Part 6: The Run

Reading, September 2016 10:22 am

As I tried to break into a run, my legs just weren’t listening. Where I’d been working hard on the bike there was a huge ball of pain in each thigh and no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t pick my legs up to run properly. I was effectively reduced to the slow shuffle you sometimes see tiny elderly lady joggers doing – no faster than a walk, but at least it looks a tiny bit sportier. That’s what I looked like as I staggered into the first of three laps.

I even tried shouting at them – ‘Work, Damn You, Legs!’ but they refused to pay any attention. The run had worried me in general – I knew before ever agreeing to sign up that the run was my biggest problem but had never experienced anything like this. I’d largely disliked running growing up, although my total lack of hand/eye coordination meant I found myself doing it more than I considered to be ideal as I was not picked for any of the ball sports, and with the exception of a short stint trying to impress a runner at university (It didn’t work, she wound up dating the captain of the rugby team so at least I’d identified, if not executed a successful strategy), I’d avoided it ever since.

Stuart was the friend who had talked us all into signing up for both the Windsor relay and the Reading Solo (considering this, it’s a miracle he’s still walking the earth), and two weeks before the event we’d driven over to the start point to try out the run. Bearing in mind this was pretty much my first run for nearly thirty years where I wasn’t yelling ‘Hold the train’ as I trotted, I was very pleased to manage one and a half kilometres before grinding to an exhausted halt fourteen minutes later. Stuart also told me he was impressed but he’s an excellent runner and I can only imagine he was drunk.

The middle of the week I smashed out three kilometres, and then the weekend before the event I ran my first ever parkrun, a full five kilometres. There were a lot of people walking the course who finished faster than me, but I ran the whole thing, if incredibly slowly, refusing to give up and walk. I think Stuart lapped me twice that day. Still, I was happy – I hadn’t believed I could run the distance and proved myself wrong. How much harder could it be as part of triathlon?

A lot sodding harder, it turned out.

The reading course was three laps on rough mixed trail terrain and this meant I had to really pick my footsteps or risk twisting an ankle. While not particularly hilly, it did go up and down a bit. For those who were competing strongly passing our supporters three times was a real plus; for those quietly dying like myself it meant I had to step up my pace and try to smile as we passed through the start/finish area and around transition.

It didn’t matter what I did, I couldn’t change from my old lady shuffle; I couldn’t get my legs to pick themselves up at all – it was all I could do to keep them moving. I knew I would be faster walking, so I did, a bit. As soon as I did so I felt a wave of disappointment, hating myself, but my only goal going in had been to finish and I was going to do so, however I wound up doing it. Funny thing though, as soon as I started to walk, my pace dropped even further so I forced myself back into a wheezing trot.

While I was suffering, I discovered just how friendly Triathletes are. Almost every few seconds someone would bellow something encouraging as they ran by – they didn’t make a jot of difference physically – I wasn’t magically lightened and nor did my ankles sprout tiny little wings, but it was amazing how much it helped knowing people were recognising my effort and determination.

Someone who almost had as bad a run as me was Matt, who’d lost count of his laps. I’m not sure how, given that I was counting down every fraction of a kilometre that I could – but, flying, he whistled past the finish turn off and started a fourth lap and was probably a good half a k round the course before realising what he’d done. He confused a fair few triathletes as he turned around and ran back against the natural flow (as it was his first triathlon as well, whatever he ran was going to be a personal best), rather than doing the decent thing and finishing the extra lap.

I think his volcanically angry facial expression probably stopped anyone asking any questions, or god forbid trying to redirect him. Barney did helpfully yell at him ‘You’re going the wrong way!’ as they passed near transition. Matt’s reply was reported by most of the large bank of spectators as something close to ‘I frogging well know that. Frog frog frogging hell.’, as he gratefully and gracefully acknowledged the advice. We knew Matt was reasonably gifted when it came to all three of the triathlon disciplines – a year later when he’d got his stuff together a little more he came 18^th overall, so there was a lot of frustration for him at what he knew was wasted potential.

Meanwhile I was still pounding slowly round. At the end of the first lap I grabbed a plastic cup of water from the helpful volunteers at the drink station and promptly discovered that drinking from a cup while running is a skill and that also takes a bit of practice. I was still thirsty but did have a wet face and chest cooling me down so it wasn’t all bad. Next lap I actually stopped to drink and found it surprisingly hard to get going again. For the final lap I just asked them to throw the water at me – it’s not entirely surprising how eager the volunteers always are to do so, and I got hit from several directions simultaneously.

