Shoe Review - Saucony Mirage 2

Shiny. Speedy.

My first pair of running shoes was a Gold pair of Saucony Paramounts. I loved those shoes. But when I changed from an over-pronator to a neutral strike, they were no longer an option. For the last few years I’ve been a faithful bedfellow to the Mizuno Wave Riders (even the seemingly universally despised 14s).

This summer I took the decision to get some ‘speedy’ shoes for interval training/tempo runs and went for the Brooks Launch. It’s been a great shoe, but I have to admit that the Saucony Kinvara 3s have been making me drool since their launch. Then I also found out they are about to discontinue the Brooks Launch. Now, I have become quite attached to my Brooks over the summer - even ran my PB in them at the Bristol HM, so I’m kind of loathed to move onto something else.

Whilst away in Portugal, Nick and Phoebe had extolled the virtues of a lower heel-to-toe drop, sparking my fire to get some Kinvaras after all. However, I’m conscious that it is probably not a good idea to go from a 10mm drop to a 4mm drop light shoe straight away. Phoebe had mentioned the Mirage’s and a bit more research when I got home showed they were pretty much the Kinvara with a bit more support.

Whilst browsing for some other shoes at Royles in Wilmslow (Great Shop) I noticed they had some Mirage 2s in. I tried to resist, failed, and duly walked out with a shopping back in hand. 

To say I was weary of the low drop would be an understatement, but I thought I’d try them out on a Monday run, nice and relaxed and not too far. I slipped them on and headed out into the night.

Well, it was love at first step. This is a damn fast, comfortable running shoe.

I found myself flying along without really realising it, gliding along without a care in the world. My feet felt light yet so well supported. The best analogy I can come up with is that it was like driving a Bentley – Speedy and Luxurious.

The construction of the shoe nudges you into thinking about your running. I noticed the placing of my foot a lot more than in a tradition shoe. I was also conscious of my mid-forefoot strike and worked to keep it up for the whole run.

I’ve now had a couple of runs in these bad boys, and I know I’m a fan. I can see me running some fast times with these on my feet. The Mirage 2 gest big thumbs up from me and I’ve brought a pair of Ride5s to see how they go for steady runs, but I’ve only had one run in them so far, so it is a bit early to comment.

It’s good to be back in Saucony.

Autumn Fog

It was the first XC meet of the season today, this was going to be a Race Report post, but to be honest it could be written as one word – Meh.

Race was okay, although really tough. It was almost impossible to settle into a pace and I paid for it on the last lap. Instead of all my solo running, I’ve managed to do a few of my sessions recently with the squad, so it’s hard when the guys you train with shoot off into the distance and there’s nothing you can do to claw it back.

Training and racing elsewhere has it’s benefits for those of a fragile ego. But running near your limits and reaching that bit high isn’t there to massage to one’s ego. It’s a bitter pill to swallow at times.

To be honest, I probably reaped what I had sown the night before as some of the squad had met up on Lark Lane for a few drinks. I’m not solely going to be blaming alcohol though, it’s a symptom of a mini-malaise I’ve found myself in since Bristol.

I think having the training camp followed by the race weekend made a bit of a crescendo and I’ve come down to Earth with a bit of a bump. This, mixed in with a VERY busy week in work didn’t set me up well for racing today. But what happens happens; you learn from it and move on.

If anything, today has given me a little kick up the backside that I need. I think I’ve been guilty of taking my eye off the prize – comforting myself that XC would solve everything. There’s a lot of background work as well though. I think my legs are missing the double days, and although the ‘key’ sessions of speedwork, hills and long runs have been going well, I’ve been lacking with the all important base work. The easy miles and recovery runs have either been run too fast or without the respect they deserve.

Also, my diet has gone to shit lately. My hydration levels have been dreadful and there’s a subtle difference between eating guilt-free and shoving any old crap down your gullet, thinking “it doesn’t matter I’m running 50 miles this week” – I’m putting crap in and getting crap out.

