With my first, self-defined, running season concluded, it seems this blog has little life remaining. Still, I'll keep writing up my thoughts as and when they come, without forcing the issue. In truth, I've surprised myself in keeping it going for so long. It would appear I have a lot to say on the subject, regardless of whether or not it makes any sense.
For now, I'm happy to look back to some of the defining memories of the last thirteen months. It's difficult to compare the different stages of the journey, but certain moments stand out and are due another mention. The countdown begins here...
5 Breakthrough
I'd been labouring away for around two months, struggling to cover even three miles without regular stoppages and even at slow jogging pace. Head dropped, I entertained the thought of giving it up, since it didn't seem to be going anywhere. Maybe I just wasn't cut out for this running lark. Then it happened; on one defining run last June three miles became four and I was buzzing, with energy in the tank and breathing under control. Before I knew it, I'd hit five miles with only one thought on my mind: keep going. On I went, until I eventually hit the treasured 10k mark. Still at slow speed, but for the first time I'd demonstrated endurance, and loved every minute of it. And there my love for running was born as for the first time I believed what once seemed unthinkable: I can do this.
4 Ramadhan nights
As I embraced the holy month of fasting, I realised this was the period that would define my preparation for my first big race, the Birmingham half marathon in October. With the days so long, my only reasonable option was to hit the roads in the dead of night. I soon became reliant on the eery silence of the Oxford streets in the deep hours and what was once a daunting prospect soon became one of the most uplifting experiences of running.
3 Birmingham Half - The arrival
My mind plagued by injury concerns, I entered the much anticipated race with a heavy dose of scepticism. Could my knee really last 13.1 miles? And would the race really live up to expectations? Within seconds of the start, these negative thoughts were replaced by the ultimate runner's high. My first race, surrounded by 12000 fellow runners in the carnival atmosphere of Birmingham. And boy did it help; to date it remains my most clinical performance, a 1:38 shattering even my wildest expectations. Hype became reality as I delivered on the big stage.
2 Jurata
With my marathon hopes hanging on by a thread, it was all or nothing at the Maths conference in Poland. On paper, I had no chance here; limited food options, disagreeable weather and academic commitments did not form the ideal backdrop for my longest training run. But with the Baltic coastline providing the setting, and weather almost ideal on the day itself, the run manifested itself as sheer joy. The sea, along which most of the run took place, made for some of the most beautiful scenery I've enjoyed. At times I was flying and by the end, I'd made the crucial breakthrough. For the first time, I believed I could beat the marathon.
1 Paris
An epic event in every sense; the culmination of twelve months of blood, sweat, tears and so much more. I left for Paris on Saturday morning and was back by Sunday evening. Everything in between remains a haze except for the race itself. I could not possibly forget the 3:48 journey that led me to a defining moment in my life. The last hour delivered all the promise of the fateful wall and so much more. It's a strangely profound feeling to endure such pain and come out the other side smiling. For all the emotion that running has brought with it, the finish at Avenue Foch was the one time I couldn't hold the tears back. This moment alone was worth all the stress, uncertainty and anguish that came before it. A timely reminder of what one can achieve when their heart desires and their mind wills.
It's curious that these moments are in chronological order, suggesting that as time goes on my experiences with running may become more significant yet. How I will top Paris I don't know. But I can't wait to find out.
Sunday 30 May 2010
Monday 24 May 2010
Finale
I am minutess away from watching the finale of Lost, a moment I have anticipated for years. Following that, 24 will sign off tomorrow; a show I have avidly followed for even longer. Good things are coming to an end; I just hope they both live up to the hype.
I had my own season ending drama in the Coventry half-marathon yesterday. In theory, it was supposed to be a casual homage to my hometown, with the hard work done in Paris weeks ago. But the blistering heat (upwards of thirty degrees) and most gruelling route to date shattered this illusion within the first mile. Regular steep hills, rising temperatures and a bout of stomach pain were just some of the attractions of offer. Every time I settled to a comfortable pace, some other body part would scream out in protest. Throughout, the cardiovascular side was in turmoil as the hot air suffocated my lungs. This is not what I signed up for; running was supposed to be a thing of beauty but every step was sheer agony.
