1. Break the world record for the marathon in the 50+ age group, when I'm 50 in 2015.
2. Never wear compression socks.
Personal:
Married with two girls (6 and 10).
The Qwer Old Fella's Marathon Method is a four year experiment.
The first year (2012) was about getting back into running, staying off the smokes and booze, while sticking to a healthy eating plan and shedding mountains of lard. All boxes ticked.
Year two (2013 - age: 48) Injured Jan through March. Build back up and work on my 5k speed. Goal 15:45.
Year three (2014) will be about doing my first marathon in the spring. (Just for the experience and on a tough course - maybe Tralee; goal time, 2:30ish.) Then begins the prep work for Berlin 2015
Year four (2015) is all about breaking the world record for the marathon in the 50+ age group - it's only 2:19 :).
The above might sound nuts; it is, but then I'm nuts. Please do not copy any of the training I do: if you do, you are likely to end up running like me - not a good idea.
The idea is to have a laugh along the way. If I fail, I don't know what I'll do - my whole belief system will crumble and I suspect that this little rock might just stop spinning for a couple of seconds. Jakers, I better not fail for all our sakes. That's some burden, even for SuperBam.
Just a quick message to say thank you to those who have asked about my health. I had two teeth removed, ended up with a debilitating infection and an awful condition called 'Dry Socket'.
I'm on the mend and hope to be back running and blogging soon...
Thanks again for the concern and good wishes; it's nice to know that people care.
5 a.m.: The alarm screams. Hullabaloo; what on earth… I realise. I lie there in the scratcher and remember that I need to get up and get out on the road. But I get the twinge – in my mouth. Best not run today. Let it heal and start again in a couple of days. All the same, up I get. Got to keep the discipline.
Guilt ridden, I decide to tackle the mountain of ironing. How many real men get up at five and plunge into the ironing basket? Not many. Yep, that’s the sort of mental fortitude and toughness that sees you through the final stages of a 2:25 marathon – when you’re 45 +.
So there I am, iron in hand, skimming the clothes, full steam ahead, when I pick up my new Nike running top. Silky soft. Little reflector thingamajigs all over the shot. Wicks away sweat before you start to sweat. Top stuff. What Garmin is to weekly mileage, Nike wicking is to comfort and freshness on the run. Do I iron it? What if somebody sees me out running in a wrinkled Nike running top? Just wouldn’t do, would it? Got to look the part.
My mind drifts back to my late teenage days, not long after the summer when I broke 9 for 3000m – a time when men were real men, a time when you weren’t a ‘real’ runner unless you had at least two stress fractures in each leg, a time when worn-out Plimpsoles evinced your running credentials: the more holes in the soles, the more miles in the legs.
My first Tuesday club night with the men. There must have been four or five sub 2:14 marathon warriors (standard for most clubs) and a plethora of sub 2:25 B string wannabes.
In the changing rooms, men growled and stared and grunted as they slipped into their Plimpsoles and ever so short shorts and sweat-crusted, cotton T-shirts; perfect for a gelid December night. Stories embossed on the eyes of each man. Each story a bitter indictment of pain and disappointment, each story hinting at the despair of each runner’s meaningless journey towards the nothingness, and each story riddled with the fear of missing a training session.
Men, with tufts of hair sprouting from chins which blunt razors failed to shave, looked at me with disdain. The young pretender.
Out there in darkness and the cold of the December night I felt the insecurities of youth. What if I couldn’t hang in there with them, I thought. If they drop me, I’ll be the laughing stock. Got to stay with them, no matter what.
A burst of steam from the iron burnt my hand and snapped me out of my reminiscing. Tomorrow, when the alarm screams, twinge or no twinge, I'll be up and out there - on the road, like a real man.
5 a.m. - 3.5 miles progressive - just like a Kenyan. Mile splits: 8:38, 8:08, 7:30, and 3:30 for the final half mile. And yes, I got myself a cheeky little Garmin. Got the Forerunner 110 – it doesn’t tell you how many goji berries to sprinkle over your granola, but it does distance and pace; what an invention. Back in my day we ran hard for an hour (5.10 pace) and called it a short 7 miler. But then we measured the run on a map (7 or 8 times) with a piece of string and recorded it as a nippy 11. Oh yeah, those were the days. Great to be out there again and felt better than I thought I would, all things considered.
