has been found of more sinister underlying conditions that could have led to a blood clot forming in my veins and migrating to my lungs.  However, I still need an Echocardiogram early next week to rule out any heart disease or other heart issues, so am not out of the woods.

On the other hand, an Ultrasound Doppler examination of my right leg yesterday, found a small clot just beneath my right knee and close to the site of severe knee pain I experienced following a 30km trail run on the Dubbo Gully course three weeks ago.  There is no pain there now, and there hasn't been for several weeks, so it seems reasonable to surmise that the clot may have been larger when the pain was greater.

Crossing Mangrove Creek on the Dubbo
Gully Run

What led to such a clot forming, and why didn't I pay more attention to it?

Firstly, I have had significant right knee pain for more than six years now (see Post titled "Adaptation"), so I expect it to be sore after a long run.  However, I recently switched from wearing Nike Pegasus shoes, a model I have worn for decades, to another brand that promised more cushioning.  I was wary about changing shoes because I know different brands and models can change the stresses and strains imposed on the legs making you potentially more vulnerable to injury.  However, I have also been struggling with a painful chronic right Achilles tendon injury and been stymied on several long runs, including the Melbourne Marathon, by lower back pain and associated sciatica.  A shoe offering a softer ride and different pressure on the heel was worth trying and I bought a pair.  After a couple of weeks and several long runs in the new shoes, positive signs were that my Achilles tendon was less painful and there had been no back trouble.  Offsetting this was a minor worsening of my knee pain, which seemed to have moved to just below the patella on the inside front of the leg.  Following the Dubbo Gully run, the pain was particularly intense, especially on the hour-long drive home, and was sufficiently painful to cause sleeplessness the next two nights.  It now seems likely this pain was associated with deep vein damage.

Part of the Dubbo Gully route

Three risk factors probably compounded the development of a clot in the vein.  I was dehydrated after the run, but drank sparingly in the next four or five hours, increasing the viscosity of my blood.  Unusually, I had a three hour nap (while still dehydrated) on my bed when I got home, during which my heart rate would have dropped to its usual low resting rate (~45 bpm).  Finally, I have low blood pressure anyway.

My guess is that the coincidence of the new shoes changing the stresses on an already damaged knee, dehydration, a post-run nap, and low blood pressure led to Deep Vein Thrombosis.  The next ten days saw parts of the clot break off and travel to my lungs and the development of Pulmonary Embolism.

Through gradually increasing the daily dosage of Warfarin, my International Normalized Ratio (INR), a measure of the clotting tendency of my blood, has reached 2.1 (the desirable range is 2.0 - 3.0) and the daily Clexane injections have ceased.  I'm still not allowed to run, but I played golf this morning and have been walking about 5km per day this week without ill-effects.  I haven't discussed it yet with the doctor, but I'm hoping I can resume unpressured jogging after a scheduled visit in a week's time, provided the Echocardiogram doesn't yield any concerns.  Fingers crossed!

Chappel

The Cornfield, John Constable (1826)

Another early start for golf this morning, so I squeezed in a slow 5km at 5:00am round Copa, before setting out.  For most of my working life, I was running within 30 minutes of rising, having dressed and completed my usual exercise routine (see post titled Transition from Hiker to Runner), but in the last ten years it has taken longer for my body to loosen up.  I usually now wait an hour or two before heading out, and this morning's run, less than 30 minutes after waking reminded me why.  My joints creaked, my limbs were stiff, and my right Achilles tendon was sore.  It took a slow and awkward 27 minutes to get round my usual course, not a very encouraging run.

One of the times during my working life when I always headed out for my regular morning run just 30 minutes after rising, was when I was living just outside the small village of Chappel in the UK in the late 1980s.  Chappel was in "Constable Country", near the county border between Essex and Suffolk, and at the time, my working days were divided between a huge renovated Tudor mansion my company owned nearby, and our London office, about an hour away by train.



