One Man's Race. Part 2: The Phoenix

The final two sentences of the last post, plus the corny title of this one, leave little doubt where this offering is headed...

My running career ended in late 1992. That really was it. Over. And, though I never had it professionally looked at, I was convinced that I'd done irreparable damage to my knee. In later years I occasionally ventured onto a five-a-side pitch and once or twice a gym treadmill (very gingerly) but didn't really test it. Regular readers may recall a foolish dabble with road running on Scilly a couple of years ago. Although I pulled a calf muscle I was pleasantly surprised to get no niggles at all from the dicky knee. So, when we joined a gym last summer I made a point of getting on the treadmill quite regularly, and slowly built up to around 30 minutes or so. Hmm, promising...

The gym is history now, but those pain-free forays onto the treadmill led to an inevitable next step. The road. On August 30th I waited until darkness had fallen and sallied forth. Wa-a-a-ay too fast, I might add. Anyway, I ran 1.4 undulating miles in 12 minutes. And it did hurt. But...the knee was fine, and I suddenly realised that a 25-year curse might possibly be broken. In September I focused on the bike, but got in another five runs, up to 3.6 miles. There were some calf twinges, but still not a peep from the knee. October ended with 11 runs in the bank, up to 6.3 miles. I could hardly believe it.

Bringing things up to date, in the 11 full weeks from the beginning of November until now I have managed 3 runs a week in all except one. This afternoon I covered 10.4 miles (my second run of 10+ miles) in a bit over an hour and a half. I am delighted. The body's ability to heal itself, and to adapt to an incrementally increased training load, is really quite amazing. In less than five short months I've gone from knackered used-to-be-a-runner to actual runner again.

Mind you, I am no longer in my early 30s! The days of 6:33 pace half-marathons are long gone I think. That said, if I keep at it there's a slim chance I may be mildly competitive for my age-group in 16 months time when I'm 60! And there's been another significant change in the last 25 years.

Data.

In 1987 I bought a very early Timex Ironman sports watch. Basically a stopwatch with lap-timing facility. To keep a record of times and distances you needed to measure your routes on a map, or drive them, and write down the magic figures displayed on the Ironman's tiny screen. It all went into a 'Running Log'. Analysis was done with a biro and slide-rule. Or did we have calculators by then...? Anyway...

In 2017 I bought a Garmin Forerunner 35. Well. What it doesn't tell you is not worth knowing. Where you've been and at what speed. Exactly how rapidly your poor heart was pumping on that hill and the precise gradient of the slope responsible. Even your cadence (steps per minute). It links to Strava and to your smartphone. Here is one of the several million screens of data...

As you can see, since beginning this enterprise I have run a cool 220.6 miles, and I could add that it's taken me 52 outings to amass that tally

So, where is this all going to lead? I don't know really, and am happy to just ride the wave for now. However, it's always nice to have a target, so I've entered a pukka race. It's the Egdon Easy 10k, a flat, 10km route around Lodmoor and Radipole over at Weymouth. I have until Saturday 26th May to prepare myself. I never enjoyed 10k races - always a bit too quick for comfort - but I have to say I am looking forward to this one. I have even put together a loose (and infinitely adjustable) training plan to get me there. I am genuinely curious to see just what my (by then) 59-year old body will be capable of.

In the meantime I shall plod around the local streets and footpaths and endeavour to clock up some useful miles. It's not a hardship...

Dropping into West Bay...definitely not the most picturesque seaside spot in the southwest, but the coast is the coast. Fantastic!