Ultramarathon training- week 6 of 23

 

I am on week 6 of a 23 week training programme to run a 50km ultramarathon, a goal I’ve been eyeing up as my 50th birthday creeps up on me next year. 

So, week 6: Monday was rest day, Tuesday was 12km “easy” recovery run, Wednesday involved an hour of weight training for overall strength and conditioning, Thursday was the worst day- training run (this week it was hill repeats, next week is the dreaded interval training), Friday was rest day and yesterday, Saturday, was more weight lifting. 

Today, hallelujah, is long run day. Today is all about going slow and far, all about TOF (time on feet), all about enjoying the view, listening to music, getting decent headspace, becoming knackered but simultaneously charged. Today is the most important of all training days. If you are training for a race- any race- and you do only one run a week, make it the long run. 

I have a newish route planned for today, a 28km loop along the local roads and streets. I get my brightly coloured shorts on, running sandals, long sleeved black t-shirt, small rucksack, sunglasses on, waterproof jacket in the bag just in case, vaseline smeared. It’s perfect outside- 15 celsius, slight breeze, bit of cloud, bit of sun, just right. I start running as soon as the front door closes behind me. 

At 100m the nuchal ligament that attaches my skull to my spine relaxes from leather to elastic and my vision transforms from blurry to sharp (I am informing my body I am running), at 1km I am up the local “warm-up” hill, at 2km I think I am properly “warmed up”, at 5km I am properly, properly warmed up. This is the point I stop sweating. And as I run my breathing slows to the same cadence as when I am not running, my whole body starts to move smoothly and horizontal, not jagged or bouncing up and down. This is when I am comfortable, when I not simply running but I am “in” the run, and I feel I could continue indefinitely (I know I can’t carry on like this forever but my instincts inform me differently- that this is my natural state, I have evolved to be at this point, I am- we are- born to run). This is when I can stop consciously focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, I am not “getting going” any more, my thoughts now flow in and out, sometimes staying for while, sometimes fleetingly passing by, and I allow myself to float, physically and psychically. This is the big secret about running that new runners need convincing of- the hardest part is learning to run. Once you can run- really run for a few miles past the warm up, past the breathlessness and aching legs of those early stages- it becomes smooth and freeing and transcendent. It felt beautiful. 

Until I nearly get taken out by car. There is one 500m stretch of road with no pavement which I almost always avoid but it connected two areas I wanted to cover and so, for change, I took the risk. Bright daylight, straight road, I could be seen for miles, she raced past at 50mph missing me by an inch, no concession at all to at the soft and vulnerable human moving directly towards her as if I simply didn’t exist. I screamed and was forced to jump off the road into a bush.

So I took out my mobile phone and pointedly held it clearly in front of me, recording every passing car for the last few hundred metres of that same pavement-less road. Every car after that, without fail, gave me a very wide, slow berth being at greater fear of getting points on their license than squashing a human to death. 

Then back on the pavement, phone back in my rucksack, I reached the coastal road. Now my mind wasn’t drifting anymore- I was fully present in a strong headwind, salty air in my nostrils, the strong smell of seaweed, waves spraying onto my face. I slowed down for a quick biscuit break, slurp of electrolytes then carried on running next to the sound of the surf, down the long straight in the direction of home. 

The last few kilometres were tough- no flow here- as I was reminded that my weight lifting session yesterday was particularly taxing as my legs get heavier and heavier. And that I donated blood two days ago so had 15% fewer red blood cells than I needed for a long run. Then the third and final biscuit break as more energy was needed but it was too much sugar- I started to retch into a bush (I am still trying to figure out the best snacks to take on a long run as it’s a delicate balancing act between calorie intake and stomach function). But I have great self-confidence in one very specific thing - attrition. I can continue, without great pace or grace, for a very, very long time. And so I do. I buckle up, kick myself up the bum and move relentlessly forward. 

To finish the last 2km on an uphill appears to be a terrible idea. But I have a method- so much of this particular route is very flat, mostly next to the sea, that my muscles will begin to atrophy towards the end and will hopefully be happy to move in new ways up that final hill. I wasn’t wrong- I was beginning to crumble at the 26th kilometre but as soon as I started to climb those last vertical 2km my legs could stretch out as if getting a mini massage. I easily sped up, fast and loose, and I zoomed up the hill.

I almost fell through the front door- a slightly epic 28km complete, my longest run for several years, 2 litres of electrolytes drunk, half a pack of dark chocolate digestives munched, a ten-pack of tissues used (I have no idea why I get such a snotty nose when I run). There’s no shower quite like the shower after a long run. And there are no calories quite as enjoyable as the (preferably pizza-based) calories after a long run too. 

Then I’ll review the stats (mainly pace and cadence, I don’t really care about the time), consider next week’s training regime, rest day tomorrow, recovery run the day after that. Then, next Sunday, a longer long run, an increase in TOF. 

50km? Bring it on.