So at the risk of turning into one of the “Tomorrow People” I wrote about a few months ago, only I can change this and get back into the groove.

Next week’s XC race is going to go a lot better. Mark My Words.

Sabotage

I had a great long run yesterday, 2 hours of steady work split into 1 hour loops. I was running ‘easy’ but I was also conscious in the back of my head that 7:30 pace would make the maths very easy – 8mph. Glad to say I was pretty much spot on,  with the final total being 16.2 miles – a slight negative split. The last few miles were slightly harder work, but I didn’t look at my watch and so hadn’t realised that my speed had actually increased! 

However, the purpose of this post isn’t to talk about the run; it’s actually to talk about what I did after. By the evening I was feeling pretty grotty. My legs were aching and I’d lacked energy all day - a bit of autumn pruning in the garden had almost finished me off. Lying on the couch (admittedly glass of wine in hand) I realised that I’d actually sabotaged my own day. All the things that we are taught as runners on the necessity of good recovery had gone out of the window. The truth was that after returning from the run, we had headed over to a local cafe for a full English (“hey I’ve just done 16 miles, I deserve it” you say to yourself) followed by lots of sitting on the sofa, not hydrating properly and then tucking into the alcohol in the evening. It was a proper face-plant moment.

Artist's impression of the Crime Scene. This is what Lust looks like.

Now I’m not saying that we should all live like monks, but If I’d come back and taken the time to properly hydrate and rest, maybe loosen the legs with a massage/foam roller, wear loose & relaxed clothing instead of jeans, or put on my compression tights, I probably would have felt a lot better instead of grumping round the house like a bear with a sore head. It’s the little things we do to ourselves which often make the difference between success and failure.

We all fall off the wagon occasionally, but we have to accept that sometimes we actually throw ourselves off, under the wheels and let the horses trample over us. 

Then we get up and wonder why it hurts.

One Year On

It was almost exactly a year ago that I stood with Steve and watched the multitudes complete the Liverpool Marathon. I’d been out of the running world for a couple of years, but had been following the training of a few people I knew – most notably my cousins Karen and Jamie and a friend from school, Jay. Their commitment to training had been nothing short of inspirational, and I was keen to cheer them on.

As we were waiting by the entrance to Sefton Park, the runners started coming through. The leaders glided by with seemly little effort and the faster club runners powered by on their way to medal-dom and glory. As successive waves of runners passed by the effort levels on people’s faces increased bit-by-bit. My over riding feeling watching the runners go by was that of admiration. As you may know, it’s no small decision to run a marathon, much less to train through the hot summer for one. It least the chilly mornings of winter training can provide welcome cooling on long runs, the thought to a punishing sun on a 20-miler makes me wince. 

Amongst the endless mass of running vests passing by, the blue and white hoops of Liverpool Running Club flashed by and it was good to see so many old team mates from my former running days. As they passed by quite a few of them shouted “whay aren’t you doing this?!?”. They had a point, but I was far too into my rowing to have any time to marathon training. A sixty mile commute to Chester doesn’t mix well with pounding the pavements.

My running had been slightly resurrected with a nice Saturday morning jog with Mike after Saturday Morning training. If I was honest with myself, I was starting to enjoy those runs more than I was enjoying the boatwork. My time as a rower was starting to seem like a Moby Dick-style quest for Novice glory. It seemed crazy to be saying to others “yeah, this is my third Dee head”. Suppose it may be impatience, but I was starting to think “what’s it all for?”

So back to the Marathon

The black and white kit of Penny Lane Striders was instantly recognisable. I’d known a couple of members (ex-BMFers) and was always impressed at their showing at local races. Watching them all sail by, the thought flashed across my mind “Why not give running another go?”

In my mind, Rowing was a lot of toil and heartache for flashes of good technique, whereas running meant just getting out and freedom. I’ve since realised the erroneous nature of this view, but that’s a post for another time.

