The Rules of the Road

Today marks the end of Week 52 since I started with my coach, Nick Anderson. It's been a wonderful ride so far with massive PBs at all distances and the promise of more to come. I still feel like I'm just starting out.

To celebrate the event, here are a few lessons I've learnt in the last twelve months. My "Rules of the Road" if you like.

Feel free to add some more in the comments!

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- A 2:30 HM runner will dream about a sub 2, a 2:00 HM will dream about a sub-1:45, a 1:45 runner will dream about a sub-1:30 and him, he’s eyeing 1:20 enviously. You’ll never be satisfied, it’s a moving target.

- Trainers don’t make you fast, Training makes you fast.

- Mental Training is as important as Physical Training

- You may think you know better, but your coach is a coach for a reason.

- Don’t be afraid to say “Things aren’t right”, gut feeling is often correct.

- You should race the runner you know you’re capable of being, not the runner you were.

- Sometimes you need to stop and admire the view. It’s a long road you’ve travelled, and a huge climb up the mountain you’ve already made.

- Training Sessions are your chance to prove your abilities to yourself, relish the challenge every time. It makes training much more enjoyable.

- There’s far too much running information sprawled over the internet and a lack of effective filters. Use your head when deciding what may work for you.

- If someone compliments you on a recent race time, if they are faster than you or not TAKE THE FUCKING COMPLIMENT.

- You know that race photo where you look like a bag of shit? That’s the Core and Strength work you are not doing.

I've learnt a hell of a lot in the last year, I can't wait for the next twelve months. 

The Anderson Rep

I’d been nervous about last night’s session even since I’d seen it on my training plan. The days before had only heightened that sense of anxiety. Long runs? Piece of Cake, Intervals? Eat them for breakfast. A combination of the two? ARE YOU MAD!

The session was a 90 min run with 10 reps of 3 minutes at Threshold Pace Followed by 3 minutes Steady Running.

For some reason, my brain made a mountain out of a slag heap “just run it you Slaaaaag”. Luckily, I was off work yesterday, and so could make sure I was properly rested. I learnt in Portugal how important rest is in terms of your overall training plan.

I made my way down to the club and scooted off to start the session. My ‘track’ in the Estuary Business Park is conveniently about a 15 mins run way from the club, so I could get the longer steady runs sections in and do the reps at the square.

It’s sessions like that where you draw on everything you’ve learnt so far. Keeping it steady, working smart not just hard, treating each rep individually, think about your form…etc. Slowly (but not too slowly) I ticked them off, but the time number 8 and 9 came round I was feeling the effort. “Don’t overthink it, just run” I was telling myself.

During Rep 9 I think I became slightly delirious. The Strictly Judges were marking my technique as I was going round, Craig being as a harsh as ever.  I wish I wasn’t joking about this.

But soon enough the last rep was over and I could make my way back to the club. The truth is that secretly I love these sorts of sessions. The Coach asks “Can you do it” and I get to answer “Yes I Bloody can!” He’s not going to ask me to do anything which he doesn’t think I’m capable of. Take that Anderson ;-)

Which brings me nicely to “The Anderson Rep”. When others from PLS are training by the Square, I’ve noticed that whenever they’ve finished I’ve usually still got one or two reps to do. I come to call these “The Anderson Reps” after my coach. In my head, they are Golden Grind Reps, the ones that will make all the difference on race day.

I’ve loved getting back into more speed work this week. London’s Calling and it’s quite loud now.

The Enemy Within

Fatness is not a waist size.

And that’s been a horrible, painful sometimes realisation.

As various photos over social media websites can confirm, my weight has yo-yoed over the years by a large amount. As a kid, a combination of shyness, loneliness and gluttony slid me towards second helpings and the big portions that were common in our household. Food was, and always has been, a thing of solace, of comfort. It’s been my worst enemy and my best friend.

It’s a mindset that is very difficult to escape from.

I’m sad...let’s eat

I’m happy...let’s eat

I’m stressed...let’s eat

I’m celebrating...let’s eat

I’m upset...let’s eat

I’m relaxed...let’s eat

I’m angry...let’s eat

I’m bored...let’s eat

... and so on.

As an adult, getting involved in training/sport has meant that my weight has been the most stable (and probably healthiest) it’s been my entire life. My stomach is a foot (in measurement) smaller than it was when I was at my heaviest. Of course, I feel better, however, I still think like ‘Fat Mitch’ (or Tubby Mitch as the nickname was at Uni).  

At the risk of seeming to abdicate responsibility, for the ‘fat’ person there is no choice when it comes to food. If it’s there you want it. You need it. You know it will (briefly) make you feel good.  Consequently, I have never been able to understand those who just treat food as fuel. It is something that can give a person so much pleasure, can offer such an basic emotional response in a variety of situations.

As a runner, you know deep down that the thinner you are the faster you are likely to be. So every day is a little bit of torture that whatever you’re eating isn’t doing your race times any good. Do you really need that glass *coughhalfbottlecough* of wine? Is it wise to have that desert?

