One Less Session To Hate

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Or it can be when that knowledge relates to speed session and knowing what session is ahead of you before you get there.

There are some speed sessions that I really don't like. Because they hurt. Actually all speed sessions hurt but some seem to hurt more than others. On a scale of 1 to 10, most speed sessions are about an 8 or 9. The speed sessions I like least feel like they're a 9.5.

They're usually the long rep, short recovery sessions. The sessions where I start out all optimistic that I can maintain pace but somewhere along the way I lose all will to live. The 10 minute rep session is one of these. Five minutes out and five minutes back with a two minute recovery that feels like 30 seconds. I have yet to complete one of these sessions with my internal dignity intact. I might be running on the outside but on the inside I'm crying that really ugly cry with snot and tears and a big red nose.

The other session I really don't like is the 3,2,1 session. Three kilometres, two kilometres, one kilometre. I usually start the session okay but lose my way in the second rep then pull it all together for the last. And I get so annoyed with myself for mentally giving up.

We do these sessions every so often and yesterday was one of those occasions.

I would have griped about it if I'd turned up on the morning and found out what was ahead but Coach Chris hinted at it on Saturday (not-so-subtly) so I had three days to anticipate the pain. Or to work up a good excuse why I couldn't be there.

A fake illness seemed like a good idea but I should have chosen one that's a little less exotic. Pretty sure he saw through that one.

Being a little short on imagination, I couldn't come up with anything else that wouldn't seem like cowardly piking and, as much as I'm a cowardly piker at heart, I don't want to look like one. My only option was to pull on my big girl panties and get it done.

But this time my aim was to not give up in my head on the second rep. No. Matter. How. Much. It. Hurt.

And it was going to hurt.

So Tuesday came and we did our usual warm up. Followed by the usual explanation of what torture is ahead. Followed by another explanation for all the people that were still chatting through the first. And then we were off.

My aim was to run the first three kilometres at a strong pace but without going over the edge like I usually do. And to not get ahead of myself and anticipate the rest of the session. When I finished the rep I looked at my watch. And I was happy - fast-ish (for me) but not stupid fast. 

Coach Chris must have been feeling particularly magnanimous because he gave us a whole kilometre for recovery. I won't say he's getting soft because he'd take it kind of badly and go out of his way to restore his reputation as mean, cruel and sadistic. 

Then I started my second rep. Two kilometres of not giving up. Two kilometres of not thinking about how far it was to go. Two kilometres of Rob Schneider yelling at me.

And this time for the first time in living history, (or at least in my living memory - which is probably only about a week or so at my age) I kept up a steady pace. I did not give up. I did not die. And I was encouraged enough to go a little faster on the last one kilometre rep.

So I now have one less session that I really despise. And I have a solid, working strategy for future speed sessions. Don't anticipate the pain - it's a given so you might as well embrace it. Don't go out too hard - that's a sure way to make the session a tragic farce. And turn off your brain - just run the rep that you're running and not the one that's coming after the next recovery or the one after that.

Are there any sessions that you dread?

Soy Or Lactose-Free Milk?

One of my regular coffee chops has just started offering lactose-free milk.

I say 'one' because I have a few that I deign with my presence. They are all cafes that are pretty consistent with what they hand over - hot, strong, not bitter and preferably with staff that know my order without me having to say a word.

I've been a soy drinker for a few years now. Ever since I realised that the stomach pains I was getting every afternoon were related to the cappuccino I was drinking every morning. I wasn't happy to have to make the swap but the lack of pain made it worthwhile. And I got used to the flavour pretty quickly. So now my coffee order just rolls off my tongue without it ever having to be processed by my brain - on the odd days that I have to actually utter it.

Seeing the sign which pronounced the offering of lactose-free milk presented me with a dilemma. Do I stick to my new tradition and just do the same-old-same-old? Or do I venture forth into a brave new world and try something new? Being that it was a public holiday (Happy Birthday Queen Elizabeth II) and I was feeling footloose and fancy-free and just slightly reckless, I decided that I'd throw caution to the wind and try something new and daring.

