I must admit, I was really pleased with my efforts training for my 10K over the tailend of the summer. However, I realise that doing this during the winter months is a whole different challenge. So, I decided to sign up for circuit training with the army - that'll motivate me.
I do it every Tuesday and Thursday evening. I get in from work at about 18:30, eat a spoonful of peanut butter, drink some water, and pull on my running gear. I run up to the park (it takes around 10 and half minutes) and then we run, crawl and exercise aorund in the mud for an hour, before I run home again (it takes about 12 minutes on the way back).
It's exhausting.
We get a coloured bib to wear (like back in my netball days) and we do a variety of exercises. I've learned a lot. For instance, I now know there a lots of different kinds of press-ups (regular, diamond, marine, seal, can-can, etc) and that I can't do any of them.
One night the instructor kept shouting "grenade", which meant we had to hit the deck and crawl like a commando. I was filthy. I had mud all over my face, in my hair and when I got home and peeled off my running tights - I had three distinctive stripes down the outside of either leg. Good branding. 'Date-guy' was coming round for dinner that night and arrived just before I got back. He got out of his car and genuinely thought I'd been in an accident. He ended up doing the cooking while I scrubbed the mud off myself. After dinner, I fell asleep almost immediately and he had to wake me up and tell me to go through to bed. The next morning he told me it had been a wonderful evening. I smiled and said "really?" and then I realised he was being sarcastic.
I think the worst exercise I've done is one where we had to lie down, roll over and jump up ... 30 times. I swear, by about half way through I didn't know where I was and was really just rolling in the mud and flopping about like a fish on the beach.
"Number 48, what are you doing?" "Number 48?" "Number 48!"
(Oh shit, I think that's me) "Erm ..."
"Are you actually having an epileptic fit?"
"Maybe."
Sometimes they tell us to run into the copse, find a branch and do 20 pull-ups. I told my mum this and she said "Oh, did you manage to find a branch that could hold you?". Funny.
It's tough and I dread going but it's fine when I get there. And, most importantly, I notice a difference in my fitness levels. So, I'm hoping it pays off when I do my runs next year.
Fingers crossed.
Showing posts with label exercise. Show all posts
Showing posts with label exercise. Show all posts
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Red and dangerous
The date was good. He phoned me two hours before we were due to meet for dinner. "I bet you're getting ready." "No I'm not. I'm quite chilled about these things. Probably won't start getting ready for another hour yet." "Uh huh."
Of course I was getting ready. I had an active charcoal face mask on as we were speaking.
"Are you nervous?" I decided to be honest. "A little bit." "Why?" "Well, I'm worried my mouth won't work." "Lisa, from what I've seen so far, that's not even a remote possibility." The cheek of him. I liked it. I decided to be more honest. "Hey, I was also thinking how funny it would be if I turned up for dinner dressed as a man from the 1920s. You know, with a tux, slicked back hair and a monocle." "hahaha. Now that would be hilarious." Oooh. I like him even more.
We had tapas and some fab red wine. My mouth worked fine. I hadn't noticed before, but he has lovely teeth. I like nice teeth. After dinner, we went to Bramble and laid down on this cushioned bed. He introduced me to a special kind of gin. I noticed he had nice shoes. We stayed out until 2am. He walked me home. I said: "I would invite you in, but I'm not a whore". He laughed and said: "We should definitely do this again."
The 10K was good. I'd been struggling to sleep on account of it all week and then Saturday morning arrived. I packed my bag and drove over to Fife. Joleen picked me up and we headed to Inverness. We checked into the hotel and headed into town for some dinner - preferably a pasta overload.
Inverness, however, was full to bursting with runners - and they all wanted a pasta overload. Jo and I walked round the town 3 times trying to find an Italian place that had space. We asked a man for directions and he was very keen to take us there himself - but that was probably because Jo tripped when she went over to speak to him and almost head-butted him in the 'nads. We tried everywhere else, before giving up and joining the queue at Bella Italia.
