marathon mileage

Eyes open. Sniff. Hmm. That seems a blocked. Stand up. Eurgh. Walk to bathroom. Hoik and spit. Luckily the lightglobe in the bathroom died last night so I didn't get a chance to look at whatever I spat into the toilet. But I am fairly sure it was green. With chunk expelled my pipes seemed relatively clear and the cold had been kept at bay, still not on my chest. So it looks like I'll be running then. As is the norm I took the dogs for a walk and grabbed my medicinal coffee. By the time I got home I felt almost human.

The running really is a grind at the moment and for that reason I am stubbornly sticking to well known routes while I chase my target total. That, of course, does not make for especially interesting reading. So I ran to work again today and like yesterday added a little bit to the day before. Today I finished at a shade under 17km. The idea was to run until nigh-on 9am, seeing how far my Cliff Young shuffle would carry me. Anything interesting to add? Er...it was a bit warmer this morning, overcast too. The thought occurred to me as trotted in that a target of 633km for the month does not need to be exceeded by much to get to 400miles. I did the rough maths with the 1.6 and figured 640 could be the new target. Yes, I know...

I had a meeting at 3pm that was shifted to 2pm so the second run - out to Anzac Bridge and back - was at midday. Not as much recovery as I'd like, but this one would take me to and through my goal, so bugger it, just knock it out. And I did. Again, it was familiar miles that make for quite dull reading. As I headed out, once again needing to coax my legs into moving, I started thinking I'd got it in the bag. I stopped that thinking pretty sharpish, telling myself "you're not there yet, you're not there yet..." But on the return, as I passed the casino, I looked at the Garmin and saw I was through 25km for the day. A quick look to the heavens (atheist style) and a clenched fist and that was the celebrations done. Mission accomplished. I've not looked, but the warm squidgy feeling in my left shoe felt as like a popped blister. I can live with that.

It has been another day of goals. Six months ago, heading into Janathon, I had set myself a stretch-target of 10km/day. Then Gary and Jenks started to push me. It was unfortunate that Jenks copped an injury and even more unfortunate - for me (hahahaha!) - that Gary was hitting some freaky mileage. I clocked up a little over 500km in January, surpassing my wildest expectations. By the time I got to work today I had put over 100km on my Janathon total and doubled my first "..athon" goal. By lunchtime I had run the equivalent of a half marathon for each of June's 30 days - with a day to spare. Now I am faced with a choice. I can relax, content to have reached a goal that was, frankly, outrageous and has been achieved courtesy of a stubborn refusal to fail. Or do I say fuck it, in for a penny, in for a pound and add the 8.5km I need to reach 400miles. Which will also give me my highest Junathon one-day mileage.

How much better does a beer test at 400? Fuck I'm stupid. An hour till hometime, best listen to some wind-up music. Let's start with paradise City...

I did walk to Observatory Hill and waited seemingly aaagggeeessss for the Garmin to lock on. Then I headed north at a slow shuffle. And something odd happened. I felt fine. The kms clicked over relatively easily. Yes, my left little toe felt gooey and my right leg ached as it has for a week or more. But these things didn't concern me. I was running with a short-stride shuffle that was energy efficient...and I felt like I could just keep going. I set myself one final goal for the month. I was going to end the day having covered the marathon distance. I decided to run straight up the Pacific Highway to Chatswood and on the way was trying to work out how I could get the distance and end up near home. In the end i went past Chatswood, head down Boundary Street to Penshurst Street and when I got to the grog shop on Willoughby Road at 42.04km. I ran a hundred metres past, turned around and popped in as the marathon mileage clicked over. I got a Guinness.

Dad had come to mind at 38km and the tears had flowed as they often do. But I wasn't struggling. The image that came to mind was the old man shaking my hand and saying "go on son, I think you've got this one." He was right. Thanks dad, right as usual.

Sentimental nonsense over. Today has been a good day on the road.