Romance and running

So yesterday was Valentine's Day. I kicked off the day not with breakfast in bed or an exchange of cards and chocs, but with a six-mile run. It was a bit of a strange one as I had decided that because it was to be an early morning outing I should plan my route before I set off. I duly charted a nice run using Google Maps, but as I reached the halfway point of my pre-planned route I realised that I had had a bit of a ditzy moment and measured the course in kilometres not miles. Derrrr.

Rather than being almost home I suddenly had to re-route to tack on another three miles. I ended up on a less than scenic and punishingly uphill route past the local dump and across a busy road or two. Not the nice dawn run through the prettier parts of North London I had planned for this romantic day.

The end result was that I got home hot, sweaty and none to happy. That all changed as I pushed open the door and found a card with my name on it waiting on the doormat. My lovely husband had taken the opportunity of me exiting the house to run to set up a gorgeously romantic breakfast for me.

There were glittery rose shaped candles floating in a pretty bowl, Bucks Fizz sparkling a flute, red roses and the delicious smell of baking croissants. What a perfect post run feast, although I did swap the booze for a glass of milk and I have never scoffed a pastry faster than that crumbly warm croissant.

The only slight downside to all this romance post run was that rather than staring across the table at his beautiful wife, the object of my husband's affections was a sweaty, tired and Lycra clad sight. Still I am hoping this means he loves me no matter how much of a fright I look, which means I am in with a chance of a hug to celebrate post marathon.

Running addiction

When I first took up running it was with the vague aim of getting fit and losing a bit of weight. Little did I know that within the year I would become an addict. Perhaps it is due to my obsessive personality, or perhaps it is just because I haven't had a hobby I was truly passionate about since the long off days when I was a pony mad pre-teen.

Either way I swiftly morphed from a weekend jogger happy to shuffle around the park, water bottle swinging in my hand and sweat dripping off my brow, into some kind of nutter who is never happier than when contemplating their next running-based challenge.

This morning I reeled off the list of races I have signed up to this year - one marathon, two half marathons, a 15K race, an 8.2 mile race and a 10K trail run, I am also registered for another half marathon and am contemplating doing a 5K Race for Life with my sister in the summer. I think the time has come to admit that this is about a whole lot more than just keeping fit.

During the two weeks I had off running thanks to my calf strain I felt a dark depression begin to take hold. At the time I put it down to fears about my training schedule going to pot and ruining my chances of making it round the marathon. Now I rather suspect that it was simply withdrawal symptoms.

Nothing seems to put me off running. I have been out in all weather - snow, rain, ice cold wind. Going on holiday doesn't call a halt to proceedings - I ran on a boiling hot beach in Florida, along the beautiful Northumberland coastline and in Central Park in New York. Sickness and injury does put me out of action, but a mere hangover will not stop me in my tracks and yesterday I rather queasily sweated my way through a four-mile run with a pounding head and rolling stomach.

Those who don't run, simply do not get it. But for me running has woven it's way into who I am. It has made me proud of myself in a way I had not felt for a long time, it's made me braver and more confident, it has taught me how to dig deep and keep going and the value of constantly challenging yourself. So an addict I may be, but this is one habit I do not intend to break.

Run, fat girl, run

I know a lot of people take up running as a means to lose weight, but I appear to be the first person in the world to take up marathon training and immediately begin to pile on the pounds. When I ran a reasonable 40 mins to an hour two or three times a week, combined with a few gym workouts and core conditioning sessions I consistently lost weight, shedding over six stone in the space of a year.

Well done me, but then I entered the marathon and upped my running in order to train for the massive challenge I had set myself. I imagined that by running 10 or 11 miles regularly, and burning around 1,000 calories in the process, the weight would fall off me. I would acquire the lean and honed body of a long distance runner and finally shed the last 4lbs I have been battling with for the past few months.

How wrong can you be? Instead I have put on around half a stone in the space of about two weeks since my training began in earnest. I credit this to a lethal cocktail of sub-zero temperatures that lead me to want to do nothing more than eat comforting, warming (read fattening) food and the hunger that comes upon you after a long run in the freezing cold.

I have trained myself to be pretty good a resisting all that yummy food we all love to indulge in. I spent a year turning down cakes, crisps and all that refined junk I know makes me fat. But when I ran in after doing 11 miles in the snow yesterday the coffee birthday cake left over from the twins' party was singing to me to eat it up. I felt that I deserved it after my ice cold run and gave in to its siren song.