I didn't sleep at all that night. I was ridiculously nervous about the race, which is nuts. I wasn't running for anybody but myself. I wasn't even being sponsored. I didn't have to do it. At 6am my alarm went off.
Jo and the others were all doing the 5K and set off for the start about 2 hours before I was due to leave. At 0930, I arrived at the Royal Academy and we all had to follow these pipers about a kilometre to the start point. It was totally surreal. I kept thinking 'people are weird and they do weird things'. The race started in the middle of a new build housing scheme, which must have been joyous for those living there. It took about two minutes to reach the starting line after the gun had gone. As I crossed the line, I started my watch and my Ipod. I was off.
The first part of the race was through the woods and it was very narrow. I had to weave in and out, running through ditches to get passed the other, slower, runners. By 4K, we were on the road. At 5K I checked my watch - 28 minutes. Pretty good. I suddenly felt comfortable. I knew I was going to make it. I just wanted to try and do it in under an hour. But I know nothing about pace. And soon after, I noticed that I was no longer passing anyone. They were all passing me. Well, apart from the ones who were stopping - right in front of me, arrgghh!
About 7KMTRS in, I was running alongside two girls in wedding dresses. They clearly weren't taking this seriously so I didn't want to be beaten by them. Then I remembered that I was dressed as a reject from FAME (red training bib emblazoned with my surname, and a red headband) and that people probably thought I was joking around too.
At 9KMTRS I got both excited and relieved. I checked my watch - 54 mins. I might just make it.
But, I swear, that last kilometre went on forever. I didn't think it was ever going to end. My thighs and my ass were really sore. And it was uphill. I got into the stadium and onto the track. I could see the finish line. Thank fuck. Then, hilariously (but somewhat annoyingly given that I struggled so much in that last kilometre) I sprinted like a mad woman and overtook pretty much everyone who was on the track. I didn't know I could get my legs that high. I crossed the line - 1:03. Not my target, but not too bad given that 8 weeks previously I barely made it from the car park to the swan pond.
Jo had snapped some pics of me on the track. Some of the funniest things I have ever seen. I look like a cross between Carl Lewis (all spread-fingered and mecahnical) and Rambo (red and dangerous). Oh yeah, and not in any way attractive.
So, next time, I will do it in under an hour.
Of course I was getting ready. I had an active charcoal face mask on as we were speaking.
"Are you nervous?" I decided to be honest. "A little bit." "Why?" "Well, I'm worried my mouth won't work." "Lisa, from what I've seen so far, that's not even a remote possibility." The cheek of him. I liked it. I decided to be more honest. "Hey, I was also thinking how funny it would be if I turned up for dinner dressed as a man from the 1920s. You know, with a tux, slicked back hair and a monocle." "hahaha. Now that would be hilarious." Oooh. I like him even more.
We had tapas and some fab red wine. My mouth worked fine. I hadn't noticed before, but he has lovely teeth. I like nice teeth. After dinner, we went to Bramble and laid down on this cushioned bed. He introduced me to a special kind of gin. I noticed he had nice shoes. We stayed out until 2am. He walked me home. I said: "I would invite you in, but I'm not a whore". He laughed and said: "We should definitely do this again."
The 10K was good. I'd been struggling to sleep on account of it all week and then Saturday morning arrived. I packed my bag and drove over to Fife. Joleen picked me up and we headed to Inverness. We checked into the hotel and headed into town for some dinner - preferably a pasta overload.
Inverness, however, was full to bursting with runners - and they all wanted a pasta overload. Jo and I walked round the town 3 times trying to find an Italian place that had space. We asked a man for directions and he was very keen to take us there himself - but that was probably because Jo tripped when she went over to speak to him and almost head-butted him in the 'nads. We tried everywhere else, before giving up and joining the queue at Bella Italia.
