I’m into a routine…

Plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod.

Plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod plod.

Ow!

And the same again tomorrow.

Are we nearly there yet?

A childhood regression has been an unexpected side-effect of my preparations for the London Marathon.

Before I set off an a training run I know I am going to be be at least an hour, and yet no further than 100 metres down the road and I need a wee. What this will mean on race day I hate to think as 26 miles is a very long way to run when all you can think of is running taps, fountains and flushing cisterns.

And as soon as I have jogged the first few steps away from home the familiar refrain of ‘are we nearly there yet’ comes immediately into my mind. Every run just seems to take an age (actually given my speed it does).

I have taken to telling myself that unless I stop I’m going to be sick. But just like childhood, I’m ignored.

All that aside, I’m pretty pleased with progress so far. I am now 12lbs lighter, than when I made my first plodding steps, and I  am regularly running eight miles or so.

But I am now struggling with my first injury. Having foolishly started playing seven a side football again, I have done something very painful to my knee. But having gone two days without training, the guilt set in, so yesterday I forced myself to go out on a six mile run.

It actually wasn’t as painful as I expected, but I am hobbling around this morning barely able to put one foot in front of the other.

My wife has dismissed my misfortunes as a symptom of my age; she obviously doesn’t realise I’m going through my second childhood.

I’m running out of time

If anyone tells you that running a marathon should take you no longer than five hours, don’t believe them.

A marathon is a thief of time. At first when you are unfit and struggling to get into shape, time isn’t an issue. Even the biggest jellymonster can conquer a one mile run in a quarter of an hour or less.

The problem comes as you become fitter and the distances become longer. After three weeks pretty concentrated training I am now up to eight miles but the downside being that each run takes around an hour and twenty minutes and I am trying to run at least four times a week, plus swimming, cycling and the odd game of five-a-side  football.

Adding all this up means I am spending about 10 hours a week on physical exercise, more than I spent in two entire years. Fitting it all in with a long working week is quite a challenge.

And then of course on top of that I have to add in blogging time. Maybe I should take my laptop with me every time I go out for a jog.

Old news

As of 11.27 a.m. this morning when Ryann Beth Liberty entered the world I became a grandad.

When I started my preparations for this year’s London Marathon weighing in at 15 stone 3lbs I thought I might be one of the heaviest runners in the race. But at 46 years old, I  certainly will be one of the youngest grandads running, albeit not the fittest.

Perhaps the whole marathon thing is some delayed middle aged crisis, sparked off by impending membership of the senior generation.

If that is the case look out for One Fat Man on a motorbike soon.

Goggle at Google

Thanks to those who have pointed out that this blog is the number one search result in Google for ‘one fat athlete’ as well as ‘highly tuned athlete’.

I will leave those who know me to decide which is the more apt.

I’ve found myself…

Well not so much found, as being rather portly I am easy to spot, but found out about myself.

Firstly, and most importantly being middle-aged I can’t run like I could 20 years ago. This realisation alone has helped with the training process.

On Friday morning I was down in Devon and went out for a training run with my dad. He wasn’t running, he was on his bike. This wasn’t because he is in his seventies but because I didn’t want him to jog home before me.

We went out around a five mile course, and ignoring the tortoise and hare rule, I set off at an unsustainable pace. Needless to say the first Devonian rolling hill I came to had me gasping for breath and clutching my sides.

The training manuals tell you to keep a bit in reserve and attack the hills. If I had a bulldozer I would flatten the buggers.

But a lesson was learned and today I went out for a longer run and set off at a pace much more suited to a man of my girth. An hour later I was home, and with plenty in the tank.

I have also learned that I am terrible at running in the mornings and that if I am near animals before I run, it tends to set off my childhood asthma, not a good attribute for a marathon runner.

So my task in April is simple. My legs have to tell my head that I’m 46 not 26 and to slow the hell down, I have to persuade the organisers to fire the starting gun at lunchtime, not 9.00 a.m. and I have to empty the capital of household pets.

Providing I can achieve that, the 26 miles are a formality.

What is up must come down

I’m sitting on the other end of the emotional seesaw this morning.

Only two days ago I thought things were getting easier and was actually enjoying running.

Today came pain. Every step of my four mile run this morning hurt and it hurt everywhere. It was possibly the least enjoyable experience of my life.

Around two miles in I reached a 1 in 4 hill and I walked the last 50 metres of it. Yes walked. My will folded like paper.

And for the first time I questioned why I am putting myself through this experience. A question I should probably have asked myself before I optimistically put my trainers on for the first time.

Currently I am running 10 minute miles, and that is over 4 miles. I have to keep that up for 26 miles if I am going to come in under my target time of four and a half hours.

And if the first testing hill I experience breaks my spirit, how will I cope with true adversity in April?

Crumbs of comfort

A strange thing happened yesterday. I was about 2.5 miles into my training run, it was pouring with rain, and the wind was whistling around me, when I had a sudden realisation; I was actually enjoying myself.

No doubt this was partly because the misery was being drowned out by my MP3 player on full blast and I was in the finishing half of my run with a warm house beckoning, but even so it came as something of a surprise to me.

An ounce of enjoyment from this gruelling endeavour was an ounce more than I expected. I hope a habit isn’t forming.

Keep on running…

It is amazing the effect music has on my athletic performance.

As soon as ‘Keep on running’ by the Spencer Davis Group kicks in on my MP3 player I immediately speed up.

Another song which gets the adrenalin going, and the legs pumping, is Peaches by The Stranglers.

Anything by Morrissey, Leonard Cohen or Eels on the other hand not only slows me down to a walking pace but makes me want to jump in front of the first passing car.

Obviously if I am going to get around the 26 mile marathon course I need to worry less about fitness and more about the contents of my MP3 player.

Suggestions for inspiring tracks please.

Best foot forward

People have asked me why in my first post I used such a small photo of myself standing on the scales. What I think they mean is they can’t see just how heavy I am, so here is a larger version.

There are two observations I would make; firstly I don’t have dwarf toes like this, and secondly as the scales are showing 15st 3lbs I must buy myself a lighter camera.

The training has now started in earnest. You don’t realise how hard it is to get into shape until you get out of shape. Just being more human shaped is my immediate goal.

After I jogged my first mile, I was actually feeling quite good and wondered just how much worse things could get. Then realised that the marathon is at least 26 times worse.

Maybe I can just walk quickly and hope no-one notices.