When I got back, I gave the ironing basket the eye – the look that suggested you know the score kidda: I took you out yesterday. Full of the joys, I considered some strength and core work. Decided that mopping the kitchen floor would count as stretching, strength and core work rolled into one plus, I’d earn points with the old lady…
Turns out, when I was in the living room eating my granola - with a healthy sprinkling of goji berries - and trying to fathom my Garmin, the old lady was in the kitchen ferreting for her breakfast. She only went and slipped on the wet floor. Pancakes everywhere. Went berserk, so she did. Ho hum.
5:00 a.m. – 3.5 mile slog. No watch. Cold. Wet. Miserable. The sound of my rasping breath echoing in the morning darkness, accompanied by the trudge of my feet slapping the pavement. Went to bed last night knowing that this morning’s outing would hurt. Indigestion.
At the dinner table last night, it kicked off. Pandemonium. Now you know what the old lady’s all about went it comes to nosh… Well I put the dinner out for the Queen and the two princesses and they gave me the eyes. Cinderfella, the look said. What do you think this is?
‘What?' I said. ‘It’s buckwheat and stew.’
‘I’ll buck you out the window, Cinders,’ the old lady said, fussing her fork through the gastronomic delight sat in front of her. ‘And what’s this brown yuk?’
‘Elk stew,’ I said. ‘It’s delicious.’
‘Elk stew,’ the youngest princess said, ‘What’s an elk?’
The oldest princess, who is a nine year old teenager and thinks she’s American because she goes to stage school on Saturdays and watches so much cable/digital/satellite T.V. said, ‘An elk like, don’t you know, it’s kinda like an American thing. Yeah, the Americans gorge on it. Sophie was telling me, like, when she was Stateside shopping, she ate elk stew. All the celebs are feasting on it. It’s the new super food. Purges the system. Better than quinoa.’
‘That’s right princess,’ I said, kowtowing and shuffling away from the table. ‘And buckwheat’s low G.I.’
‘Low G.I. my eye,’ the Queen said. ‘This buck stuff looks like papier-mâché.’
Anyway, they ate it. Of course, it wasn’t elk stew. It was a recipe that Sean the leprechaun gave me…
Felt better than yesterday; nice chug around my regular loop. Will drop in a couple of 5 milers this week and start next week off with a 7 miler. Intention is to build up to 40 mpw through November. Target weight for end of November is a wobbly 159lbs. Weight today, a rather grotesque 167lbs. I reckon by the end of January I should be coming in around the 142lb mark. I'll be clocking 60mpw by the end of January (easy pace should be 6:30). Will drop in a few hill sessions in January and introduce some threshold runs in February. By the end of March I hope to be knocking out 80mpw- then I can start knuckling down to some proper training. For now, 3.5 miles @ snail pace is hard enough. RHR was a steady 56 this morning.
Replaced the old scales with digital ones. Weight - 164lbs (3lbs lighter than yesterday, according to the new scales; for some reason, I think I'll stick with the new, all singing, all dancing scales).
Woke to an amusing stiffness - from my core and strength workout yesterday. Lumbered out of bed. Dressed and took to the streets. Odd how an extra 1.5 miles can feel so deadly. Oh well.
On the bright side, I've dropped another pound; better be careful not to shed too much weight too quickly. Don't want the body to gorge on itself. Perhaps I might treat myself to some kumquats and a juicy pear. The pear is suppossed to be excellent for boron. Never tried kumquats, but Keats mentioned them in The Eve of St Agnes. If the old lady lets me out of the house today, I might purchase a handful of kumquats and gobble them up.
RHR 56.
Deeply saddened to hear that the legend with the lethal left hook and the heart of a thousand men passed away.
5:00 a.m. - 3.5 miles relaxed and untimed. Enjoyed this morning's pootle.
The old lady didn't let me out yesterday, so I didn't get the chance to scoff a handful of kumquats. But today was a different matter...
I must confess: I didn't nibble on kumquats; I chomped a filthy MacDonalds - oh, it was delicious. Sweet chilli chicken wrap with fries and a strawberry milkshake. Now, as I sit here typing, I can feel the badness glugging and sludging in my guts.
5:00 a.m. – 5 miles with 4 easy and a 0.5 gentle pick-up in the final mile.
The best laid schemes of mice and men: intended to work hard after yesterday’s feast, but decided that it was better to knock out the 5 miles rather than bail out after 3.5 miles.