I didn't sleep at all that night. I was ridiculously nervous about the race, which is nuts. I wasn't running for anybody but myself. I wasn't even being sponsored. I didn't have to do it. At 6am my alarm went off.
Jo and the others were all doing the 5K and set off for the start about 2 hours before I was due to leave. At 0930, I arrived at the Royal Academy and we all had to follow these pipers about a kilometre to the start point. It was totally surreal. I kept thinking 'people are weird and they do weird things'. The race started in the middle of a new build housing scheme, which must have been joyous for those living there. It took about two minutes to reach the starting line after the gun had gone. As I crossed the line, I started my watch and my Ipod. I was off.
The first part of the race was through the woods and it was very narrow. I had to weave in and out, running through ditches to get passed the other, slower, runners. By 4K, we were on the road. At 5K I checked my watch - 28 minutes. Pretty good. I suddenly felt comfortable. I knew I was going to make it. I just wanted to try and do it in under an hour. But I know nothing about pace. And soon after, I noticed that I was no longer passing anyone. They were all passing me. Well, apart from the ones who were stopping - right in front of me, arrgghh!
About 7KMTRS in, I was running alongside two girls in wedding dresses. They clearly weren't taking this seriously so I didn't want to be beaten by them. Then I remembered that I was dressed as a reject from FAME (red training bib emblazoned with my surname, and a red headband) and that people probably thought I was joking around too.
At 9KMTRS I got both excited and relieved. I checked my watch - 54 mins. I might just make it.
But, I swear, that last kilometre went on forever. I didn't think it was ever going to end. My thighs and my ass were really sore. And it was uphill. I got into the stadium and onto the track. I could see the finish line. Thank fuck. Then, hilariously (but somewhat annoyingly given that I struggled so much in that last kilometre) I sprinted like a mad woman and overtook pretty much everyone who was on the track. I didn't know I could get my legs that high. I crossed the line - 1:03. Not my target, but not too bad given that 8 weeks previously I barely made it from the car park to the swan pond.
Jo had snapped some pics of me on the track. Some of the funniest things I have ever seen. I look like a cross between Carl Lewis (all spread-fingered and mecahnical) and Rambo (red and dangerous). Oh yeah, and not in any way attractive.
So, next time, I will do it in under an hour.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Mince pies update
So I realised that I would have to change the date of my laser eye surgery after all. Apparently, you're not supposed to do any excercise for a week after it and running is a big no-no. "You could dislodge the corneal flap". "Yeah, I probably don't want to be doing that, let's just reschedule."
After all my hard work with 'the running', there was no way I was going to cancel my 10K. So now the 10K is on the 5th October and the laser eye surgery is on the 11th and I have about 3 weeks off work (incidentally, the magazine should be going to the printers next week - finally) and everything is grand. Except that I have stress excema on my eyelids and am wearing sudocrem for eyeshadow. Good look!
As I was paying for my eye surgery, the woman asked where I worked. I told her and she said: "You're entitled to a discount." I thought, "discounts are good, maybe I'll be £50 better off".
More like £500!!!
How fantastic is that news? I'm elated.
After all my hard work with 'the running', there was no way I was going to cancel my 10K. So now the 10K is on the 5th October and the laser eye surgery is on the 11th and I have about 3 weeks off work (incidentally, the magazine should be going to the printers next week - finally) and everything is grand. Except that I have stress excema on my eyelids and am wearing sudocrem for eyeshadow. Good look!
As I was paying for my eye surgery, the woman asked where I worked. I told her and she said: "You're entitled to a discount." I thought, "discounts are good, maybe I'll be £50 better off".
More like £500!!!
How fantastic is that news? I'm elated.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Run baby run
So I'm training for a half marathon. Partly because I got carried away with my bionic woman plans, and partly because someone laughed and said I couldn't do it. They were right. I couldn't.
I've never really run, always having thought I wasn't built for running. But then, chicken and egg, what if I'm not built for running because I don't run?