"Could I have a tall cappuccino on lactose-free milk?"

I forgot to order an extra shot of coffee but luckily the girl behind the counter recognised me. Or could sense my need of the extra caffeine. She charged me the usual astronomical amount that I'm happy to pay because daily coffee, books, running shoes and now running bras it seems are not wants but needs in my existence.

Then I waited on the other end of the counter for my order to be called out.

"Double shot cap on lactose-free milk!"

I felt every eye in the shop turn my way as I went to collect the coffee. And I felt a judgement that I'd never felt before when ordering soy.

Soy has street cred. It's drunk by vegans, health nuts and the lactose-intolerant alike. By ordering soy I could just be viewed as someone who's a little anal about their diet or someone who is willing to make culinary sacrifices to protect every living creature. Either of whom are willing to stand up for a cause - be it health or their fellow beings.

Lactose-free milk has no street cred. What. So. Ever! It is drunk by one sort of person only. The sort of person who has a defect. The sort of person who becomes a ticking time bomb after ingesting milk sugar. The sort of person that makes dogs take the blame for their indiscretions and who, in Billy Connelly's words, will 'never trust a fart'.

I slunk away from the shop feeling just a little bit of shame. And then I tasted the coffee. It really wasn't that great. But at least I know that it won't have any deleterious effects. And I know that next time I'll be ordering soy again so I can leave the judgemental cafe set wondering which category of soy-drinkers I belong to.

The Uphill Battle

Yesterday's run was awesome!

If you follow me on Facebook you may not have got that impression. I may have done a little whining there.

And I'll still say that the whining was justified because the session was hard. Actually, brutal wouldn't be too strong a word for it. Paddington and Red Hill have four of the top six steepest streets in Brisbane. Coach Chris has a sadistic streak in him so combine the two and you get the hill session from hell.

I know hills will make me stronger and fitter. Doing a hills session is like doing a leg weights session only you don't have to be in a gym and you don't have to sit in someone else's sweat when they forget to clean up after themselves. Doing a hills session in a group means that pride will make you work harder than you would on your own. But I don't have to like them. 

And as a hill runner, it wouldn't be wrong to say that I suck! Big time!! My leg strength is pitiful. I start to run uphill and I get slower and slower until I could be passed by a ninety year old who's using a cane because of a recent hip replacement. I run so slowly that I could be going backwards.

I might start of at the front of the pack but one by one they run past. Leaving me plodding on my lonesome towards the top. Legs burning. Lungs burning. Wondering why I got out of bed so early to torture myself like this.

Yep, it sounds pretty awesome, doesn't it?! No really, it was. Obviously not because of the running and the pain part. But because of a little blonde cherub who'd woken up too early and had been taken for a little walk outside by Daddy (presumably so Mummy could get a bit of a sleep in).

This little blonde cherub was so excited to have a whole group of runners running up and down his street. He became our cheer squad for that hill and, honestly, it made the hill that little bit easier to run (apart from the last five metres which were still a b!#ch). He made us all feel like champions every time we got to the top.

I was sorry when we had to move on and leave him behind. But I wasn't sorry to finish the session. And I was sorry any time I had to walk up and down stairs for the rest of the day. Or really any time I had to move at all. If I could have laid on the floor for the rest of the day I would have been happy - as long as someone threw me a few handfuls of food cause running up hills will give you a pretty ferocious appetite.

Some Days You Just Need A Bit Of Support

All I can say today is thank goodness for a loving, caring support network.

Yesterday wasn't the best. Some of it was okay. And some was pretty good. But the good bit - speed session at the beginning of the day (please don't tell Coach Chris that speed session was the highlight - it'll go to his head) - was overshadowed by the not-so-good.