One of the country lanes on my morning 17km run in Chappel

We lived in the lodge house for a manor farm in a beautiful location overlooking the rural Colne River valley.  In the summer, we were surrounded by wheat and golden rapeseed fields, but my most abiding memory is of the howl of the winds past the house on the bleak winter morning's before I set out for my run.  Sometimes the winds were accompanied by sleet and snow and it took a lot of willpower to step out the door into the pre-dawn darkness.

The railway viaduct across the Colne River Valley
at Chappel, Essex, UK

The countryside was a patchwork of fields, country lanes and public footpaths, dotted with picture-book villages, and there were many options for run routes.  Since a lot of my running was done before dawn and without a light, I tended to pick little-used country lanes I could run down the middle of without worrying about traffic or obstacles, and soon settled on a favourite 17km loop which generally took me a little over an hour.  Even now, I wish I had lived in the area for longer, though I think the years have dulled the memory of those blasting winds and freezing winters.  Despite limited protection offered by hedgerows and hills, much of the course was exposed to the elements.

Of course in the summer months, when the sun rose early and I still had the lanes to myself, it was just magical.  Agricultural smells filled the air, and I could watch the crops mature and be harvested.  My route passed by many quaint old farm-houses, often with thatched rooves and surrounded by archetypal English country gardens.  There was even an ancient high-arched viaduct across the valley along which a little two-carriage diesel train infrequently clattered.

Frankfurt

The path along the Nidda River

Before returning to the golf course this morning, for the first time in a couple of months, I went for a chilly and very slow 5km jog in the pre-dawn darkness.  I never felt good running and was just glad to get it over.  I'm hoping some form and fitness returns before tomorrow's Terrigal Trotters 12km run, and the long bush trail run planned for Sunday.  It could be a tough and painful weekend.

Last night, at the track session I supervise at Adcock Park in Gosford, one of the runners, Jodie, was telling us about his daunting business travel itinerary for the next couple of weeks and we were discussing the challenges of running and minding your diet on such trips.  Europe was going to be part of his journey and it put me in mind of the time I was working and living, part-time, in Frankfurt in the early 1990s, and my favourite regular "garbage" run there (see post titled St Louis for the explanation of a garbage run).

My run took me close to the Bundesbank

For a year or two, I was assigned to manage our company's German operation while living near London and regularly spent time in Frankfurt, often travelling there on the first Monday flight and returning on the last Friday flight.  I either stayed in a small hotel, or in a company apartment, both near our office.  It was an exciting time to be in Germany as the Berlin Wall had just come down and reunification was in overdrive.

I grew to love my regular Frankfurt morning run which was a little under 14km and took me about an hour in those days.  It usually started in darkness as I headed west through quiet narrow apartment-lined residential streets for a few kilometres before reaching open parkland in the city's northwest.  My most vivid memory of this run is the loud twittering of thousands of birds in the trees each morning as the eastern skies brightened.  I don't know what type they were, probably something like sparrows or starlings, and they were there every morning.  Even now, when I hear the loud sound of thousand of birds all twittering at once, my mind immediately goes back to that dawn run through Frankfurt.

Grunebergpark

The middle part of the run followed the banks of the Nidda River before swinging back towards the city through a small forest.  The last few kilometres took me past the powerful Bundesbank, through the lovely manicured Gruneburgpark, and by the gates of a small American military base, before I returned to my hotel/apartment.  There were few hills in the whole run, and if I felt good, I often ran quite quickly.  The post-run breakfast of coffee and freshly-baked bread rolls with butter and jam in the little Turmhotel dining room also lingers fondly in my memory.

Other sports

Golf at 7am again this morning and I headed out for my easy 5km at 5:15am on the longest night of the year. It was cold and my right Achilles was sore, but didn't feel too bad considering how hard last night's track session had been for me.  One of the reasons that I squeeze my run in before golf is that I think it loosens me up a little.  There have been occasions in the past when I have run after golf and suffered from side or back injuries.  I can't specifically tie those injuries to golf, but I do think that participating in other sports can be risky if you are a serious runner.