Having kitted myself out with some proper trainers (apparently I have a natural gait - still doesn't make me a natural runner though), some anti-blister socks, a running t-shirt and some cut-off joggers, I headed out to Arthur's Seat - for a run.
It didn't last long. I couldn't even manage to keep running for one song on the ipod. I swear, I had to stop and splutter my lungs into action again. A couple, whom I'd passed as I started out - and who knew how little I'd actually run, were approaching so I had to hide behind a bush so they wouldn't see me pathetically trying to compose myself. It didn't take long for the self-hatred to kick in, and once it did - it stuck around.
Why am I so crap? Why can't I do this? I'm the most pathetic person ever! Arrrgggh.
I went into work the next day and bemoaned my status to everyone who would listen. Fortunately for me, I sit next to Kirsty. Let me tell you a little something about Kirsty.
You may remember I mentioned I was personality type ENFP? Well, Kirsty is an ESTJ. It's about as opposite as you can get from mine. So where I hate plans, am always late and never want the detail, Kirsty actually says things like: "Well, if you read the Health & Safety policy on that." She's wonderfully gullible too, so I have a blast. Last week, I told her to remember a name for me (I always forget Brenda in the mailroom's surname). "Actually, do you think you could make me a Rolodex for my desk? That would be really handy." "Why don't you just get them all to give you business cards and it would almost make itself?" "But that would involve me having to do something. I'd like you to do it for me." "Well, can't you just use your contacts in Outlook?" "Oh, is that what that is? It's like an electronic Rolodex?" "Yes, Lisa. That's what that is." "Well, do you think you could populate it for me?" "No I bloody well will not. You think I'm your PA." "But you're so good at it Kirsty. You're a natural." "I can't wait until the office move. I hope I'm not sitting next to you."
Today we were on a photoshop training course and she chose to sit next to me (she can't resist it, you see. A moth to the flame). The course organiser asked if I had any experience of photoshop and I explained that I'd only used it to cut out people's faces and put them onto animals' bodies. Then I turned to Kirsty and said: "it was your face by the way." For the rest of the day, she kept asking me what animal I'd stuck her face on.
Anyway, back to the original post, Kirsty is a know-it-all so when I told her about my crap running experience, she told me about mapmyrun.com. You can construct a training plan and plot routes so you know exactly how far you're running. When I got home from work that night, I logged on and got started. I put together an entire training programme and mapped out routes in 0.5K increments all the way up to a half marathon. I started with a kilometre.
I realised I had gone at it all far too quickly that first day, and that, possibly, running to Don't Stop Me Now by Queen was not the best choice for a beginner. I put together a clever playlist on the 'pod that had some good slow and steady beats. It goes like this: Girlfriend in a Coma (The Smiths), Great DJ (Ting Tings), For the Girl (The Fratellis), All These Things That I've Done (The Killers), London Calling (The Clash), That's Entertainment (The Jam). Having now tested it in practice numerous times, I can tell you it's class.
I kept it slow and steady and completed the kilometre without stopping, or dying. I did it every night for a week. I was doing it in under 6 minutes by the end of the week, which isn't too bad considering. Then I moved onto my next route - 2.5K - every night for a week. Averaging 14 minutes. Last night was my first crack at 3K. I did it, but I fought a battle with my brain and my legs until the very end. Mind you, the most difficult part is still trying to put on or take off my sports bra.
I'm starting to really enjoy it (there's this one bit where I run over the bridge and my right foot strikes the road - I love that bit), and I do look forward to getting it done. Also, there's a lot of satisfaction at seeing yourself improve on something on a near daily basis. I feel kind of like I'm taking part in that Faking It programme. They've air-lifted some lard-ass off the sofa and are turning her into a half-marathoner. I'm still not sure I'll convince anyone, but the self-hatred is dissipating.