This morning as I stood on the scales which had inched up yet again I regretted my weakness. Far from a lithe frame, I am worried that I will be dragging a fat girl around the course come April 22nd.

Clearly all the guff about calories in and calories out has bypassed my metabolism and it doesn't matter how far I run, I still have to live on lentils and grilled chicken if I want to ensure that my size 10 jeans will still slip on after the marathon - BOO!

Making tracks in the snow

If you read this blog you will know that I have been out of action with a calf strain for a while, which has been hindering my marathon training. This week was my first back and I have been doing well on my new schedule. I managed 10 miles over the same route that killed my calf on Friday, so I was feeling a touch more confident about staying the course.

That was until snow struck London. Normally I love the white stuff. It's the perfect excuse to stay tucked up and cosy indoors and I can't help but feel a little bit festive when the landscape is quilted in snow. But this weekend I was determined to stick to the plan which meant a 4-mile run today. Not a huge distance, but I still don't want to miss a single training session out after losing two weeks to my mangled calf.

I went to bed last night watching the flakes whirl in the yellow light of the streetlamp outside our window. I woke up to see the park behind the house blanketed in a soft, white down of snow. The branches of the tree that towers outside our house were bowing under the weight the flakes, occasionally jettisoning a load onto an unsuspecting passerby.

Usually the park is packed with runners on a Sunday morning. This morning I saw a sole jogger battling his way through the drifts as kids built snowmen and threw snowballs all around him. What, I wondered, should I do? I desperately wanted to run, but equally I know what damage an injury can do to a tight training schedule so I didn't want to take an unnecessary risk.

In the end with some encouragement from friends on Facebook I decided to brave the elements, strap my Yaktrax Pro onto my trail shoes and get out of the house. I am so glad I did. I stepped high like a gazelle over the drifts made by people clearing their drives and trotted an easy four and a half miles around the local park, transformed from its usual bland urban green space into a wonderland of ice, snow and friendly locals enjoying the weather.

I only saw one other pair of runners, gingerly picking their way around a playing field, but I felt all warm and cosy inside that I was a serious enough runner to make it out come hell or high snow drifts (OK around 10cm, but that is big for London). It was a joyous run and no injury occurred, so a positive result all round. Best of all I am still bang on track with my training. Hurrah.

Now that's dedication

I know that for ultramarathon runners who think nothing of tackling a 100-mile slog across desert or arctic plains, training up rocky hill and down bog-ridden dale this morning's Siberian temperatures would have been as nothing.

For this recreational runner though pounding the pavements as the icy wind crept under my hat and my breath rose in crystalline clouds in front of me proved my dedication to running. I will admit that as I couldn't feel my fingers, toes or the tip of my nose I did rather wonder just why I was out on this ice cold morning. It was bloody freezing.

Then I rounded the corner and stepped into in a golden patch of sunlight. For a moment a shred of warmth licked at my running tights and I glanced up into the aqua blue sky to see a brave sun glaring out onto this cold day. OK, this was why I was out and about, because stuck in my house I would never have been able to savour the fleeting warm caress of the sunshine, made all the more delicious by the bone chilling temperature of the day.

It reminded me of skiing holidays when you are just about to throw your poles down in disgust as the cold in your feet has gradually turned to an insistent burning pain, but then you are gripped by the magnificent beauty of the mountains, stark white against the ice blue sky and suddenly you are glad you aren't dug down deep beneath a warm duvet.

That said on skiing holidays there are usually 1,001 reasons other than the cold why I want to down poles and retreat to a warm cafe for a vin chaude. But that is because I have learned through bitter experience that vertigo and a generally nervous disposition around slippery surfaces means that I am not a natural when it comes to winter sports.

While I admire my dedication for sticking with programme even in sub-zero temperatures, I do rather long for warmer days, when I don't have to dress up like an eskimo to go out for a run, and when it doesn't take me most of the time I am out just to warm up. Brrr.

Running v's training

Running is the time when I am most at peace. When I am over that first half hour of warming up and getting into my stride. When my breathing is even and steady, my legs are pumping steadily and my mind has relaxed into that trance like state brought on by a good run.

I can take in my surroundings. The trees bare of their leaves, dark branches slicing the white grey winter sky. The pavement dusted with a glittering sprinkle of frost, blades of grass frozen to attention around crackled icy puddles. I can peek into windows watching life going by, I can glance into shop windows and wonder idly if I would suit the sequin party dress displayed with pride in one of the boutiques I regularly pass.

