Lost: One Headless Chicken

Saturday 15th March

09:47 20 miles 2:34:16 

1 7:49 2 7:48 3 7:55 4 8:02 5 7:47 6 7:35 7 7:42 8 7:48 9 7:47 10 7:50 11 7:59 12 7:34 13 7:40 14 7:37 15 7:40 16 7:40 17 7:47 18 7:33 19 7:27 20 7:17  Average 7:43 min/miles   

The Headless Chicken turned up early for our run. I wasn’t ready. In fact, I was lying on the sofa watching Soccer a.m. feeling rubbish. So when the knock at the door arrived, I had to force myself to get ready. I did, just, and we were soon off to pound the pavements on a nice dry day. Until, that is, I got outside and felt the rain. Cue an about turn, up the stairs to retrieve waterproof jacket, then back down for take 2! 

We both felt awful, and the pace felt so much faster than it was. Still we battled on, quietly, apart from a few occasional grumpy comments. THC had an early ‘call of nature’ and, after using the little boy’s hedge, had to catch me up. Then nature called again, and again, and then again! Four times in 10 miles? something was not right.

I’ve mentioned THC’s sense of direction before, and after he stopped to use the toilet in Pollock Park, I didn’t see him again. So, alone, I plodded on gamely, determined to complete my 20 miles. Which I did.  Surprisingly easily! Well, easily is never the right word for completing 20 miles, but I got into a rhythm once I was on my own. I finished strongly, although shattered, managed a negative split, and was faster than the previous week by almost a couple of minutes.

Once home, I had to explain to Mrs pacepusher, that, after he stopped, THC had never reappeared on my shoulder with some wise words of wisdom, and that I had, well, lost him!

Sometime later, after I had eaten all the sandwiches that Mrs pacepusher had made to feed the two of us when we returned, THC called. He had, as suspected, gone the wrong way out of Pollock Park, running back on himself rather than following the long straight road out towards Bellahouston. Having realised his mistake, he turned back to follow me, but decided that his stomach was too bad. So, he called home, courtesy of 0800 REVERSE, and his Mum and Dad came to the rescue. He was phoning to apologise for spoiling my run. If you’re reading this THC, you didn’t, and let me apologise for abandoning you! …in my defence, I was convinced that you would suddenly reappear with a mile or so to go, and beat me home!

The rest of the day was spent on my favorite post run recovery past-time. Tiling. Again! Although we did watch the decider of the Six Nations, with a couple of beers. Congratulations (he says through tightly gritted teeth) to the Welsh RFU on their Grand Slam. I have to say that after we (England) let you win the opening game, you have been the better side and deserve the glory!

Sunday 16th March

09:49 22 miles 3:31:43

1 9:37 2 9:43 3 9:55 4 9:43 5 9:27 6 9:28 7 9:39 8 9:43 9 10:07 10 12:27 11 10:26 12 8:22 13 8:27 14  8:31 15 8:41 16 9:37 17 10:25 18 8:42 19 8:26 20 12:31 21 9:37 22 8:09  Average 9:37 min/miles 

It was another early start to my Sunday morning, and a change of running partner. Could I manage 20 miles without losing this one? More to the point, could the glorious weather last for the entire run, or would I need the waterproof that I can’t leave home without? Well, the answer is… no and no. Though it didn’t rain, but I was cold and needed my jacket, and I didn’t exactly lose Mrs pacepusher, she just had a bad run…

We set off at a reasonable pace for Mrs p but she said early on she didn’t feel right. She’s stubborn like me when it comes to running and doesn’t give in easily. So when I came around the corner after a short carrot cake break (forget KitKats!) and found her stood still, I knew things were bad. She’d been getting slower throughout the run when she usually gets faster (She’s the negative split queen) so was clearly not on form.

I persuaded her to run the mile home, but even that turned out to be too much. So being the loving husband that I am, I removed my iPod and my sports drink from my rucksack, gave her the bag, and continued on my merry way. I know, I’m a bad husband, but I did at least leave her the door key! Anyway she’s fine tonight (especially as I took her to choose her birthday present this afternoon), it’s just that something wasn’t right this morning. We’ve all had a day like that… you just feel worse and worse, until you just can’t run another step.

Feeling all light on my feet without my rucksack, I tootled off with the intention of getting to at least 18 miles, and I would have been home after about 20 miles at the most, had I not attempted to follow a different route that Davie told me about last Wednesday. Note to self: don’t try a new route when you have already completed 18+ miles and are not sure where it goes!

I got lost. This was apparent when I came to the end of a road and was faced by a river. A family advised that the only way to Linwood was back the way I came (uphill), or across the river. A stupid West Highland Way runner I may be, but that looked like a pretty hefty river, so back I went. Thankfully, I was feeling really fresh, and when I got lost a second time following a woman’s instructions for a shortcut, I didn’t mind. The shortcut incidentally, was about half a mile. It came out about 200 meters further up the road from where it started… brilliant!

Anyway, 22 miles completed today, gives me a weekly total of 73 miles. My highest weekly mileage ever. The best thing about this is the fact that I didn’t set out to do it. I have just run what and when I’ve wanted. Targets don’t work for me. It’s official!    

I’ve just read Debs article in ‘My Race’ magazine regarding the annoying things us runners have to cope with. Tonight I am suffering from one bugbear that she mentioned. Today’s ‘How Annoying?’ award goes to chafing. I must have been wearing sandpaper underwear during today’s run as I am chafed through to the bone. I’m walking like a cowboy that’s been riding two horses at once, in fact, we’re talking about needing a skin graft here! I am in agony! 

I’m really tired tonight and was struggling to find the motivation to write my blog (not normally a problem as you may have gathered by now). Then Mrs pacepusher muttered the magic words, “I’d like to watch Eastenders” and that was it. The computer was on and my fingers were typing like there was no tomorrow… mind you, if this chafing gets any worse there may well be no tomorrow. I’m a man. Let me make a mountain out of it!