In these moments, my months of training did little to ease things up on the physical side. But distance running is won in the head. If you can honestly convince yourself that you are bigger than the moment, bigger than the race, you may just have a fighting chance. And there was no better way to convince myself than to draw upon my previous experience. Thoughts of the kilomathon flooded back but, above all, the last 10k of Paris. This wasn't any harder than that fateful day, surely? Actually, in many ways it was. Paris was pain, but comfortable breathing. Here, I faced unprecedented conditions, my breathing was out of whack and my muscles felt as fatigued as ever.
It's helpful, almost crucial, to have mantras to call upon in your darkest moments. As I laboured up the hills, I was Lance Armstrong ("pain is temporary but quitting is permamnent"). In the final miles, I was Rocky Balboa, "going the distance". And all the way, the strongest thoughts of stopping were entertained, but not realised. I've prided myself on never stopping, and certainly not during a race. Kurt Russell's "Miracle" speech proved pivotal; if I had ten races in these conditions I'd probably stop in nine. But not this race. In this race, I was the best distance runner of all time.
I came through in 1:48, a far cry from my PB of 1:38, but in many respects this was my most impressive outing. Performances are too easily judged by numbers, but in my mind to get through those 13.1 miles without stopping was up there even with Paris. And so, despite not having the pleasure race I was looking for, to regain that rare the feeling of accomplishment was well worth the blood, sweat, tears and giant blisters.
So the season really is over, but the journey continues. One step at a time, and my next move is simple enough; I will enjoy the next week, get an overdue sports massage and enjoy the moment.
I had my own season ending drama in the Coventry half-marathon yesterday. In theory, it was supposed to be a casual homage to my hometown, with the hard work done in Paris weeks ago. But the blistering heat (upwards of thirty degrees) and most gruelling route to date shattered this illusion within the first mile. Regular steep hills, rising temperatures and a bout of stomach pain were just some of the attractions of offer. Every time I settled to a comfortable pace, some other body part would scream out in protest. Throughout, the cardiovascular side was in turmoil as the hot air suffocated my lungs. This is not what I signed up for; running was supposed to be a thing of beauty but every step was sheer agony.
In these moments, my months of training did little to ease things up on the physical side. But distance running is won in the head. If you can honestly convince yourself that you are bigger than the moment, bigger than the race, you may just have a fighting chance. And there was no better way to convince myself than to draw upon my previous experience. Thoughts of the kilomathon flooded back but, above all, the last 10k of Paris. This wasn't any harder than that fateful day, surely? Actually, in many ways it was. Paris was pain, but comfortable breathing. Here, I faced unprecedented conditions, my breathing was out of whack and my muscles felt as fatigued as ever.
It's helpful, almost crucial, to have mantras to call upon in your darkest moments. As I laboured up the hills, I was Lance Armstrong ("pain is temporary but quitting is permamnent"). In the final miles, I was Rocky Balboa, "going the distance". And all the way, the strongest thoughts of stopping were entertained, but not realised. I've prided myself on never stopping, and certainly not during a race. Kurt Russell's "Miracle" speech proved pivotal; if I had ten races in these conditions I'd probably stop in nine. But not this race. In this race, I was the best distance runner of all time.
I came through in 1:48, a far cry from my PB of 1:38, but in many respects this was my most impressive outing. Performances are too easily judged by numbers, but in my mind to get through those 13.1 miles without stopping was up there even with Paris. And so, despite not having the pleasure race I was looking for, to regain that rare the feeling of accomplishment was well worth the blood, sweat, tears and giant blisters.
So the season really is over, but the journey continues. One step at a time, and my next move is simple enough; I will enjoy the next week, get an overdue sports massage and enjoy the moment.
Sunday 16 May 2010
Speed work
Earlier today I completed the Oxford Town&Gown 10k in a very pleasing time of 44:10. The race was everything I expected; the route mirrored much of my training runs and the tempo was high from the very first step. This made for a difficult race, with my chest tight throughout and no respite until the finish. This is what 10k is all about; if you're not feeling the burn, you simply aren't going fast enough. This presents a fundamentally different challenge to even the half-marathon, where one looks to maintain a decent but comfortable pace.