I've never really run, always having thought I wasn't built for running. But then, chicken and egg, what if I'm not built for running because I don't run?
Having kitted myself out with some proper trainers (apparently I have a natural gait - still doesn't make me a natural runner though), some anti-blister socks, a running t-shirt and some cut-off joggers, I headed out to Arthur's Seat - for a run.
It didn't last long. I couldn't even manage to keep running for one song on the ipod. I swear, I had to stop and splutter my lungs into action again. A couple, whom I'd passed as I started out - and who knew how little I'd actually run, were approaching so I had to hide behind a bush so they wouldn't see me pathetically trying to compose myself. It didn't take long for the self-hatred to kick in, and once it did - it stuck around.
Why am I so crap? Why can't I do this? I'm the most pathetic person ever! Arrrgggh.
I went into work the next day and bemoaned my status to everyone who would listen. Fortunately for me, I sit next to Kirsty. Let me tell you a little something about Kirsty.
You may remember I mentioned I was personality type ENFP? Well, Kirsty is an ESTJ. It's about as opposite as you can get from mine. So where I hate plans, am always late and never want the detail, Kirsty actually says things like: "Well, if you read the Health & Safety policy on that." She's wonderfully gullible too, so I have a blast. Last week, I told her to remember a name for me (I always forget Brenda in the mailroom's surname). "Actually, do you think you could make me a Rolodex for my desk? That would be really handy." "Why don't you just get them all to give you business cards and it would almost make itself?" "But that would involve me having to do something. I'd like you to do it for me." "Well, can't you just use your contacts in Outlook?" "Oh, is that what that is? It's like an electronic Rolodex?" "Yes, Lisa. That's what that is." "Well, do you think you could populate it for me?" "No I bloody well will not. You think I'm your PA." "But you're so good at it Kirsty. You're a natural." "I can't wait until the office move. I hope I'm not sitting next to you."
Today we were on a photoshop training course and she chose to sit next to me (she can't resist it, you see. A moth to the flame). The course organiser asked if I had any experience of photoshop and I explained that I'd only used it to cut out people's faces and put them onto animals' bodies. Then I turned to Kirsty and said: "it was your face by the way." For the rest of the day, she kept asking me what animal I'd stuck her face on.
Anyway, back to the original post, Kirsty is a know-it-all so when I told her about my crap running experience, she told me about mapmyrun.com. You can construct a training plan and plot routes so you know exactly how far you're running. When I got home from work that night, I logged on and got started. I put together an entire training programme and mapped out routes in 0.5K increments all the way up to a half marathon. I started with a kilometre.
I realised I had gone at it all far too quickly that first day, and that, possibly, running to Don't Stop Me Now by Queen was not the best choice for a beginner. I put together a clever playlist on the 'pod that had some good slow and steady beats. It goes like this: Girlfriend in a Coma (The Smiths), Great DJ (Ting Tings), For the Girl (The Fratellis), All These Things That I've Done (The Killers), London Calling (The Clash), That's Entertainment (The Jam). Having now tested it in practice numerous times, I can tell you it's class.
I kept it slow and steady and completed the kilometre without stopping, or dying. I did it every night for a week. I was doing it in under 6 minutes by the end of the week, which isn't too bad considering. Then I moved onto my next route - 2.5K - every night for a week. Averaging 14 minutes. Last night was my first crack at 3K. I did it, but I fought a battle with my brain and my legs until the very end. Mind you, the most difficult part is still trying to put on or take off my sports bra.
I'm starting to really enjoy it (there's this one bit where I run over the bridge and my right foot strikes the road - I love that bit), and I do look forward to getting it done. Also, there's a lot of satisfaction at seeing yourself improve on something on a near daily basis. I feel kind of like I'm taking part in that Faking It programme. They've air-lifted some lard-ass off the sofa and are turning her into a half-marathoner. I'm still not sure I'll convince anyone, but the self-hatred is dissipating.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)