So the run went swimmingly. The big, bright, beautiful, insouciant moon (note: must stop employing adjectives to carry weak nouns) sat over Jupiter and while I plodded along I had an epiphany. But the veracity of the epiphany necessitated my digital scales delivering some unlikely information – I had to have dropped 1lb from yesterday. So I gave my new fangled scheme a boost and banged out the 0.5 mile pick-up and it worked. When I weighed myself, I’d shed 1lb. Ho, ho, I thought. I’m going to rake in some serious coin.
As with all great schemes, there’s a catch. Here’s the rub: I need to pluck up the courage to pitch my proposition to ACorn. ACorn is the missing link (metaphorically speaking – I don’t mean he’s gorillaesque because he bangs out thousands of push ups, I mean, I need him to facilitate my scheme/business idea).
For now, I need to think it through, but my idea will make me rich and famous (not so wise for a guy on a mafia hit-list - not that I am) and ACorn should make some serious wedge from the kickback I give him…
RHR 56 and rising with excitement.
Must make a batch of chia bars today and a pot of red lentil soup, lightly spiced with cayenne pepper and paprika - not quite the same as a Sausage and Egg McMuffin. Ho hum.
– 3.5 miles. Lay in the scratcher and listened to the wind howling and the rain peppering the windowpane. Didn’t fancy it. But up I got and away I went. Legs felt heavy and tired.
Made quinoa (as a cereal) for the three ladies. Added some organic pear and organic apple, milled goji berries and flaxseed, a sprinkle of ground cinnamon (great stuff) and simmered in almond milk. Compliments to the chef.
Thought some more about the idea I want to pitch to ACorn…
Magazines and chat shows and reality TV are bloated with blancmange[rs] who have molted lard by eating healthy and exercising. Fair play and all that. What if you took a 46 year-old man who smoked and boozed and ate rubbish food and presented with high cholesterol and high blood pressure, and you managed to transform him into a sub marathon runner in 20 months? Perhaps at the 2013 Cork marathon. Sounds amazing. Hold on, there’s more. The sub is merely a piece of the jigsaw…
When the aforementioned fella turns fifty, he breaks the world record for the 50-55 year-old master’s category, which currently stands at . Sweet as an almond. But there’s more. What if, and only if, (apologies to the wise guy and Godfather of modal logic, John Lemmon) the amazing chap does all of this by eating Sausage and Egg McMuffins as part of a balanced and healthy diet. Now we are getting somewhere.
McDonalds will want more than a quarter pound’s worth of flesh from this fella. They’ll want him all over the world eating Sausage and Egg McMuffins. Ho, ho. You with me ACorn?
So what ACorn needs to do is whisper the secret in his good lady's ear who, in turn, needs to have a chat with her good father – who has some serious connections with McDonalds – and he drops the proposal on the CEO’s desk, over a Latte. Oh yes – rubs hands.
Nothing in life’s easy. Lots could go wrong with this plan (I will present and address those concerns tomorrow). One thing’s for sure - imho - we get one chance at this adventure, so we should grab the quarter pounder with both hands and get munching.
Rest day - woke at 6:10 and felt like I wanted to get up and out on the road. Decided to stay in bed. That's a wise head on a tubby body. Allow the body time to recover from all those strenuous miles.
So, on my active rest day I plan to walk to the wholefood/organic shop in town and scan the shelves. I'm reading Patrick Holford's, The Optimum Nutrition Bible; I fear I might metamorphose from a T-Rex into a brontosaurus. I've given up booze and smokes and now I'm considering giving up everything - slurps his coffee.
Made a bean and pulse chill-ay this morning, think I'll have it with some rice - need to suss out what is the best rice. It's all very confusing and terrifying.
Problem to consider: health food shop is only a mile away from McDonalds. Maybe I should go back to bed...
RHR an incredible 52. That age group record - 2:19 marathon - for the 50-55 banding is looking more and more likely.
5:30 a.m. - 3.5 miles - slow and sluggish. Legs felt drained. Must top up on the water. I've planned another 3.5 miles this evening - could be quite a sight: might be mistaken for a drunk swaying back from an all-dayer at the pub. Ah, the bitter-sweet memories.
RHR 54
5:30 p.m. - 3.5 miles with a bit of zing. Felt much better than this morning; at times I seemed to be running rather than snailing. Spotted a few of the lads stumbling back from the pub. They looked stoated. Doubt they spotted me - I was zipping along. I can just imagine them tottering at the doorstep saying to themselves, 'You aren't zubed. Concentrate. Don't say too much. The more you prattle, the more you're scattering the fist of dirt over your casket. They fall through the door like an inuit at the end of a marathon on the equator and it all kicks-off. Ah, the bitter-sweet memories.