It started to rain, but that didn’t make it any easier or any harder – it was just weather, and I had more immediate and painful issues occupying most of my attention. I did spare a thought for our supporters who by now had been in place for the best part of three hours and I was concerned that they were probably getting cold. It turned out that burgers, hot chocolates, coffees and muffins were somehow giving them the stamina to tough it out.

After what seemed like forever I ran through a dark woody tunnel for the last time, knowing I had only a few hundred of meters to go. Surely, I could muster up a sprint finish? I tried to up my pace several times over that last stretch, with no response from my body and as I rounded the final corner it turned out that even a short burst was beyond me, and I crossed the line with the kind of facial expression that should only be seen on someone who’s just realised their tax return is due today and they have burnt all their payslips.

Knowing just by looking at me that I was staying upright by the skin of my teeth, yet another cheerful marshal efficiently stripped me of the timing chip around my ankle and hung a medal around my neck. It was a thing of beauty – big, bronze and on a soft broad ribbon and it meant a lot to me (I have it hung on a small rack in my study at home, and every time I look at it I can vividly remember key moments from the event). Even more meaningful were the hugs and congratulations from my friends and family as I exited the finishers funnel. There were quite a few friends there mostly because they’d all beaten me.

As it turns out, nearly everyone had beaten me. Out of the 120 men running the 2016 Reading triathlon, I’d come third last, largely due to the terrible run. It slowly dawned on me that the two I’d beaten (who posted identical cycle times) were my young friends on the tandem. I was totally ok with that until sometime later a friend at work mentioned in passing that she knew them and they’d ‘Stopped halfway round the bike ride for a pint’, which took the edge off of not being last for a few seconds.

Quickly though I decided I didn’t care – I’d still beaten them and beaten everyone else who’d ever thought about giving it a go then decided not to, and I on reflection I decided to also claim that I’d beaten everyone to whom entering had never even occurred. This pushed me up the mental rankings by about 6 billion so was definitely a good thing.

Eton Dorney, September 2016

‘What the hell is blue green algae?’ I yelled in frustration. It was two weeks after the Reading event and I was finally going to get a chance to swim the Olympic rowing lake as part of the second relay event we’d signed up for. Or at least, that was what I’d thought until we arrived at the venue. My biggest concern had been whether the water was going to be warm enough to make a no wetsuit swim an option, but as we arrived we discovered that the lake had unacceptably high levels of toxic algae and the first leg had been converted from a swim to a run.

After my massive strop about running 500m at Windsor, Barney and Stu had come pretty close to drawing straws to decide who was going to tell me and had bottled giving me extra warning through a phone call. They knew I’d notice eventually when the swim leg athletes set off down the road not wearing wetsuits.

For most triathletes, this wouldn’t be the end of the world, for a few of the relay teams this was a cataclysmic disaster. I was putting our team in that bracket, as although I’d continued to swim train for this very end of season event, I’d assumed I wasn’t going to be running until the following year. Fortunately, I’d grabbed a pair of trainers on the way out that morning and was wearing a trisuit – some of the teams didn’t even have that and were scrabbling to come up with something that worked. I was unhappy about a number of aspects of the change – I really fancied swimming in the lake, I knew I was going to look a tit but most of all I was worried about letting the rest of the team down – again.

As we were shepherded into the starting pen for the safety briefing I couldn’t help myself. I had a good look round me at the other competitors and tried to work out who I was going to beat, and who I was going to try to hang on to, and who I wasn’t going to see again. It took me three looks before I found someone who might be in the first category. He looked older than me, had eaten a fair few more pies than me, and had the unmistakeable pallor of someone who hardly ever went outside except to shift from house to car.

He caught me looking and came over and started chatting. We quickly established that he was also a relay competitor and, expecting a gentle swim was equally unprepared for the run. ‘Good,’ I thought ‘As soon as that gun goes I’m going to keep you behind me’. He was very friendly, but I wasn’t going to be drawn in; I wasn’t going to come last. I knew he would be thinking the same thing about me. With his next statement, however, everything changed. ‘I broke my leg a couple of months ago. I’ve literally only had the plaster off a couple of weeks.’