My diet for London has been a mess really. I’ve been craving food because of the training, but not eating the right things. Someone shoving wholemeal pasta in my face will be told “come on, off you fuck”. But I accept there are choices to be made. I need to get a grip of this over the coming months. As non-professional athletes, there is a balance to be had - between taking things too seriously and doing things to aid performance and the pursuit of your goals. It’s a balance I’ve not got right. Ever. I have times when my diet is Saintly. There are other times, usually when I’m stressed, when I can even disgust myself with what goes down my gullet without a second though.

I haven’t really got any conclusions for this post. Just wanted to get it off my chest really. I know that I have to make the change mentally and nobody else can do it for me.  I’ll get there in the end, but there’s a lot of shit to work through in my head first.

Now, anyone for a scone?

Good Enough

London is hurtling towards us all like a runaway train, and the miles just keep on coming.

Another Sunday run, another 22-miler in the bag. This one was a Progression run, split into 10K Chunks. I was going great guns until about 18/19 miles and I started to suffer. At this point the session called for 2K Fast and I blew up big like a big balloon. Thing is, I know it was mental, I was screaming at myself to not be so bloody stupid, but my reserves of will were almost empty. I did the session and limped home with my head a bit lower than when I set out.

A bath and a bit of reflection made me feel a bit better, and viewing the Garmin stats from the run gave me many more positives than negatives to take from it.

The one of the root causes can be summed up as follows

After agreeing with my coach, my target for VLM was set at 3:15. This would be a 45 minute PB on my 2010 effort of 3:59 – something I’m still very proud of. However, with the banter of those around me...

“Oh, you’ll smash that”

“Don’t be silly,you’re faster than that”

“Sub 3 for you”

Now, the encouragement and support of everyone is grately appreciated . However, it sometimes feels (especially when I’m tired and grouchy) that people are implying my original target isn’t good enough, and over the last couple of months I started to believe them.

With the GFA standard of 3:10 tantalisingly close, 3:15 was starting to feel  like a cop-out. A good Half Marathon the other week only served to bolster the wave of compliments and boundary pushing from club-mates.

I’ve really had to mentally fight against this. Feeling knackered at the end of Sunday was in part due to pushing the pace/my luck just a little too much. The Easy pace wasn’t easy enough, the MP+15 was more like MP+3 and the MP was more like MP-10.

There haven’t been many who’ve said “That’s an excellent target, Good Luck”, but when they have it’s meant a lot, and I’m now determined to nail that 3:15.

It’s good enough for me and it should be (and in my heart-of-hearts I know is) good enough for everyone else. 

I’m not saying I’ll not get quicker, just in my own time.

*This post isn’t meant to sound like a rant, but it’s been playing on my mind a lot lately.

Race Report - Bath Half Marathon

Reader,

I’ll have to come clean with you. I’m in (almost) uncharted territory here. Regular readers of this blog, both of you, will have become familiar with the TrainandScoff Race Report. There’ll be a lot of build up, the race is dissected in detail and then I struggle to draw conclusions over whatever calamity befell me on the day.

The only problem is nothing went wrong this time.

Now this could be the shortest Race Report I ever wrote, but people seem to like it when I give my perspective on a race, so I’ll do my best to be business as usual.

It wasn’t the most auspicious of build ups. Every since Christmas, I’ve been plagued by a right Achilles that didn’t want to play ball. In fact, it didn’t want to play anything. I’d had a couple of week’s pain free and was enjoying notching up a couple of 20 milers at the weekends. Then on the Wednesday before the race, the Achilles tendonitis flared up again and became a most unwelcome companion. In these situations there not a lot you can do apart from stretch like your life depended on it and down Ibuprofen like they’re going out of fashion.

I’d avoided the 20-30mins easy run that had been in my plan on the Saturday. I surmised that that might just aggravate things; the majority of training was done. We travelled down to Bath on the Saturday afternoon, and after checking into the Hotel (about 10 miles out of town to save some cash) we headed into Bath for a bite to eat.

I’d tried to plan my time as effectively as possible. The first thing we did was to do a drive round the course, in reality a wrong turn meant we went round it backwards! From the amount of gentle slope we were seeing, there would be quite a bit of downhill, a nice comfort for the nervous runner. I’d already found a Chinese Buffet place to eat. I was conscious that I hadn’t eaten enough the night before Bristol HM, so we went somewhere where I could have my fill, and fill I did. I tried to avoid the fatty stuff and stick to the noodles, rice, veg and simpler proteins. No sticky sweet and sour sauces. The soft drinks were also help-yourself so I could get plenty of liquid in.

It was while sat down in the restaurant that I felt my first real pang of nerves. Of course Steve was great as ever, even the gentle ribbing can be a comfort and keep your feet on the ground. Whatever the next action was he would respond “you do what you need to do”, so I didn’t feel like I was ruining his weekend too much. After the meal we took a walk to the start and then the first mile or so of the course that wasn’t part of the loop system. I’d been warned about the hill that greets you just before the finish, but in reality it didn’t seem too bad. When you’re used to 3 x 10min Kenyan Hills, a little 50m slope seems like nothing, dig in and bring it home.

We left Bath and went back to the Hotel via Sainsbury’s. Lovely Steve brought me a little bottle of Prosecco for a night cap, along with flapjacks and Bananas for quick energy on the day.