Some work stuff. Some family stuff. An inability to just let it all go meant that I went to bed feeling a bit anxious. And I woke up feeling a bit anxious. And then I carried that anxiety all the way round on my run this morning. Like I was carrying a belly full of lead weight. My mind just wouldn't let it go. I was almost hoping that the Botanical Garden Flasher would strike and distract me from the stuff that was happening in my head.

Distraction finally came in the form of two hairy friends. So happy to see me home. Bringing gifts and joy to greet me.

To them I am perfect. Even my sweat tastes good. Especially from my left knee. Although it did make Toby burp.

Then I met up with a friend who just gets it. In one sentence she summed up exactly how my life feels sometimes. Because she's felt it too. And it's so good to know that it's not just me.

From there I hit the shops. To get a birthday card. And to have another coffee because it's likely that today will require additional caffeine. 

Spontaneity led me into a store I hadn't been in yet. The promise of a decent discount led me to the Intimate Apparel section. And despite the most hideous fitting room lighting - my home mirror definitely is kinder than the one I stood in front of today - I managed to procure the kind of support that every female runner craves. Unwavering, firm support that points you back in the right direction when you've lost your way. 

In pretty colours.

Hard-Nosed Business Woman - Who Me?

I've always felt like a bit of a fraud when it comes to my working life.

After all, I'm self-taught. I've had no training in my field unless you count a few semesters of Home Ec back in my early teens. I still remember proudly receiving my sewing machine licence after successfully sewing around the outline of a snail.

And I'm no business woman. I don't want a multi-national business or even employees because then I'd have to learn about stuff like paying wages and taxes and occupational health and safety. And I wouldn't be able to wear shorts to work (or bikini tops when it gets really hot) and I wouldn't be able to watch television all day while I'm working.

So it always amuses me just a little when I have to pretend like I know what I'm doing in the business world. Like I did last week.

I've had dealings with a designer on and off for a few years now and a couple of weeks ago he approached me about doing up a swimwear line for him. Actually, it was more like re-doing stuff that I'd done for him a little while ago and I already had the patterns so why the hell not?

So I ordered the fabric, cut out the bathers, sent them off to the machinist and Friday they arrived back. And so did the designer - to pick them up and have a chat about his plans.

Turns out he has pretty big plans. He wants to get his range into some resorts overseas. He was talking big numbers and his expectation was that I was going to be his manufacturer. He wanted to know costings for a bulk order. And that's when I started to feel out of my depth. Because I've never really worked out accurate costings for anything.

I go on gut instinct. And that's okay for small orders. If I under-charge then it's not the end of the world and if I over-charge usually no one's the wiser. But in this case it's kind of important not to under-charge. I don't want to spend weeks and weeks working for a pittance. And I certainly wouldn't expect my machinist to.

I came up with a number and he thought it was a bit high. I suggested that he might like to get them made in a factory - he'd definitely be paying less that way. But he was not keen. Seems he wants to work with someone he knows will be able to produce a garment to his standard.

That's when I knew that he wanted me to do the work more than I actually wanted to do it. And, seeing as I didn't care whether I got the work or not, it wasn't hard to say no when he asked if I could lower the price a bit. Oh I pretended to think about it for a minute or two. I used my most contemplative expression. I furrowed my brow and pondered. And then explained that I couldn't possibly.

Oh it was a heady feeling. My first real business negotiation and I'd won. Do you win business negotiations? It certainly felt like I'd won. I actually felt like a suit-wearing business woman in stilettos even though I was wearing my oldest denims and runners.

So I might be pretty busy over the next few months - as long as he manages to sell the range.

One Man's Easy Is Another Woman's Tempo

You'd think at my age I'd be done with learning new things.

I'm not!

Or maybe these 'new' things that I'm learning are actually things I've learnt before but have forgotten. Because I'm more prone to being forgetful these days.