5:00 a.m. – 3.5 miles. No drama. Thought I may have struggled after yesterday’s double, but everything was tickety-boo. Got another 3.5 planned for tonight and a mammoth core and strength session: might go for 10 push-ups. Watch out ACorn and Jake, on the push up stakes, I’m coming after you. Be afraid, very afraid…
Okay, it’s time to be serious. Yesterday, Tom Slick asked a pertinent question – what is/are my goals? So here they are:
Short term – Shed more weight and when I get down near the region of 140lbs-147lbs, I’ll start training with serious focus towards my medium term and long term goals. I need to get down to this weight so that I lessen my chances of getting injured when I inject long runs and speed and tempo work. While the weight slowly vaporizes, my heart will become more efficient, as will all the other physiological stuff. My diet will improve. My strength will improve – yes, I know you’re quaking with fear and your stringy runners’ arms are shaking in the wind, kids. My flexibility will improve. My writing, hopefully, will improve. And so on. Race wise, I’m looking at a 15 miler in August 2012. It’s called the ‘Most Beautiful Race In The World’ AKA, The Killarney Maxi Marathon or something like that. It’s aided and if you check out the website – don’t know how to do all that high fangled link stuff – you’ll see that in one of the photo’s there is a sign saying, 'leprechauns this way'. It’s blarney: the leprechauns don’t live there. I’m the only human who knows where leprechaun land is and, of course, there is only one leprechaun left. And we all know that his future isn’t looking too rosy. He has revised the time I need to run in the 2013 Cork marathon – see below for details. Apropos of the 15 mile race, I’ll take sub 1hr 20 mins – it’s very aided: like, jump off a cliff, aided.
Medium term goals – get a decent 10k in the bank (low 31 mins – probably at the Irish nationals in spring 2013), run sub 2:25 for the 2013 Cork marathon, which will be my first marathon. This might seem ridiculous but I’ve a sneaky suspicion that I’ll achieve these goals, so long as I don’t drop dead on my first hill session or get injured.
Long term – in the spring of 2015, I want to break the world best for the marathon in the 50-55 year old age category. Stop laughing. I can hear you. I mean it, stop laughing. I’ll have you know, I’ve started doing push ups and, here’s a secret: I was a handy lightweight boxer. Yeah, you've ceased your chuckling now, haven't you? After breaking the world best for the marathon – he states nonchalantly – I’ll reevaluate things.
Now, back to more mundane things. I need to eat some nuts and seeds, drink some water and visit the health food shop – my new hobby.
RHR 53.
6 p.m. - 3.5 steady. Not bad, not too bad at all. Like yesterday, I seemed to have a bit more zip in the legs. Loads of folk out walking and jogging. Have to be more alert at night as the roads are plagued with cars.
Did my strength and core workout when I got back:
10 push ups - nothing to worry about ACorn and Jake. 15 crunches. 10 T.A. crunches on each side. 1 x plank (25 sec). My 5 year old daughter told me to get my buttocks down while I was planking. 'Is that it,' she said when I collapsed. 'Pathetic.' Ho hum.
11:00 a.m. - 5 miles. 2.5 out and back. First half of the run felt fine and dan-day, clipped along at 7:30 pace. Ah, but the second half was a different story. Wind and gentle incline - turned watch off so that I wouldn't feel destroyed when I crawled home. At least the miles are in the bank. Ran later today because I was up most of the night with a sickening child - nothing major.
On the food front, experimented with a cheeky little avocado and orange spread speckled with cayenne pepper. Jakers, what a creation. No more butter or margarine for the old fella. From now on, Bam's AOC spread will grace his homemade wholegrain bread (I haven't made any bread yet, but I intend to get round to it - it's a bit like P.N.F. , M.E.T., A.I.S., postional release and trigger pointing: you know you should do them, but you never get round to it. Well all that's a-changing).
On the positional release front, it's a must if you suffer with aching muscles and tendons. I especially recommend it for lower limb stiffness etc. Don't stretch. Do positional release. Amazing stuff.
5:00 a.m. - 3.5 easy. gentle plod. Felt okay, considering the scant sleep I've had recently. Intend to drop in a nap today, prior to getting out again for another 3.5 miles.
