I ran the Cork marathon seven days ago, and for three of those days I was a shattered miserable heap of hangover, with what I thought was a cold, possibly flu, but probably meningitis or malaria. I was tired all the time, and sleeping a lot, and still waking up tired.
Cork took a lot out of me, and after I finished I decided that I would split my activities into "normal = allowed", and "crazy = not allowed". Booking another marathon eight weeks after Cork, for example, would have fallen under the crazy category, as would running the Wexford half marathon in three weeks' time. (Strangely enough, going out on the piss the night of Cork and getting in what turned out to be a very productive day's work after 6 pints, 3 hours' sleep, and 26.2 miles didn't seem to count as mad, but there's crazy person logic for you).
Despite Cork having been the worst run of my life, I still believe that it had to happen for my attitude to the marathon distance to change, and I started concocting a Plan for Dublin in 20 weeks' time: a Plan for a 4 hour marathon. This Plan is designed from a mixture of Hal Higdon (Adv 1), various pieces of advice, and a goal that, if not completely lunatic, is certainly very ambitious. If it works, I will have knocked 45 minutes off my marathon time in exactly 365 days.
I decided that I would take two weeks' total rest: absolutely no running at all. The longest I'd had off since I started running was four days at the end of last year when I was (properly) sick. My official Dublin training would start on 21st June: exactly 18 weeks to Dublin, and the day that my new runners would arrive, which was obviously a sign to wait until then. No running for two weeks, and no craziness for the foreseeable future. A positive, challenging, but achievable goal: I had it sorted. So why did I feel like shit? I should be able to do a proper day's work and a run on no sleep and a hangover, never mind a good night's sleep plus a nap in the afternoon.
It took me a week to recognise the symptoms: constant fatigue and a lethargy that a hibernating sloth would have been proud of, aimlessness in life, a relative loss of appetite for food, and worst of all, for running: I was suffering from post-marathon depression. How could I have forgotten that the cure for this, as well as for running withdrawal symptoms, hangovers, and a lack of appetite for life in general, was running?
So I dragged my sorry arse out of bed, put on my kit and my beaten up runners that I had said I wouldn’t need to wear again after Cork, and I left the house. I didn’t take my watch, and I didn’t plan a route, except for avoiding all hills. I ran at 10 min/mile, and I can’t have done more than 3 miles, but it was one of the most important runs I have ever done. I realised as soon as I started that I had been scared of starting to run again because I assumed that it would be hard. The last time I ran properly and comfortably was around mile 15 of the marathon. But I didn’t get to where I am now, a year later and three marathons, four distance road races, eleven short races and 902 recorded miles in training, by shying away from difficulty, and I damn well wasn’t going to start now. I ran past four shortcuts that would have taken me safely and prematurely back home, and I took the long way round every time.
The consequences of returning to training too soon and risking physical fatigue, or even an injury, were negligible compared to the consequences of losing my will to run. My categories of "normal = allowed", and "crazy = not allowed" have gone out the window - I don’t plan to run a summer marathon, because of my Dublin goal, which is crazy enough, but if I do, at least it will show that I have the will to run, and losing that would have been the worst thing of all.
I mentioned above that last night’s run was one of the most important runs in all my training: I don’t think it’s just coincidence that a year ago yesterday, 14th June 2009, I ran my first official marathon training run: 5 miles in my sandpaper socks.
Cork took a lot out of me, and after I finished I decided that I would split my activities into "normal = allowed", and "crazy = not allowed". Booking another marathon eight weeks after Cork, for example, would have fallen under the crazy category, as would running the Wexford half marathon in three weeks' time. (Strangely enough, going out on the piss the night of Cork and getting in what turned out to be a very productive day's work after 6 pints, 3 hours' sleep, and 26.2 miles didn't seem to count as mad, but there's crazy person logic for you).
Despite Cork having been the worst run of my life, I still believe that it had to happen for my attitude to the marathon distance to change, and I started concocting a Plan for Dublin in 20 weeks' time: a Plan for a 4 hour marathon. This Plan is designed from a mixture of Hal Higdon (Adv 1), various pieces of advice, and a goal that, if not completely lunatic, is certainly very ambitious. If it works, I will have knocked 45 minutes off my marathon time in exactly 365 days.
I decided that I would take two weeks' total rest: absolutely no running at all. The longest I'd had off since I started running was four days at the end of last year when I was (properly) sick. My official Dublin training would start on 21st June: exactly 18 weeks to Dublin, and the day that my new runners would arrive, which was obviously a sign to wait until then. No running for two weeks, and no craziness for the foreseeable future. A positive, challenging, but achievable goal: I had it sorted. So why did I feel like shit? I should be able to do a proper day's work and a run on no sleep and a hangover, never mind a good night's sleep plus a nap in the afternoon.
It took me a week to recognise the symptoms: constant fatigue and a lethargy that a hibernating sloth would have been proud of, aimlessness in life, a relative loss of appetite for food, and worst of all, for running: I was suffering from post-marathon depression. How could I have forgotten that the cure for this, as well as for running withdrawal symptoms, hangovers, and a lack of appetite for life in general, was running?
So I dragged my sorry arse out of bed, put on my kit and my beaten up runners that I had said I wouldn’t need to wear again after Cork, and I left the house. I didn’t take my watch, and I didn’t plan a route, except for avoiding all hills. I ran at 10 min/mile, and I can’t have done more than 3 miles, but it was one of the most important runs I have ever done. I realised as soon as I started that I had been scared of starting to run again because I assumed that it would be hard. The last time I ran properly and comfortably was around mile 15 of the marathon. But I didn’t get to where I am now, a year later and three marathons, four distance road races, eleven short races and 902 recorded miles in training, by shying away from difficulty, and I damn well wasn’t going to start now. I ran past four shortcuts that would have taken me safely and prematurely back home, and I took the long way round every time.
The consequences of returning to training too soon and risking physical fatigue, or even an injury, were negligible compared to the consequences of losing my will to run. My categories of "normal = allowed", and "crazy = not allowed" have gone out the window - I don’t plan to run a summer marathon, because of my Dublin goal, which is crazy enough, but if I do, at least it will show that I have the will to run, and losing that would have been the worst thing of all.
I mentioned above that last night’s run was one of the most important runs in all my training: I don’t think it’s just coincidence that a year ago yesterday, 14th June 2009, I ran my first official marathon training run: 5 miles in my sandpaper socks.
wow congratulations to you...you had a great run!!!
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