I learnt a valuable lesson as a runner yesterday. Don't assume, when you agree to run a nice easy pace with another runner, that their easy pace will be the same as yours.

I didn't run hills with the squad yesterday morning. I'd counted my chickens before they'd hatched when I'd thrown all my worries into the river on Wednesday morning to be washed out to sea. You should never count your chickens before they're hatched because a goanna might get into the nest and eat a few of those eggs.

I'd been a little premature in kissing the anxiety good-bye. This is not a quick-fix thing. It's going to take a little while for things to settle down. And by Wednesday evening I knew I didn't have it in me to get up before dawn to push myself up hills over and over again. But by Thursday evening I was wanting to go for a nice easy run.

I'd managed to find myself a partner-in-crime. #2 son, Josh said he'd run with me. So as soon as he was ready we set out.

We'd agreed that we'd take it easy and relaxed. In my head that meant around 6 minute pace. But Josh is 25 years younger than me and a lot stronger so his easy and relaxed is more like my tempo pace. 

Right from when we took off I was breathing harder than I'd hoped to. Josh looked like he was doing it easy. He seemed relaxed and comfortable and wasn't breathing heavily at all while I was left scurrying along behind him - two strides for each of his - trying desperately not to get left behind because it was dark and although I love running in the dark in the morning it's a different matter at night when all the weirdos come out to play. And there was the little matter of the flasher who's been showing his wares in the Botanical Gardens, which was where we were heading.

The first kilometre clicked over at 5:35. The second at 5:18. By the fourth we were running at 5:07 pace. Almost a minute under what I'd thought we'd be running. But, surprisingly, I was keeping up (probably because Josh was slowing occasionally to let this happen) and, even more surprisingly, I felt really good. Strong. Like I could keep at this pace for a long time. As long as there were no hills.

But of course there were hills. In the form of bridges. And there were two of them that we had to cross. And they did slow us down a little. To 5:14 for the first and 5:08 for the second. Which, for me really isn't slow at all. 

At the top of the second bridge we stopped and walked for a bit. Lack of fuel had caught up with my speedy partner but it wasn't long till he was good to go. He said we'd back off on the pace a bit. And we did - to 5:35 again. 

We had only about a kilometre and a half to go at this point. Home and dinner were only a little bit further to run. That's when Josh really opened up. One minute I was on his shoulder and the next he was a good thirty metres ahead. I was running as fast as I could but he was just widening the gap. I was gasping for breath and my legs were burning but I felt amazing! Exhilarated! Alive!! And it gave me a big dose of confidence after my less than sterling run at Great Ocean Road.

Not quite the run that I'd planned. But plans are meant to be broken, aren't they? And this ended up being one of those great runs that keep you coming back for more.  

So thank you Josh!

Priceless

Last week wasn't all fun and games and seal kisses and unicorns farting rainbows.

As lovely as it was to be on the receiving end of a fishy-smelling smooch, there were heavy things weighing on me. Tough family stuff. It cast a little shadow over our weekend away. And into the week once we were home. And as an over-thinker I was having a hard time letting it go.

But with some problem-solving and a bit of effort, the worry started to lift as this week started. Things have improved daily and today I was ready to let it all go. With one of those runs that are less about training and more about clearing the head.

I chose my favourite route. Along the river. Because the water seems to give me the greatest sense of peace. It was still dark - my favourite time to run. Because when it's dark there are fewer distractions. More time to think. Or not think. Just to be. To feel the movement.

As I ran I could feel the run work its usual magic. All the problems from the past week were a thousand miles away. Floating down the river towards the sea. 

The air was crisp but a long way from cold. The river was still and the reflections from the street lights and buildings stretched in bands across the river like a giant technicolour barcode. And that made me wonder exactly what would come up at the checkout if a scanner was run over it.

I didn't have to ponder that question very long. There's only one answer to that question. A price check would come up with $0.00. 

Being there at that moment, in the moment, enjoying the moment - truly priceless.