Busy day today: got to go food shopping - we pass McDonalds on the way to the supermarket. Will I cave to temptation? Time will tell...
– 3.5 miles progressive without watch. Slow first mile but picked it up nicely as the run went along.
I’m starting to get more organized. I’ve bought in rucks of quinoa, buckwheat, lentils, seeds, nuts, peanut butter and a new discovery – almond butter. Almond butter on a toasted wholegrain bagel is ambrosial. I also invested in oats – something I’ve never eaten. Oats remind me of baby puke, but I’m going to give them a try.
Everything seems to be going to plan. My only concern is that my weight seems to have stuck on 162lbs. I suspect my new muscularity[ossityness] – from my push ups - might be responsible for the scales struggling to give an accurate reading of my progress. I’m sure my body fat has dropped. I’ll keep a close eye on this. I think the weight will drop as the muscle-fuelled furnace fires fervently forever.
Had a chia bar before we went shopping. Managed to give McDonalds a miss, but the beautiful smell of grease and fat lingering in the air from the restaurant was so very tempting. Sometimes, I surprise myself with my steadfast resoluteness. The truth is the old lady wouldn’t let me go to McDonalds. Said we didn’t have time. Yeah, right. When don’t you have time to slip in a cheeky McDonalds?
5:30 a.m. – 3.5 miles recovery run. Don’t know what I was supposed to be recovering from, but it felt like a jog. Started slow and stayed slow to the finish. Will do something brisker tonight.
The ‘healthy’ chocolate nut fudge went down a treat. Nabbed the recipe off some ultra distance running site. The ankle biters helped me make it and apart from the fight over who would lick the spoon, it all went smoothly.
Ingredients: 8 pieces of dark organic chocolate. Half cup of coconut milk. 3-4 TBSP’s of organic peanut butter/organic almond butter – in fact any nut butter will do the job. Handful of almonds. 3-4 TBSP’s oats. Handful of raisins. Pinch of vanilla/splash of vanilla essence.
Method: heat chocolate gently in coconut milk (couple of mins). Stir in nut butter until you get a creamy texture – about 30 secs. Add in rest of ingredients and stir. Slop on to a baking tray/plate and smooth out into a half inch slab. Pop in fridge. Let it set and then scoff it.
5:30 p.m. – 3.5 steady. The rain was pinning down, so instead of a sharp blast I opted for a steady run in the rain. Great fun. Puddles everywhere. Cars, trucks and vans splashed me. It was like being a kid again.
So here’s the thing on the food front: sweet potatoes. I’ve had them cooked and mashed with cinnamon and nutmeg and all that palaver. But today I had them grated and raw with grated, raw carrot and grated, raw beetroot alongside grilled salmon in a lemon, chilli, and virgin olive oil dressing and some watercress and baby leaf spinach on the side. Superb. Tomorrow, I might try raw broccoli. But then again, come to think of it, that might being going a tad too far.
5:30 a.m. - 3.5 miles progressive. First 2 miles slow and then increased the pace in final 1.5 miles; nothing startling.
Yipeeeeee. Lost a pound. I think this could be the start of something. If this weight keeps slipping away, the old body should find it easier to lug itself around the streets of Tralee.
7:30 a.m. - 3.5 miles progressive. First 2 miles slow and then picked up the pace. That's 40 miles for the week. Although that was quite a big percentage jump in miles, the worn out body handled the load well. Will keep the miles around the 40 mark for the next couple of weeks before easing up to 50 mpw. Pleased that the lard's slipping off.
When I was out this morning, I imagined myself running alongside Jake K in the Philly marathon tomorrow. We we're tearing it up. The African lads were about 100m's ahead of us and failing. Jake was working hard but he looked comfortable. Your old dad felt like he was out for a Sunday morning stroll. Jake didn't know that the old fella next to him was yours truly. I dropped in a cheeky, 'Stick at it, Jake; they're coming back to us.'
He took off his shades and gave me a hard look. I noticed his pumped biceps; even his acronium process has the look of a Greek God.
'Bam,' he said. 'Is that you?'
' 'Tis, lad,' I said. 'Now lets get away after those laggards, up ahead of us.'
We'd just gone through the 22 mile mark and disaster struck. I stopped and Jake pulled away.
'Go get 'em, lad,' I shouted after him.
I watched as he reeled in the leaders and then eased away from them.