When the weather is good I can run across the fields. Cows grazing and dog walkers nodding a cheerful hello. I can dodge the ruts and navigate woodland paths, glimpsing secret dens build deep within the canopy by some enterprising little boys. Picking my way over wonky tree trunk bridges thrown up over trickling brooks and squeezing through stiles that bar my path.

If there are problems in my life they seem to melt away and answers flow without the usual everyday distractions clogging up my thought processes. These are some of the reasons why I love to run.

But since entering the marathon I have stopped running for the pure joy of it and instead begun to 'train'. Rather than setting off with a vague route and time in mind, but never mind if I don't make it or decide to be distracted off by some mysterious foot path, now I have a schedule printed in black and white on the back of my office door. I have a wall calendar that I fill out diligently with miles run and training sessions completed.

I not only run, but I work out, train with my PT, practise Pilates and spend hours doing stretching, foam rolling, flexibility and strength work on my own. I still feel slightly pressured that I am not doing enough (thought the upside is that my body is about as good as you can expect after having four kids, one a set of rather enormous twins).

I dreamed of entering a marathon, but now I am scared that it is ruining my running. Not only has it left me with a injury that makes me nervous to forge ahead, it has also taken away the spontaneity and pleasure of running, turning it almost into a chore.

While I am still looking forward to my marathon, I must admit that I am also looking forward to being able to go back to being a simple runner, not a marathon runner.

Running free?

I have been amazed by the number of friends who tell me that they want to take up running. It is a veritable craze at the moment. I of all people understand the attraction. It is a flexible form of exercise that gets you fit out in the fresh air, but one thing about running that I have found to be rather a false promise is that it is free.

Running, in my experience, can be a very expensive pursuit. For starters you must have the right shoes. Be they trainers or barefoot they will cost you, in fact the more minimalist the shoe often the higher the price. Even a basic pair of running shoes costs around £50, but you can easily find the price tag rising to over £100, particularly if you have any special requirements.

Oh and that is always assuming you stick with just one pair of shoes. If you run off-road then a pair of trail shoes is a good investment, so that's another £50-60 gone just on your feet. Though silly me, I had forgotten socks. It is no good just pulling on a manky pair of tennis socks, you need special anti-blister, cushioned supportive socks for around a tenner a pair.

You can even buy special laces for your shoes that mean you will never have to stop and tie them again. The only hitch is that these cost around £10 too. So just cladding out your feet can easily see you shelling out over £200.

Next there is the kit. Admittedly when I first started running I just went in shorts and a T-shirt. But as you start to run more often and in varying conditions your running wardrobe expands exponentially. I now have a wide array of clothes from long tights, capris, shorts, vests, jackets, a fleece, T-shirts with sleeves both long and short, gloves, hats and hair bands plus a high-viz vest for night runs.

Even though I am a bargain shopper when it comes to running kit, I blush to think how much that little lot cost, but I would guess that we are once again in the £200-300 region, and I am probably being pretty conservative in that estimate.

Next up is the more esoteric kit. The special water belts for long runs, GPS watch to track your pace and milage, gels, supplements and sports drinks so you can reach peak potential. Another £150 gone here and rising as I experiment with all those potions to make me run faster and longer ahead of the marathon.

What can really rack up the cost is injury though. So far physio sessions for my strained calf have cost me and my insurance company over £200 and if I had opted for the orthotics the clinic was understandably keen to push on me I could easily have doubled that. Not to mention Biofreeze gel, calf sleeve and foam roller all purchased to help ease the pain. Or the generosity of my chiropractor friend who donated her expert services in return for a bottle of red wine.

Then there are all the race entries. At £15-25 for a 10K race this is quite manageable, but once you get into longer more prestigious races the costs rise up and up. I was idly browsing a brochure that promised you entry to the New York Marathon at a mere £2,500 per person.

Of course this is without all the peripheral training you need to enhance your running. A jog around the park is all very well, but to get the best from running you need to do strength and core training. At the very least this requires buying equipment, but really you need a gym membership and ideally a personal trainer and a few Pilates sessions thrown in for good measure.

I am lucky I can cadge equipment from the other half who runs Gorilla Sports, my trainer is very generous with his time in support of a good cause, ditto my Pilates teacher. But if I were to tot up all their services I would be looking at hundreds and hundreds of pounds.

So is running free? Don't make me laugh, it's one of the most expensive sports I've ever indulged it. But from the highs of a sunny cross country run to the body it has honed from the fat lump I started out as, from the incredible experiences and people it has introduced me to, to the unbeatable exhilaration of crossing a race finish line, so far it's been worth every penny.