This thought wouldn’t go away and watching more and more runners go by it only pounded stronger in my head. As we left to go home I realised that a seed had been planted in my head and it wasn’t going to go away. I found myself very quiet for the rest of the day.

The following Tuesday was my first session with PLS. You know the rest…

Race Report - Bristol HM

Ship Shape and Bristol Fashion

Well it seems the summer is finally over for me. The running of the Bristol Half Marathon at the weekend marked the end of an extraordinary couple of weeks in which I challenged myself more than I ever thought possible, and I don’t just mean the time on my legs.

Bristol is the first time in a long while that I’ve been focused on a particular race. It wasn’t a stressful as it could have been, but when you’re telling people you’re looking to do about 1:32, they immediately jump on the sub-90 train, and you try in vain to convince people that’s not what you’re after. Maybe I was a little, but in order to do that I was going to have to run further and a greater speed than I ever had before. The threshold work I’ve been doing has been broken down into 20-30 minute blocks. This would be running at that pace for an hour and a half. I tried, but couldn’t reconcile that in my head. This was what made me nervous more than anything else. I had visions of getting to 6 miles and dying a horrible slow death on the course, in front of all the spectators.

We travelled down on Saturday, enjoying the hospitality of the official Race hotel. There was a meal and presentation for the elite athletes to which Steve and I went along. Usual runners grub of chicken, pasta, vegetables and APPLE CRUMBLE NOMNOMNOM, although I steered clear of the wine on offer *gasp*. It was great to see the RWU crowd again, and it calmed my nerves a lot chatting to Carl and Agata at dinner. It brought it all home to me when Carl said “Just think, the winner of the race is sitting in this room right now” *GULP*. Amongst the assembled athletes was Steve Way, my running idol. I kick myself now, but I wish I’d gone up for a hello, autograph, anything! But my mind was on other things.

After the meal, the RWU crew gathered downstairs for a last briefing with Nick and Phoebe. If you thought Fawcett’s speeches were inspirational, blimey this was something else! Just the right amount of quiet fire building in the belly, to make you think “I can do this”. 

Basically, he told us to smash the race’s back doors in. I *may* be paraphrasing slightly.

*snigger*

I didn’t get the best night’s sleep. I woke up at 4.30am and struggled to sleep after that. I realised I was starving hungry and so at 5.30am I was sat on the end of my bed eating a banana. Steve had commented that I hadn’t eaten a lot compared to some others. I think the nerves had suppressed my appetite, but it’s something I need to remember for the future. After a rather subdued breakfast – earlier risers than us had finished off the porridge, so I had my usual muesli and toast; it was time to make our way over to the course. 

We dropped the bags off and it was then time to say goodbye to Steve and head over the start pen. Via 3 loo stops – nervous, me? I had a white number which meant going off in the first wave, probably near the front. However, my first thought on arrival at the start pen was “There must be some mistake?!” as everyone in that pen looked VERY fit and fast. It was club runner-tastic all round, and I wasn’t used to standing in such a clearly defined set of (dare I say good?) runners. However fast you think you go, everyone around always seems to be much faster! There was that usual start line aroma you get in the pens – a heady mixture of sweaty bodies, nerves and sprinkling of pent-up aggression. The time ticked round slowly to 9.30am and it was time for the off.

The gun went and everyone shot off as usual at blistering pace, I got a shout out from Nick over the tannoy as I passed the start line which was nice. I knew the first mile or two would be about warming up and settling in so it didn’t bother me that people were passing me at this point. Someone behind shouted “Come on you sub 90 runners, pick it up”, but I was in it for the long game. Cracking off 6:30s at this point wasn’t going to help anyone and so I concentrated on my own race. At the end of the first mile I regret not having one last safety before the start, there was a light pressure in my bladder and I had to get rid of it. Luckily, as we passed the two mile mark there was a little side area I made a dart for. It must have been the signal for others as I got going again, as loads of others had the same idea. My original plan was to split the race up into 4 lots of 5k, with the first 5k being easy. I had two gels for 30mins and at the 1 hour mark, and I was going to use the water stations for cooling, without taking too much liquid on. I remember thinking to myself “Have faith in your plan, you know it worked in Portugal”. After the second mile marker was past I found my stride and settled into what felt like a race pace. I know what my Threshold feels like and this was close. It felt comfortable, but I had no idea how long I was going to be able to keep it up for.