'Come on, soft boy,' a voice came from the crowd. 'You know you want it.'
There was Russ, stood with a Big Mac and Fries in his right hand, smiling like he knew the meaning of life. In his left hand, he held his new pink umbrella that he purchased in Target and now uses to shelter under, when he runs in stormy weather:)
8:00 a.m. - 7 miles easy over undulating countryside. Beautiful morning. Sun shining. Babbling brooks. The Atalantic like a sheet of glass. Started out slow and worked the hills a little and then picked up the pace in the final 1.5 miles. Good stuff.
I'm all excited waiting to see how Jake and Andrea do in the Philadelphia marathon; in honour of Jake and Andrea I'm going to sit with a tub of ice cream and keep an eye on their times - I think I've sussed how to follow them. I might even have the odd spoon or two of ice cream, seeing as the weight is melting off me at the moment.
I'm looking forward to reading all the race reports from this weekend. I noticed allie had a cheeky little win yesterday - amazing as she only got her legs back last week.
I shouldn't tell anybody but I can't contain myself. Maybe I shouldn't. Oh what the ... This is a secret, so keep it quiet: aleph is running in a race - The Secret City Half. Shush. I shouldn't have let the cat out of the bag. Ho hum.
5:30 a.m. - 3.5 miles slow. Gentle lung opener - intend to do a progressive 3.5 this evening.
When I finished my run this morning and stretched and did all the rest of the usual palaver I logged in and read Jake's race report on the Philadelphia marathon. If you haven't read it, go read it now.
Oh, to have a smidgeon of that man's grace and talent. I watched Jake and Andrea's times on the live feed on his twitter thingamajig. Everything was bang on up until 30k. I was so so excited for both of them. Then when Jake's final time didn't come up when expected, I thought there may have been something wrong with the 'chip' or whatever it is - I haven't raced in years and chips etc are all new to me.
When the news came through I felt a deep sadness for both of them. But then I read how they felt about the whole show and I couldn't believe how much character they evinced. Their outlook on life is something to behold. One thing's for sure, both Jake and Andrea will make the breakthrough into the big time. Respect.
6 p.m. - 3.5 progressive. Enjoyed this run. See that? 'Run'. I felt like I ran the whole 3.5 miles. Reckon I must have started off around 7:30 pace and ended up around 6:15 pace.
10:00 a.m. - 7 undulating miles, which included 2 hills - each 1 mile long. Run took 56:10 so AP 8:02(ish). Beautiful fresh morning. A touch of Christmas in the air. I'm looking forward to all the presents 'you all' will be sending me - please, no coupons for McDonalds.
Something struck me when I was out running (it wasn't a car) - remember the picture Jake put up of all those lovely looking oatmeal cookies? Of course you do. You were all thinking, I'd love the recipe for those yummy looking cookies. Not a chance. Notice the way Jake and Andrea are always eating ice cream and then they tease us with those cookies. I think that's a step too far. We should all plague them with messages requesting the recipe.
Now, I'm a big fan of the old Jake-meister, especially after he told me one of his friends said I was like an "Irish Emeril Lagasse". So, here's me thinking they meant some kind of Ethiopian distance runner who's making waves etc. The old ego gets the better of me and I look up this Lagasse chappy and low and behold, I realise I'm the butt of some checky little joke - those rapscallions. Ho ho. They like a laugh up there in Utah - must be the lack of oxygen. I watched some clips of the Lagasse chappy and thought he was class. Although, he's a tad too svelte to look like your old dad.
5:30 a.m. - 3.5 miles slow. Nice jog in the rain. Legs a bit heavy after yesterday's 7 miles on the hills. Left hamstring's giving me a bit of gyp. Did a bit of positional release on it and it has eased. Looked like a contortionist bent round pressing my hamstring with my thumb. Couldn't get the elbow in there. I'll whack the ice on it after tonight's outing and maybe flush it with a bit of heat. That way, all those nutrients from my quinoa, buckwheat, sweet potato etc should fire in there and attack the badness. Here's hoping...
5:30 p.m. - 3.5 miles slow. First three miles, the old hamstring wasn't too bad. Final half mile, the old hamstring had me hamstrung. Defo a problem with the biceps femoris. Iced the area and did some M.E.T. work. Reckon there could be a deep rooted problem with the somewhat weathered piriformis and quadratus femoris. I'll ice and M.E.T. and do some serious positional release. I'll have to skip tomorrow morning's outing and see how the day goes. One of the problems of being decrepit and a touch overweight and showing off (throwing in a 7 miler over hills when not ready - and knew wasn't ready). At least Arsenal are winning (soccer).