I've not done much speed work in recent months, aside from some intense sessions on the rowing machine. I'm not keen on pushing myself to the limit of extreme torture, where running becomes a chore. I passed that phase months ago and recognised the beauty of distance running. Still, to break my target of 45 minutes at the first time of asking leads me to wonder just how far I can continue to push my 10k time down. Today's effort was sterling, but far from perfect, with some slow kilometres towards the end.
For now the focus must remain with getting through my last big race of the season; the Coventry half-marathon next Sunday. I was already feeling a little stretched, but after the intense race today I feel almost broken. Almost, but not quite. I may just have a big race left in me and today's performance gives me confidence in setting a good time next week.
I've attempted one of each of the four main distances (10k, half-marathon, kilomathon and full marathon) but now I will embrace the challenge of beating a PB. Since the Birmingham half remains my most clinical performance, I am more hopeful than expectant, but it is the last race of the season, on home turf. Why not?
I've not done much speed work in recent months, aside from some intense sessions on the rowing machine. I'm not keen on pushing myself to the limit of extreme torture, where running becomes a chore. I passed that phase months ago and recognised the beauty of distance running. Still, to break my target of 45 minutes at the first time of asking leads me to wonder just how far I can continue to push my 10k time down. Today's effort was sterling, but far from perfect, with some slow kilometres towards the end.
For now the focus must remain with getting through my last big race of the season; the Coventry half-marathon next Sunday. I was already feeling a little stretched, but after the intense race today I feel almost broken. Almost, but not quite. I may just have a big race left in me and today's performance gives me confidence in setting a good time next week.
I've attempted one of each of the four main distances (10k, half-marathon, kilomathon and full marathon) but now I will embrace the challenge of beating a PB. Since the Birmingham half remains my most clinical performance, I am more hopeful than expectant, but it is the last race of the season, on home turf. Why not?
Thursday 13 May 2010
Nostalgia
Anticipation is building ahead of the Coventry half-marathon on May 23, which will signal the end to my running for this season. Thereafter, I will confine myself to gentle pleasure runs and use the time to address some underlying issues., such as my running gait and upper body strength. I've also signed up for the Oxford Town&Gown 10k, this coming Sunday, most of which will cover my training route. I'm feeling fresh enough, although my body may well cave at any moment.
It is strange then that my mind is consumed with poignant thoughts of a more optimistic time. This bizarre turn of events in my head was triggered on Tuesday night, following victory at the university Pool tournament. The St Anne's college team has been on a journey for four years; starting in the depths of the fourth division and rising to the summit last year, finishing 3rd in the top flight. The real glory lies with Cuppers though; the World Cup of Oxford University Pool. Following a devastating defeat in last year's quarter finals, under my captaincy, this year really was our last chance saloon, since all but two of the original eight man squad will no longer be at St Anne's next year. With the departure of my doubles partner Ed, our best player and only Cuppers winner (a mixed doubles champion), expectations were tempered, yet we eased our way to through the group stages as top seeds.
After a solid run to the semis, we hosted the unbeaten favourites, St Johns, and came through a tense 7-5 battle. In the final on Tuesday we faced our conquerors Keble from last year and avenged our bitter defeat, clinching a 7-5 win to take the honours. I won Varsity recently but it simply did not compare to this moment. All our hard work and passion came down to this one, final chance, and boy did we grab it with both hands.
After the initial euphoria died down, I dreamt a dream of times gone by. I realised this was my final great Pool moment, and there have been may of them, for the joy of playing with such a wonderful and talented group of people can not be matched. I've had my time, and what a great time, but now I must move on. My future Pool career is plunged in doubt, but for now I've signed off in true style with my first winner's trophy.
On Wednesday I hosted the annual St Anne's Mathematics dinner, introducing the guest speaker Hiten Patel. A colleague of mine during our undergraduate days with whom I have formed a fond friendship over the years. His spirit and energy during the evening, in both his talk and the dinner, reminded me of those glory years of my undergraduate days where I was full of love and passion for my subject, whilst being surrounded by some of my closest friends.