Melbourne Herald, 1 February 1973

I gave up other sports I enjoyed playing, such as cricket, tennis and volleyball, during my twenties because either running took up too much time, or because of the risk of injury.  I also frequently represented my Club in hurdles and jump events, and even competed in the State Decathlon Championships when 22, coming 10th out of 18 entrants.  My pole-vaulting was execrable and inspired the accompanying article in the Melbourne evening newspaper.

In my late twenties, when I got really serious about my marathon running, I realised that injuries in other sports and events risked derailing my ambitions and I began to focus strictly on running.  I confess that I now question the value of time devoted to other types of training, such as cycling or cross-training, and particularly think they should not be substituted for running training for the serious runner.  But, everybody is different.  I always raced best when running a very high mileage (200km -240km per week) which didn't leave much time for other training when working full-time, but I know of others who have successfully used a different approach.

During my preparation for the Melbourne Marathon over the next four months, I have decided to stay away from my bike and kayak, just in case they are incompatible with the running.  I decided, however, that playing golf had lower risk, but after this morning am not so sure.  Not only did I play my worst round for a long time, but I could feel tingling nerves in my lower back and some stiffness from yesterday's track session.  The two are probably connected.  Hopefully, I will feel more flexible for tomorrow morning's run with Terrigal Trotters during which I hope to run hard.

In the dark

Friday, 14 June 2013

Golf was on the agenda again for today, so I rose early to squeeze in my easy 5km, and headed out soon after 5am.  Only having been out of bed for 30 minutes, I really hadn’t loosened up and, as expected, it was a very slow first few kilometres.  Gone are the days when, during my working life, my routine involved rising at 5am and hitting the road for a (frequently quick) 10-12km at 5:30am.  Age certainly slows you down and I rarely feel loose until I have run 5km, or up a significant hill, these days.



Running at night is not a problem at New York Road Runners
New Year's Midnight Run

Anyway, it was a routine 5km through the very dark streets and I didn’t press the pace.  When living in the northern hemisphere, it seemed I never saw daylight during my morning runs for three or four months every year.  I never carried a light, but did wear a reflective vest and developed the habit on the darkest streets of running down the middle of the road where the surface was most reliable, ready to move to the left or right, depending on the direction of any approaching traffic.  This generally worked well enough in the ambient light, although I did have the occasional surprise.

One morning, running along a hedged English country lane I was nearly hit head-on by a van travelling at high speed with no lights on.  I suspect criminality was involved.  On another occasion, in the US, I stumbled on  thieves breaking a car window with a hammer.  I yelled very loudly and then took off at high speed down a side street.  My worst experience, however, occurred while running for a short distance on a sealed footpath alongside a main road in England unaware that, since the last time I ran the route, the Council had installed some concrete bollards across the path at a farm entrance.  I smashed my knee at tempo running pace into one of the bollards and went down like I had been shot.  The pain was excruciating and I spent several minutes lying on the damp pavement in the pitch darkness trying to work out what had happened before limping home.

There were no such incidents this morning.  I noticed that my right Achilles tendon hasn’t been quite as stiff and sore this week, which is a good sign, but my right knee still has stiffness from the marathon and I sense fatigue still lurks deep in the muscles.

Recovery with caution

Thursday, 13 June 2013

I didn’t feel too loose when I got up, but by 7am when the track session I supervise ended, I felt more positive about my scheduled 15km run on a clear sunny morning.



Terrigal Haven (foreground)

As usual, my run started up two quite steep hills and I took it slowly, still a little fearful that one of my tight calf muscles might tear.  However, by the time I reached the ridge along the Scenic Highway overlooking Terrigal and the ocean, I was well-warmed up and settled into a comfortable pace.  My course took in three more significant hills and, on each, I still felt some post-marathon fatigue lurking below the surface but otherwise felt strong and free-moving.