Seeing the elites coming back the other way was so inspirational, they were flying and being able to cheer Simon and Carl on gave me an unexpected boost. At that moment I realised just how good I felt, my body was relaxed and didn’t feel like it was working too hard. It was only slight but heading out of the city it was a slight uphill, I was banking that in my head as it would be downhill on the way back and I could use it to my advantage. 

The first big test of my plan, ignoring the first water station, had gone without any kind of mental hitch. I knew I didn’t need it at that point and it would be in just the right place coming back. Now I was ignoring the Gel station. It was MY plan and I was in control. 

Heading back into Bristol I noticed I was running well, upright and relaxed just as we had been taught in Portugal. I noticed others were sitting back on their hips and acting as their own brake. I love learning stuff like that! I also noticed I was passing people quite comfortably. Usually I pick on a vest and then watch it slowly go further and further into the distance until I have to pick another. This time, I was having to pick out other vests as I was passing them, a great feeling. I felt my watch beep a mile marker and I had a quick peek at the pace (my first I might add Nick!) 6:50-something looked back at me. I couldn’t escape the fact that I was on 1:30 pace and feeling good, but I took the info for what it was, just a bit of info and nothing more. I continued on, cooling down at the water station just as we were taught in the Algarve.

Not long after that I saw Agata coming the other way and gave her a shout. It was great to see her running strongly as well, although I berated myself a bit of enthusiastic cheering as it was when I did that in London that I started to tire! But it was worth it :-D

We headed back into Bristol and the miles kept ticking off. I was reliant on my watch for them as there weren’t many mile markers on the roads (something for next year Bristol?). After a couple of up-and-overs on the roads we were heading back to the city centre. Around the hour mark I felt my effort level start to increase, but it was gel time soon enough and I got a boost from that.

Once back in the city centre, I wasn’t so sure of the route we were going to take, but the size of the crowds was immense in places. “Quick, Spectators, Look Good” thundered in my head, nod to the Rowers. We weaved and ducked around the streets and it was all a bit disorientating. I was keeping my pace up but it was becoming hard work. At the briefing they had mentioned a hill near the end so I knew I had to keep something in reserve.

About 10 miles in I head two blokes behind me:

“Looks like we’re on for sub 90 here”

Me - NOOOOOOOOOOO!

I really didn’t want to hear that. You know the drill; about 50 miles of effort added themselves onto my legs. And that’s when the hills started.

 

I can only describe the last two miles of the course as a complete mindfuck. I didn’t have a clue where I was or what was coming up. Maybe my definition of a hill is different to others but there were a lot more than one! My mind was starting to unravel and I was desperately trying to keep back on course.  I know the marshals are only trying to help, but shouting “only a mile and a half to go” when there’s still over two miles left on your watch, really doesn’t help matters, not when you are staring over the abyss. I know it’s a case of mind over matter as when I pulled myself together and got motoring again I was back up to full speed, so its not like there was nothing left in my legs.  

Eventually the finish line came and I crossed the line in 1:31:07 – a 5:30 PB. But to be honest the time doesn’t matter. It was the way I raced on the day that is most important to me. For the majority of the race I felt INVINCIBLE. A feeling I haven’t had since…well...Northwich. If it’s a sign of times to come, I can’t wait. Something fundamental changed that day, I was able to put the final nail in the coffin of thinking of myself as a shit or at least also-ran runner. I can start to believe in myself and what’s possible in the future. 