Great days indeed, and I will never reach those heights in Oxford again. With my zest for the subject waning and my passions diverted elsewhere to running, Pool and whatever else, I feel I am unable to fulfill whatever potential I have in my current role. Teaching will always offer a profound sense of accomplishment and the PhD itself will prove a defining achievement if I ever complete it, but my approach is nothing more than graft at this stage. I yearn for the fire to burn within me once more, a fire that running has kept alight but which needs re-igniting with a major attitude shift. I must accept that I need to get out and re-define my goals, as I do not belong in the academic world.
To answer the frequently posed question, I have little to no idea where to go beyond Oxford. This place is all I've known for the last seven years and I need more reflection before I commit to a lifelong career. I refuse to submit to a generic role. There are certain goals I will not back down on, like raising the ambition of the youth, and any career I settle on must leave scope for me to do this. If that means it takes a little longer or some creative thinking to get there so be it. I'm all about the flair.
For now, I'll content myself with the 10k on Sunday. With the absence of music (no iPods etc allowed!) it may not be my most joyous run, but a sub 45 minute excursion will make the medal feel well deserved.
It is strange then that my mind is consumed with poignant thoughts of a more optimistic time. This bizarre turn of events in my head was triggered on Tuesday night, following victory at the university Pool tournament. The St Anne's college team has been on a journey for four years; starting in the depths of the fourth division and rising to the summit last year, finishing 3rd in the top flight. The real glory lies with Cuppers though; the World Cup of Oxford University Pool. Following a devastating defeat in last year's quarter finals, under my captaincy, this year really was our last chance saloon, since all but two of the original eight man squad will no longer be at St Anne's next year. With the departure of my doubles partner Ed, our best player and only Cuppers winner (a mixed doubles champion), expectations were tempered, yet we eased our way to through the group stages as top seeds.
After a solid run to the semis, we hosted the unbeaten favourites, St Johns, and came through a tense 7-5 battle. In the final on Tuesday we faced our conquerors Keble from last year and avenged our bitter defeat, clinching a 7-5 win to take the honours. I won Varsity recently but it simply did not compare to this moment. All our hard work and passion came down to this one, final chance, and boy did we grab it with both hands.
After the initial euphoria died down, I dreamt a dream of times gone by. I realised this was my final great Pool moment, and there have been may of them, for the joy of playing with such a wonderful and talented group of people can not be matched. I've had my time, and what a great time, but now I must move on. My future Pool career is plunged in doubt, but for now I've signed off in true style with my first winner's trophy.
On Wednesday I hosted the annual St Anne's Mathematics dinner, introducing the guest speaker Hiten Patel. A colleague of mine during our undergraduate days with whom I have formed a fond friendship over the years. His spirit and energy during the evening, in both his talk and the dinner, reminded me of those glory years of my undergraduate days where I was full of love and passion for my subject, whilst being surrounded by some of my closest friends.
Great days indeed, and I will never reach those heights in Oxford again. With my zest for the subject waning and my passions diverted elsewhere to running, Pool and whatever else, I feel I am unable to fulfill whatever potential I have in my current role. Teaching will always offer a profound sense of accomplishment and the PhD itself will prove a defining achievement if I ever complete it, but my approach is nothing more than graft at this stage. I yearn for the fire to burn within me once more, a fire that running has kept alight but which needs re-igniting with a major attitude shift. I must accept that I need to get out and re-define my goals, as I do not belong in the academic world.
To answer the frequently posed question, I have little to no idea where to go beyond Oxford. This place is all I've known for the last seven years and I need more reflection before I commit to a lifelong career. I refuse to submit to a generic role. There are certain goals I will not back down on, like raising the ambition of the youth, and any career I settle on must leave scope for me to do this. If that means it takes a little longer or some creative thinking to get there so be it. I'm all about the flair.
For now, I'll content myself with the 10k on Sunday. With the absence of music (no iPods etc allowed!) it may not be my most joyous run, but a sub 45 minute excursion will make the medal feel well deserved.
Sunday 2 May 2010
Pool of talent
In most pursuits, I consider myself a grafter, having to make the most of the limited skill I have to reach my full potential. A notable exception is Pool, where I have no hesitancy in saying I am blessed with a touch of raw talent. This is seldom enough though and having not picked up my cue for over three months, expectations were low going into Varsity week.