For the last flattish section into and through Terrigal I even stretched out a little and finished what turned out to be a 16km run at an average pace of 5 mins/km, which was quite good at this point.  A morning bonus was seeing a whale spouting offshore during my post-run walk around Terrigal Haven.

Tomorrow will just be an easy pre-golf 5km, but I’m conscious that for Saturday’s run at Trotters, which incorporates some tough hills, I might be wise not to get carried away and competitive, at least early on.

Managing a chronic Achilles

Friday, 7 June 2013

Golf again early this Friday morning, so I was up even earlier to squeeze in the planned easy 5km run.  I definitely felt a bit looser as I moved around before leaving, though my right Achilles was quite stiff and sore.

Achilles surgery put an end to my steeple-chasing career
(on my way to a PB of 9:10 for the 3km Steeple, 19 Mar 77)

After four Achilles surgeries over the years, I’m very wary of forcibly stretching a painful Achilles.  I know from experience that forcing it will result in short-term flexibility and less pain during the run, but the next day it will be even stiffer and more painful before running.  By repeating the cycle, as I have done in the past, the injury becomes so chronic and severe that surgery becomes necessary.  Nowadays, I stretch it very gently before setting out, and then keep it slow and favour the offending Achilles until it gradually warms up.  The best solution might be to leave the run to the evening when it will have gently stretched from walking around all day, but this is not always practicable.

The Achilles did gradually loosen up during the this morning’s 5km but it was still sore at the end and my time was slowish.  On the plus side, the pain in my right groin is diminishing and I did feel like my running posture and stride length have improved since last week.

I think I’m on track to run the Macleay River Marathon on Sunday assuming the 10km run with Trotters goes all right tomorrow morning.

Fitting a run in

Friday, 31 May 2013

If I have no other commitments and any of my friends – Dave, Bruce or Mike – are available, Friday is golf day, weather permitting.  We’re pretty much just “hackers”, and only play nine holes, but we start early and generally have the course to ourselves up at Peats Ridge, a pretty course about 40 minutes drive away.  Afterwards, we buy a late breakfast at a local café.  Because of the early start, it can be a challenge to fit in a training run.



Early morning at The Springs, Peats Ridge

For a few years, I went for a run after the golf, but it was always a chore.  I didn’t want to miss the post-golf breakfast, so I ended up running on a full stomach, rarely a pleasant experience.  So, I have adapted my schedule to make Fridays a very easy training day and now get up early and go for a slow 5km before showering and heading off to golf.  It means I break my rule about not running too soon after waking, but I always start slow.

Getting out for regular training runs becomes a challenge for everybody at some time, especially if you're working full-time.  When I was a serious athlete, training twice a day, I found it easiest to run to and from work, usually going in on the weekend to leave a week's clothes and lunches.  Depending on my program, I might run home via Olympic Park for a track session or meet friends for a tempo run, or tour the Melbourne suburbs for a long run.  Later in my working life, when I was a less serious runner, had children, and lived overseas with a job involving a great deal of travel, my routine evolved.  I developed the habit of getting up at 5am or earlier every workday morning, regardless of jet lag or the time I went to bed, and running 10-12km with longer runs, and maybe races, on the weekends.  Although running after work might have been more attractive, I quickly learnt that a tough day at the office, or unexpected events, could make an evening run difficult or impossible.

After yesterday’s longer run, I was stiff and sore in the quads all day, and my right Achilles and knee were painful.  I was dreading this morning's early jog and it lived up to my expectations.  I was shuffling particularly slowly and trying not to put too much strain on the damaged Achilles.  Miraculously, but not unexpectedly, I felt much better by the time I finished.  My time was slow – 30 minutes compared to the usual 25 minutes for this course – but the run had the desired effect.  It’s amazing how 30 minutes of running transforms your outlook and loosens the body.  I still have a long way to go before I feel like a runner again, but another day has passed and I feel I am still on track.