You might be thinking this was music to my ears – surely there was no way he would beat me – but actually I suddenly felt trapped. This was a no-win situation for me. If I did beat him, well, I’d just basically beaten a guy with a broken leg. And if he beat me… it didn’t bear thinking about. For a moment there I hated a total stranger.

I was still trying to sort through my turmoil on this one as the starting gun went. I knew what was going to happen next and was not surprised when we both took off at exactly the same pace – right at the back. It was only 2.5k (the second run that Stu, our runner was doing was 10k) but was out and back down the lake, in full view of the spectators (and the rest of my team) with absolutely nowhere to hide. I knew, regardless of how slow I might run, this time I wasn’t going to walk. Horribly, we started encouraging each other in short gasps. I really didn’t know how I was going to gently ease ahead of my new friend with a couple of hundred meters to go without feeling like a total heel.

We both discussed the probable illegitimacy of the tall guy about 75 yards in front of us, who was walking from the start, but still maintaining a gap on us both thanks to an easy long-legged stride. I looked behind me to confirm what deep down I already knew. There was no one else back there, we were tail markers bringing up the rear. As we rounded the turnaround point, we both groaned and upped the pace a little. Knowing that we were now on the way home, we closed the gap on the tall guy a little, but he was still a fair way in front. I could see the first runners diving into the transition areas and grabbing their bikes, first in a trickle, then a steady flow as more and more riders shot out onto the course. While I watched, the back straight we were on just seemed to be getting longer and longer.

Still matching each other stride for stride, we began the final two hundred meters. My chest was heaving, and my legs felt like lead, but I knew I had to break away soon and decided now was my moment. I nearly fell over when at that precise second my new friend took off doing a creditable impression of Usain Bolt. Although I tried to follow him I couldn’t match his pace, crossing the timing line dead last by a couple of meters and staggering to Barney in transition. As we both struggled to get the timing chip off my ankle I swore I wasn’t going to let my run let me down ever again. And at some point, I was going to swim in that bloody lake.

The Run

If you’ve read this far, you know I’m never going to shatter running records. I have however improved a lot from those early days. I do think you can divide the population neatly into runners (Who may lack fitness but have the body type and leg lengths of a thoroughbred horse) and non-runners (who don’t and never will); but there is some advice that can be applied to both.

When it comes to just generally improving your running abilities it’s wise not to push too far too fast. If you have done no running for some time there are a number of ‘couch to 5k’ programmes, clubs, and even apps on your smartphone that will guide you to reaching that distance in the best way. Once you’ve got there, there is no substitute for regular running to improve your strength, fitness and speed.

Most people will have heard of ‘parkruns’ – a completely free weekly timed 5k run organised by fantastic friendly and supportive volunteers. These are brilliant – there will be one near you, and at a few minutes to nine on every Saturday morning somewhere in the order of 400 brightly clad runners will appear from every direction ready to run an organised and fully marshalled event. It feels brilliant running with such a large group of likeminded people – when I ran my first park run I came 303^rd out of 315 and got a huge cheer from the volunteers on the finishing funnel and a number of the other runners.

I watched amazed as the people still coming in each got a huge cheer and congratulations from anyone and everyone around. I’ve continued to parkrun and I’ve very nearly halved that first 5k time, as I’ve continued to speed up week by week. In my local event, times vary from around 16 minutes all the way to well over an hour (if you walk the whole way, that’s fine with everybody) – everyone is massively happy and supportive, so if ever proof were needed that exercise is good for your mental wellbeing, I think this is probably the place to go get it

The single most important thing when it comes to prepping for a triathlon run is to make sure you have practiced moving from riding to running. The combination of burning thigh muscles and calves that won’t do what you tell them to do is known as ‘Jelly Legs’ and is a problem everyone experiences at first. It only tends to last for a couple of hundred meters but can be properly unpleasant while you run it off.

You can train your body to get used to it by doing a reasonably hard ride, and then quickly switching to a run – this is known as a ‘brick’ training session (You can do swim to cycle bricks as well which help with the dizziness you may feel going from exerting yourself fiercely horizontally to vertically).