It blows my mind.

Portugal Training Camp - Part 3

Day 8

The alarm went of at 5.30am. Yes, on a Saturday, on holiday. Berocca and Muesli were consumed and running kit put on, groggily. We’d had another good training talk the previous evening, with a variety of topics discussed, including the ultimate question “How do I stop thinking about running!!” I received some great advice about my training and ways to make subtle changes to make things work even better.

In order to do our long run in relatively cool temperatures, we were going to start at 6.30am. The plan was to run easy about 5 miles, into Villamora, and then complete various numbers of a 5km loop around the old golf course, depending on what race you were training for. The Marathoners had 4 loops to do, whilst us HMs were to do two loops. Nick wanted us to do the first loop at just below race pace, and most of the second loop at race pace, with the last 1km pushing it about race pace. Then it would be an easy 5 miles back to the hotel pool for the customary dip.

After leaving the hotel to the tune of Purple Rain *argh earworm* I worked hard to zone in on myself. My pace was going to be a lot different to most of the people I was running with, and so I had to make sure I was okay on my own, had when you’ve hard group training all week. My mental strategies worked and I found myself in a good place in my head. What was going on around me didn’t matter.

Nick had driven our drinks and gels over to the loop so we didn’t have to worry about carrying stuff, a real bonus. When we arrived in Villamora, Nick pointed us in the right direction to begin the loops, there wasn’t any hanging around.The loop started with a climb of about 1km and then dropped back down quite quickly. The area was beautiful and the sprinklers on the lawns make everything nice and cool. A couple of people were settled in just ahead of me and mentally I was keeping myself calm and them at a constant distance. The loop seemed to fly by and soon I was back at the aid station. I doused my neck in a bit of water and took a gel. We’d been told not to take the gel all at once and so off I went agai, ingesting it over about 10 minutes. I struggled to digest the gel going uphill so I waiting until the climb was over before finishing it. Having it my hand was a useful distraction to be honest, and psychologically it was giving me energy all the way. The guys in front had taken their pace up and had disappeared by this point, but I stayed calm. My pace felt about right and I’d already marked the point at which I was going to take the pace up for the final push. It came round soon enough and push I did. Trying to take it to threshold to finish, It felt great, really great. I’d purposefully not allowed myself to look at the Garmin, so I had no idea how it was going, judging it by feel. When I got back to the aid station I was on top of the world. Everything had gone to plan and I’d been given a big confidence boost for race day. Nick told me to take a gel and I ‘ambled’ back to the Hotel with Steve (Note: He ambled, at 7:30, not much of an amble for me, more like close to bloody race pace!)

The pool welcomed me with open arms, we’d done 14 miles in total, but Steve was right when he commented that it hadn’t felt like a long run. When everyone got back, we all celebrated in the best way possible. Massive Greasy-Spoon Fry Up at the Caff down the road! I’m talking 2 fried eggs, 2 sausages, bacon, beans, chips and 2 rounds of toast.

This week is helping me get over my food guilt, but it will be a long process. Yes, believe it or not I do feel very guilty about food. But that’s a story for another time.

Steve left this afternoon, so the room feels quiet and a bit empty. You get used to having someone around pretty quickly. He was a great roommate, and I *fingers crossed* don’t think I did anything embarrassing.

Right dinner time, its been at least and hour since I’ve eaten something *sigh*

I’m gonna leave Portugal there. I was going to do a big conclusion section, but in reality I still haven’t worked it all out in my head yet. I have learnt so much about myself this week, and pushed myself in ways I never thought possible. The biggest compliment I can give is that I cannot wait for the next camp in June. Many thanks to the amazing amount of work put in by Nick and Phoebe during the week, and infinite thanks to the RWU crewmates, you’ve enriched my life immensely. It’s lovely to know that even if I’m not in North London, I’m not running alone.