Posted: 27/11/2011 in Journal, Running

Well, perhaps a slightly older model, who’s been left in a garage for a while and not oiled.

Week 4 starts here! It’s only a week late, but we’ll keep that us for now, eh?

After a week of reduced running to take care of my knees, today was the day to step up to the dizzy heights of 2:00 run / 3:00 walk. Never a book to disappoint, the Beginning Runner’s Handbook suggested 11 repetitions was about right, which was more than I think I’ve done so far, coupled with the extra run.

It was windy too, not in a “ooh, a gentle breeze to soothe my furrowed brow” kind of way, more of a “we’re not in Kansas any more” stylee. So, to sum up that’s longer runs, more of them and a tornado.

It was ace – seriously – and I’m kind of surprising myself that I’m enjoying running so much. Granted, if it was a bind I’d still be plodding around to get to the end of the thirteen weeks, but I’m actually looking forward to getting out, tornado or no, and waiting for the next session. Especially as the doctor said I had good muscle tone, and that after only three weeks, imagine by the end of the thirteen, I’ll be ripped (though presumably only the bottom bit of me, which I imagine will be Charles Atlas-esque, while the top half contines to look like Mr. Muscle – the real one, not the rubbish one they have now – after an all-night pie-fest).

The slightly scary notion is creeping into my head that I might fancy running in some kind of event once I’m at the just-plain-running stage. There’s a 10k run in North Tyneside on Easter Sunday, and when I consider I covered over 7.5km this morning, it feels possible. Apparently there’s a hill, but I’ve not been fazed by uphill – I find downhill a bit of a struggle, as I lack the confidence to properly go for it, and so I’m taking tiny Angelina-Ballerina steps.

I don’t know if I’m finding a ‘style’ or just falling into bad habits, but the running itself isn’t giving me so much bother – when I started, I found it hard to put one foot in front of the other, and had no idea what to do with my arms or hands. Now the various parts of me just seem to get on with it, on auto-pilot, and other than trying to avoid choking myself with the wire on my headphones, all seems good.

Mr. Stitch is back again, but like the mucous cough gremlin in the Benelyn advert, I cast him aside, Mexican-wrestler style. Something to do with drinking, I think, as in while running, and no, not pints, but lovely isotonic lemon mixture. I need a better bottle holder – the one I’ve got slips around my waist as it tries to get a look at where we’re going, rather than where we’ve been. It doesn’t realise that it’s supposed to be watching my six, Call of Duty style, especially in the pre-dawn light when the insomniac muggers are out.

Now I’m back, knees are bearable – they ache, but in a put-to-use way, rather than a put-to-death way. I’m hopeful they’ll improve, though I may be properly wrong…

Only this wek to go, and then like an indecisive dieter’s latte, I’ll be half-and-half.

Indicators (using the GREEN, YELLOW, ORANGE, RED, BLACK terminology):

  • Preparedness: GREEN
  • Motivation: GREEN
  • Ability: YELLOW
  • Aches: GREEN (reserve the right to chance this in a couple of hours, mind)
  • Fitness: ORANGE (with hints of lemon)
  • Weight: RED (still red, not gone back to black, get in!)

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