You may have a small event run locally specifically designed to help with this, especially in the early season – once a month where I live a local team run ‘starter’ triathlons (it’s really a duathlon as there’s only two of the three disciplines in there) that consists of a two kilometre run, eight kilometre cycle and second two kilometre run. If you’re new to triathlons, this would be far enough to trigger a healthy shot of jelly legs and give you an idea of what to expect as well as training your body to run through it; but it also gives you a chance to try transitions out in race conditions. It costs a couple of pounds to enter and can really help you develop the mental and muscle memory you will need to run the best triathlon you can.

I’d recommend developing a routine of stretches that you can remember and run through before starting a run. Warming your muscles up is important when it comes to avoiding injury and will help you run more freely with higher muscle motility. Go browse youtube for running warmups and pick a couple of exercises you like.

The run is one of the main reasons for having a trisuit – it has a cycling pad built in, but the pad is smaller and absorbs less water than one in a traditional set of cycling shorts. This means you are able to protect your delicate parts on the ride, but don’t have to run like you’re wearing a soiled nappy while sprinting.

I think the run is probably the discipline in which it is easiest to injure yourself. A lot of us as we get older have grown less flexible, often without realising it, and it is easy to overdo it at any point. One issue that seems to be fairly common to those suddenly starting to run again is Plantar Fasciitis, which feels like the bottom or sides of your foot is cramping up during or after a run.

There are exercises and post run routines that can help (that we will discuss later) but the critical thing is to increase your distance and speed gradually if you can and if you feel any pain or discomfort to take a moment to carefully assess if continuing that particular exercise is going to make things worse. A good rule of thumb shared by many experts is to increase your distance by no more than 10% per run, and let the speed sort itself out, at least until you are running a full 5k.

Once you have hit your target distance, if you still have time, it’s good to work on varying your speed, even over a much shorter distance as part of your training – with the obvious goal to increase your top end, and then gradually extend the amount of time you can run at the new faster speed – again, keep any increase gradual but keep working on getting just a little faster as you do so.

I think the critical thing for me is that I find running on my own tough and miserable. I’ll always try to arrange to run with someone. There are a couple of benefits to this – they are usually faster than me and will drag me along in their wake, and it makes it harder to wake up that morning, think ‘Naaah’, roll over and go back to sleep. I’ve often been surprised at just how willing better runners are to give up their time to help me improve.

My wife is the exact opposite – she would rather run on her own, and her technique when starting up was to make sure she always ran at least three times in a week, no matter how short; she started off with a 2k loop near our house so she could always bail out, and as her confidence grew so did her choice of routes. She particularly liked using an app where at random points you got chase by zombies (audio only, obviously, although if I’d thought about it at the time, talking a few mates into dressing up as zombies and leaping out of the bushes could have been short term hilarious, if medium term marriage threatening), and was spreadsheet obsessed tracking her pace per k and making sure she was inline with the target she had set herself.

There are a lot of techniques people use to get through a run – listening to music is a common one, although I’d be wary about this one if triathlon is your objective, as headphones are banned for most events and it can be different to run on race day without the tools you’ve used to support yourself in training.

I know a lot of people who sing the praises of walk/run (this would not work for me as I just have to keep telling myself that every time I stop it gets easier to stop and every time I don’t it gets easier to not stop) but it certainly seems to help some people improve their speed quickly and safely.

If you have a smartphone or some sort of GPS using fitness device, there’s a good chance you can use Strava, which is an app that lets you track and compare your athletic performance on the routes you use to your historical performance, and to anyone else you may know doing the same thing. I find knowing the pace that I’m running in minutes per kilometre is the most useful thing ever, although I don’t try to run to a set pace on a route I don’t know.

In terms of gear, some people swear by hi tech compression socks and the like, we mentioned sweatbands and visors earlier, but really all you need is a decent pair of shoes with elastic laces. If you can, go buy a pair from a shop that can advise you on what will be best for you and the way you run; then get out there and see how you can improve.

I started off hating running. Now I hate running, but sort of love it too. I’ll never be good at it, but I’m way better than I was for those first few runs.

Key Points:

–          Don’t overdo distance early on.

–          Stretch before running.

–          Parkruns are the exact distance of a Sprint tri run and are free!

–          Run in a proper, modern pair of running shoes.

–          Track your improvement somewhere (probably easiest in an app like Strava).

–          Always Stretch after running as well