This Sporting Life-Hacker
Seeking to keep myself fit over the Winter, I signed up for a long run in February. The entry fee was cheaper than a month at the gym, and goes to one of my favourite charities.
I called my mother: 'It's along Brighton seafront! It's be lovely!' In my head, dolphins in straw bowlers are accompanying me on my jog back from Rottingdean.
Mother spluttered: 'Brighton seafront in February?'
The dolphins of my mind buggered off back to the Bahamas, I thought of silk longjohns.
After I signed up, I looked at training schedules (wrong way round the first!).
'You can just about train up in four months, you miserable uncoordinated mortal,' they advised.
'Hurrah!'
'I mean, you're already running three miles, four times a week, and have been for three months, yes?'
'No. However, I have been eating two hardboiled eggs for breakfast at least twice a week, ever since I found out the cafe opposite would put them in a paper bag with a little bit of salt and pepper for me.'
Hmmm. I chose what looked like an easier qualifier to start from: can you run X miles? I tried it two weekends ago - yes, I can run X miles. Do I want to? Only with a light breeze, piles of leaves, a guaranteed parakeet sighting and a song in my heart/mp3 player. Otherwise, it's back to baking and reading Jim Stringer: Steam Detective on the sofa.
I've been thinking a lot lately about people's self-assessments (e.g. most people think they are better at Y than most people). It's ridiculous that:
a) I like running because there aren't any shortcuts (sorry) - if you want to run a distance, you have to run a distance.
b) ...but I'm already trying to think of ways to get round the training schedule. 'Oh, I've got transferable skills, and I've never have a sponge fail to rise on me - I must be able to cheat my legs into being supergood without any effort!' A lifetime of using what gifts I have to get out of work I don't fancy has left a grimy residue on me.
On the other hand, it's not completely unjustified - I think that running very slowly over long distances may be the sport I am not bad at. Last year I ran ten miles - beforehand, I was only really going out twice a week, for about six months beforehand (I think). The February run isn't much more than ten miles.
So in late February I suspect I will be levering myself up from the supine laze I've held since Christmas, dusting off my trainers and giving it a go anyway. I know I may as well put the announcement of my engagement to severe leg injuries in The Times. Wish me luck!
I called my mother: 'It's along Brighton seafront! It's be lovely!' In my head, dolphins in straw bowlers are accompanying me on my jog back from Rottingdean.
Mother spluttered: 'Brighton seafront in February?'
The dolphins of my mind buggered off back to the Bahamas, I thought of silk longjohns.
After I signed up, I looked at training schedules (wrong way round the first!).
'You can just about train up in four months, you miserable uncoordinated mortal,' they advised.
'Hurrah!'
'I mean, you're already running three miles, four times a week, and have been for three months, yes?'
'No. However, I have been eating two hardboiled eggs for breakfast at least twice a week, ever since I found out the cafe opposite would put them in a paper bag with a little bit of salt and pepper for me.'
Hmmm. I chose what looked like an easier qualifier to start from: can you run X miles? I tried it two weekends ago - yes, I can run X miles. Do I want to? Only with a light breeze, piles of leaves, a guaranteed parakeet sighting and a song in my heart/mp3 player. Otherwise, it's back to baking and reading Jim Stringer: Steam Detective on the sofa.
I've been thinking a lot lately about people's self-assessments (e.g. most people think they are better at Y than most people). It's ridiculous that:
a) I like running because there aren't any shortcuts (sorry) - if you want to run a distance, you have to run a distance.
b) ...but I'm already trying to think of ways to get round the training schedule. 'Oh, I've got transferable skills, and I've never have a sponge fail to rise on me - I must be able to cheat my legs into being supergood without any effort!' A lifetime of using what gifts I have to get out of work I don't fancy has left a grimy residue on me.
On the other hand, it's not completely unjustified - I think that running very slowly over long distances may be the sport I am not bad at. Last year I ran ten miles - beforehand, I was only really going out twice a week, for about six months beforehand (I think). The February run isn't much more than ten miles.
So in late February I suspect I will be levering myself up from the supine laze I've held since Christmas, dusting off my trainers and giving it a go anyway. I know I may as well put the announcement of my engagement to severe leg injuries in The Times. Wish me luck!