I scraped my way through trials with some consistent but uninspiring play, littered with errors characteristic of a man out of practise. Having made the team, just three days ahead of the match, I had little time to sharpen my tools. Still, I could do no worse than last year when, after winning the trials, I succumbed to a dismal 0-3, 0-3 showing in the singles (there was some redemption with 3-0 in doubles).
This year threatened to end up even worse as my erratic form manifested in some wonderful shot making, but ultimately reduced me to another 0-3 on singles. With Oxford 30-18 up overnight, it seemed the match was in the bag but with my contribution a nonentity. On the second day, at 0-2 down in the doubles, my fortunes reversed as I negotiated a decent clearance. With my second singles clash to come, Cambridge had clawed their way back into contention.
My kamikaze approach finally paid off, with some flair, unorthodox speed play unsettling my opponent into unforced errors. After finally getting my first Varsity singles frame on the board, I kicked on to win the exchange 3-0. Utter relief and sheer joy. Sweet enough in itself; the demons of last year (which ended 45-45, meaning Cambridge held on to their title) firmly put to bed. To add the cherry, this final frame took Oxford over the line and won us back the title after a six year wait.
I pride myself on my entertaining and thoroughly unpredictable kamikaze approach. It makes for nervy viewing for teammates, and often has tragic consequences, but I feel Pool should be played with instinct and not over-thought. It's interesting how this is in stark contrast to my approach to running; which is far more considered. My strength here is with consistency and discipline, a mantra echoed by a good friend. Rarely do I sprint or speed up, instead maintaining a punishing pace from the first mile. With Pool, all bets are off with my no nonsense mentality.
Perhaps my enjoyment and success with running could be transferred to Pool by invoking this degree of patience into my game. However, Pool has ceased to be a priority in recent times, with practise limited at best and motivation often scarce. My involvement peaked last year as I reached the heights of the university team, whilst captaining my college to promotion to the top flight. In the end, it had to make way for running; a decision which cost me form this year but which I do not regret in the slightest. This Varsity triumph, and forthcoming tournament matches with college may well resurrect my interest in the wonderful game.
I scraped my way through trials with some consistent but uninspiring play, littered with errors characteristic of a man out of practise. Having made the team, just three days ahead of the match, I had little time to sharpen my tools. Still, I could do no worse than last year when, after winning the trials, I succumbed to a dismal 0-3, 0-3 showing in the singles (there was some redemption with 3-0 in doubles).
This year threatened to end up even worse as my erratic form manifested in some wonderful shot making, but ultimately reduced me to another 0-3 on singles. With Oxford 30-18 up overnight, it seemed the match was in the bag but with my contribution a nonentity. On the second day, at 0-2 down in the doubles, my fortunes reversed as I negotiated a decent clearance. With my second singles clash to come, Cambridge had clawed their way back into contention.
My kamikaze approach finally paid off, with some flair, unorthodox speed play unsettling my opponent into unforced errors. After finally getting my first Varsity singles frame on the board, I kicked on to win the exchange 3-0. Utter relief and sheer joy. Sweet enough in itself; the demons of last year (which ended 45-45, meaning Cambridge held on to their title) firmly put to bed. To add the cherry, this final frame took Oxford over the line and won us back the title after a six year wait.
I pride myself on my entertaining and thoroughly unpredictable kamikaze approach. It makes for nervy viewing for teammates, and often has tragic consequences, but I feel Pool should be played with instinct and not over-thought. It's interesting how this is in stark contrast to my approach to running; which is far more considered. My strength here is with consistency and discipline, a mantra echoed by a good friend. Rarely do I sprint or speed up, instead maintaining a punishing pace from the first mile. With Pool, all bets are off with my no nonsense mentality.
Perhaps my enjoyment and success with running could be transferred to Pool by invoking this degree of patience into my game. However, Pool has ceased to be a priority in recent times, with practise limited at best and motivation often scarce. My involvement peaked last year as I reached the heights of the university team, whilst captaining my college to promotion to the top flight. In the end, it had to make way for running; a decision which cost me form this year but which I do not regret in the slightest. This Varsity triumph, and forthcoming tournament matches with college may well resurrect my interest in the wonderful game.
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