I slept a lot better then I had done in Bristol, only waking once in the night briefly. We got up and went down to breakfast. I had meant to bring breakfast with us but had forgotten it. Good old Premier Inn. Although at £5.25 each it must have ranked as the most expensive bowl of muesli in history. There were other runners at breakfast, solace in the flash of a trainer.

We used the Racecourse Park and Ride which was excellent. You arrived at the racecourse and are directed to the trainer and owners bar with complementary tea and coffee before being whisked into Bath. The drop off point was separate from the main park and rides, something we were thankful for when seeing the queues to return in the afternoon.

Bath has a great set up. Plenty of loos, a great runner’s village and a good atmosphere. I love the big city races. I had a white start so knew I‘d be relatively near the front. After a very efficient bag drop and saying goodbye to Steve *Gulp* I made my way to the start. I was VERY near the front.

There was a little warm-up area just in front of the start line, to save getting cold I gave it a go, although immediately realised I was running the wrong way to everyone else. I sheepishly changed direction and jogged round a couple of times. I didn’t want to start with completely cold muscles, if my race plan was going to work. I saw Martin Yelling from Marathon Talk and was dying to say hello, but I had to concentrate on what I was there for. I went back to line up, ready to start.

I had a thought in the back of my head “you could do with a final loo stop” but when I went to leave the start pen it seemed like they weren’t letting people leave. Because Great Pultney Street is so enclosed, and there were so many people, there wasn’t the chance to have a cheeky wee at the side, like other races. I thought oh well and got ready to begin.

The gun went off and we all surged forward. The start was typically fast with the nice downhill that we would return to at the finish. I’d done my homework, reviewed my race at Bristol and come up with a race plan. Use the first two miles to find your race pace and then KEEP IT STEADY to the finish. My coach Nick is a big help in stuff like this and he’d sent me some wise words in the build up.

After about three quarters of a mile I saw someone have a wee, which was my chance. I ducked into the gap where he was and got it out of the way early. When I got going, the first mile beeped 7.04. That was good, especially with a loo stop and the same pace I had at Bristol. The second mile was hilly in the centre of town but soon the beeped by 6:52 – spot on. I was feeling good and settling in to race pace.

The miles beeped by and I was holding it at 6:40ish. I wasn’t letting anything outside affect me. People would surge and fall back around me but I just ignored them. Their race wasn’t my race. I found I was slowly making my way through the field, just by keeping a constant pace, just like my coach said I would.

There were a few shouts of “Come on Penny Lane” and even one of “Come on Pen….nsylvania Striders” ??!?!.

The funniest thing in the whole race has to be when I was at about mile 9 on the second lap; we were right in the right hand lane with the first lappers on the left. There were two blokes dressed as inflatable Genitals running along on their first lap but it looked like they were chasing this poor woman in front, who kept turning round and going “Eeek!”

I took my gels at the allotted times and didn’t take any water. Mainly because I didn’t feel like I needed it. I was still going great guns at mile 10although I could feel the effort level starting to increase. “Come on, you’ve got so far you’ve got less than 5K to go” I was telling  myself. I hadn’t allowed any drama on the way round. It was not going to be that sort of day. I’d made that decision and was sticking to it. I’d made a little mantra for myself which really helped:

“Mind over Matter – You don’t mind [what everyone else is doing] and this really matters]

The last two miles were a grind, but there were a couple of guys around me and we were pulling each other along. Seeing Carl at Mile 12 was amazing, to know that one of the RWU family was there gave me a big lift. It’s when I allowed myself the thought of “You’re going to do this”. But there was still over a mile to go.

Wild Horses could not have averted my gaze from the road 5m in front of me in that last mile; we turned to tackle that last hill. I took my first water bottle from the station at the bottom, tipped it over myself and dropped the hammer.

“Wind It Up, Wind It Up, Wind It Up, Wind It Up, Wind It Up, Wind It Up…” I told myself, as I always doing going up hills. You have to do a train motion with your left arm as well. Hey, it works for me.

At the top of the hill, a guy was shouting race times “one twenty-eight fifteen” I heard as I went past. Could it be true, could this be the day I went sub-90.

I turned the last corner into Great Pultney Street and saw the clock on the finish gantry “01:29:.. and bits”

GET YOUR FUCKING COURAGE LEGS ON HAWKINS 

Go-Go-Gadget COURAGE LEGS

The feeling as I crossed the line….

It’s as good as you always hoped it would be.

The 3000 miles I’ve logged with Garmin, the Shitty Rowing Races, The Shitty Running Races, The Shitty Winter & My Shitty Achilles. Gone. I’m not ashamed to admit it, my eyes were moist.

 My whole race plan had executed perfectly and given me the result I was after. I don’t have to offer up any excuses for a sub-par performance, or say “if only….blah blah blah”.

I’m known for being quite tough on myself when it comes to sport, but for one of the first times in my (sporting) career I was able to say to myself

“Well Done Hawkins, You’ve Done Enough”.

That feeling is good shit.

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*I'm sorry for the length of this post, I was alone in a hotel and had plenty of spare time.