Might ice before going to bed. Ice, now there's a thought. Ice cream. Hmmmmm. Ben & Jerry's Caramel Chew Chew. See y'all laters.
I'd like to thank ya'll (thanks allie for showing me how to spell 'ya'll' correctly) for your concerns about my hamstring. Haven't run in a few days. It's a grade 1 strain to the origin of the biceps femoris tendon. Short head or long head? ya'll (I'm a fan of ya'll) cry.
Treatment and rehab is simple, but the cause is more problematic. Will have to run some tests on my worm-baited body.
Aleph asked where I learned Positional Release (PR). So, for aleph, here goes. Many moons ago I trained as a physical therapist and actually wrote a book called, 'Complete Sports Massage Therapist' (ISBN-10: 0750654783) - check it out, the blurbs's at 'the vanguard of [blurbing] excellence'. Your old da was quite famous in his day (if I say so myself and I do) until I gave it all up for a quieter life away from the razzle-dazzle and rigmarole and pizzazz of the paparazzi, snapping me in my pyjamas leaving hotels with A class female celebrities. Wink wink. Truth is, I was a mediocre therapist - a dilettante; a quack.
Hope to get out for a jog/test on Sunday. Ya'll just have to sit tight and wait and see what happens to poor old little me. Penelope Pit-Stop?
5:30 a.m. - 160m[ish] jog - no good: hamstring is kaput. What's worse, I know (even without getting on the scales) that I'm putting on poundage. It's Jake's fault that I'm putting on weight: all his chat about ice cream sent me off on one. Every night I've been scoffing Ben&Jerry's caramel Chew Chew - I can't stop chewing the Chew Chew. Okay, so it's not Jake's fault. It's my weak will. Ho hum.
Not all bad news. I did a bit of an ACornesque workout this morning. I set out to test the leg and could feel it twinging like a curse word, from the off. Got back and sat on the sofa and thought, what shall I do? Go back to bed would've been the wise thing to do. But your old fella isn't so wise. Didn't do that. Went to the freezer to fetch some ice for the leg and nearly had a breakdown. Chew Chew everywhere I looked. Caramel taste filled my mouth. No one will know, I thought. Go on, get in there lad; wolf it down. One day isn't going to make a difference. 5:45 a.m. and my right hand's frozen to one of the many tubs of Chew Chew.
And then it happened. On each of my shoulders a little Bam appeared - one with horns and one with a halo.
'Go on,' Horny said. 'Get in there, you know you wanna, lad.'
'Don't do it,' Halo said. 'Do some strength work instead.'
This went on for a while. So, anyway, I sated my desire for Chew Chew and did some strength work - nothing too exciting: scooped ice cream from tub to mouth several times @ 2 second recovery. What a hero. Monster session. Bleeding from the eyes. Eyeballs out. One serious VO2 max blast.
Anyway, I think I'll be out for a couple of weeks with the old leg and then it'll be Christmas. The big test will be if I can stay off the booze and get back 'running' again. A nice tub of Chew Chew followed by a glass of merlot and a Marlboro Light sounds perfect right now.
I'll fight it. I must: I've set a goal of winning the 2013 Cork Marathon and then I mentioned something about a sub 2:20 aged 50. Why do I say and do these stupid things? Okay, I'll be good and stick to the comeback. No smokes. No booze. But there has to be one last tub of Chew Chew. Oh baby, Daddy's on his way to chew chew you. Toodles, lads...
5:30 a.m. - 3.5 mile jog. Managed to get round without pulling up in agony - result. Ran slowly. Like a warm down after a session of blistering 200's: 8x200m's in 25 secs with a 200 jog recovery; yeah, right - in your dreams, lad.
I'll need to keep it nice and slow for a while as it will take some time for the hamstring to heal.
But the big news is the weight. I haven't run since last week and I thought the timber was stacking on but it turns out that I've lost a pound. Holymolypololy. If you wanna shed the lard, don't run, but be sure and to eat Caramel Chew Chew. Bought a lesser known brand of ice cream today (thanks Jake) when I was out doing the weekly shop. Still caramel flavour - has to be caramel, nothing touches the taste of caramel. I'll have to wait and see if I burn some more blubber on the cheaper caramel ice cream...
