Thank you all for returning to the tales of my strange adventures. Well, by that I mean thank you to those who did return, and were not put off by the enormous gulf in time since my last race report, all the way back to the Hackney Half Marathon in May. The time in between has hardly lacked material: since then I’ve run PBs over 1500m, 3000m, 5000m, 10000m, and 3000 steeplechase (this last one four times), scattered among an absurd number of events.
25 races in twelve weeks sounds a lot, but really it’s only every 3.36 days, and the longest one took thirty three and a half minutes (apart from the half marathon), so most of the time is recovery really. Actually after Hackney I pretty much spent the day in a haze of heat related hallucinations, so that probably shouldn’t count as recovery.
That’s it though, just twenty five. Well, more truthfully, it’s not. It doesn’t include the last leg of a 4x400m relay on the first weekend, a distance that always feels, in Bilbo Baggins’ fantastic description: ‘like butter stretched over too much bread’.
There was also another 400 relay at a ‘relaxed’ event in Oxford. After two races at the weekend I told myself I was just going to enjoy the atmosphere, with mixed ability teams and a balmy summer evening. However, these being my first steps on the hallowed track where Roger Bannister broke the four minute mile, running the anchor leg which would decide final (non-competitive!) positions, and only having two gears (‘go’ or ‘definitely injured’) that was never going to happen.
For the more visually minded, behold the varieties and depth of my mad endeavours… there’s certainly a lot of bread.
If you include a couple of 5k parkruns in April, and I do, I’ve raced at least once (and fittingly, three times thrice) every weekend from mid-April until the 10th of July. This streak ended with something of a bang. Well, actually two, the starting guns only fifteen minutes apart. First was 1500m race where the last lap was run at four minute mile pace (3:45 for 1500) and later a second 3000m steeplechase in two days. Hence the title of this post.
It was a final gamble in a long series of dice rolls, including some rather spectacular throws:
1) A 3000m steeplechase with a cold (that’s carrying a minor viral infection, not an ice cream) the day after a 10000m on the track that left me dizzy and throwing up several times in the warm down. Happily nobody was a around to witness this, apart from a few drunkards and dogs, all of whose eyes, countenancing this pitiful sight, seemed to say: ‘I’ ve been there mate‘.
This time qualified me for the English championships, and amazingly didn’t lead to a ruptured calf/achilles… the tendon that is, for ‘ruptured Achilles’ see Homer’s Iliad.
2) Trying, and succeeding, to hurdle the water jump after half a training session at Mile End track, with no water in the pit. This could have gone very spectacularly wrong, in that I’d never tried it before, that I was already fairly tired and a headlong plunge into a deep hole in the ground was very possible.
Happily, it worked out, and gave me the confidence to attempt the same thing three more times, with a positive 66% success rate. I did fall rather spectacularly in the final lap of the Southern championships on my failed effort, but there’s no video of that. There is one of the time it worked in the Northern Irish championships though! Here’s an exciting freeze frame. You can’t see the water very well, but it’s there. All over the track, the shot put area, the grass, and also in the appropriate pit.
3) The day after the double steeplechase, the second bread of the title’s sandwich (slightly wet bread, as befits the water jump) I decided to continue the mad effort levels. After I work I ran 3.5 miles to the Castle climbing centre, very much as cool as it sounds, climbed for 1h15m, then ran five miles in Finsbury Park. I think I got home and fell asleep on the floor, but that’s sadly not as unusual an occurrence as might be expected.
It’s not that I don’t have a bed, happily I do, and a spare mattress in case someone maliciously distributes green spherical vegetables and reinforcements are required, or more plausibly if I have a guest. It’s just that I have certain health problems that obligate this sort of thing. (Let’s call them ‘challenges’, says the imaginary editor). I’ll listen to them this time, as I feel guilty about ignoring their increasingly frustrated prompts to write concisely, stop using brackets and shorten sentences…
To understand all of this properly, a lot more needs to be explained (health and psychology), put up with (brackets like these, constant jokes, lack of conciseness), and understood (lots of history!). I’ll write about that separately, and you’re more than welcome to have a look at it. A lot will be more private, honest and probably serious than this sort of thing, though not without haphazard and flippant humour. More on that another time, onward for now. Except the flippant humour. That hangs around eternally, sort of like a loveable but increasingly irritating puppy.
When I started writing this post, it was about my adventures in steeplechase and the entire course of the last three months. The story runs from coming back nervously in mid-April, to a middle-distance double, not fully fit and not really psychologically ready for competition, or so I thought, to an even more nervous wait for a first potential international call up. As I took nearly two thousand words to describe a single race that lasted less than fifteen minutes, I’m not sure how I thought this tale would work as a single post!
Several sections split off, like apples falling beside their tree, and growing new plants of their own. To avoid what might be a very untidy garden, these have been uprooted and will be planted over the next few weeks, with what I hope will grow into some semblance of an order. Thank you all for reading, I would say I hope it’s as much fun to write as it was to read, but that’s probably a little too much to ask! Until next time, whenever I can get round to planting some more trees…