The One With All The Chafing

During the week I was in a store called TK Maxx where they’ve come up with the revolutionary retail idea of filling their vast space with as much stock as possible whilst only staffing one checkout. This means that consumers have to queue in a snake-like fashion throughout the aisles, so as to encourage them to supplement their shopping baskets with additional impulse buys… “Oooh look, Ralph Lauren tea coseys, grab ‘em quick.” Genius.

Ordinarily, I might have gently and respectfully enquired as to whether putting additional staff on the tills might not be such a bad idea seeing as how the world's oil is due to run out in 2050 and some of us may struggle to get home if the petrol stations are all shut. But I was in a good mood because I'd just discovered this magnificent running attire (they're not tights, okay?) at 50% off so reasoned that if the worse came to the worst, I could put them on and run home.

As you can see from the photograph they're fairly ‘snug’ so before giving them their first outing today, I debated long and hard as to what underwear would complement them best. Prominent VPL's are obviously a worrying concern for marathon runners so I decided on an equally snug pair of Y-fronts (photo available on request), ‘high cut’ in the thigh for ease of movement.

My movement certainly felt easy as I began the weekend's 100-minute long run, but after 30 minutes or so a certain amount of discomfortureness(iticity?) became evident. Specifically, the hunkiness of my thighs, normally so well protected and encased in boxer-styled underwear, was causing some very definite skin friction in the rear groin area and as a result, unequivocal and irreversible chafing had commenced.

I stopped, I stretched, I ran some more, I stopped again, I stretched again and eventually I tried running like a chimpanzee who'd just dismounted after a five-day horse ride, which of course instigated a whole new form of chafing as my knuckles began to drag along the ground.

When I finally waddled through the back door of the house, I'd only managed 75 minutes total running – in short painful interludes – such a disappointment after last weekend’s accomplishment. However, my favourite iPod moment today was Supergrass singing ‘Moving’ which, I swear, came on at the very second my arse was lowering itself on to a park bench for a rest and immediately made me get up and continue on my painful way.

Next week: The One With All The Vaseline

The One Where I Was Pure Burstin' For A P#sh

I used to think I had the greatest bladder in the world. I once flew from Amsterdam to San Francisco and never once left my window seat, never mind visit a mile-high bathroom. But try drinking a couple of litres of water within the first hour of waking up, with only a bowl of cheerios (multigrain) and freshly cleaned tubes adorning your insides, and see how far you can run without diving into the bushes for a slash. 15 minutes was all I could manage today before my ‘compression’ base layers exerted unbearable pressure and something had to give. 10 minutes later, I had to repeat the entire emergency bush-diving exercise to ease the strain. Now I'm no doctor (not since the BMA saw fit to revoke my licence for 'inappropriate bedside manners'... some nonsense about 'excess drool') but I'm pretty sure that was probably the same kind of pain that women experience in childbirth… ‘cept I was back on my feet and jogging home five minutes later. No please, save your applause… I’m no superhero… I’m just a man.

Favourite iPod moment: Blondie – ‘Picture This’ (Check out this 1979 video from the magnificent Glasgow Apollo.)

The One With More Excuses

Well it’s been two weeks now since this blog was born and despite my usual rash promises (“It’ll be up to date by the 19th, definitely!”... “No, no, it was a POKER website, honest dear.”... “Sure, I’ll definitely call you.”) some of the posts are still not completed, while others are inspirational ideas that came to me fully formed during a long run only to disappear as soon as I collapsed back on the couch.

If it’s your first visit here today then welcome, come in and make yourself at home but would you mind leaving your muddy shoes at the back door please? Oh, and watch you don’t put them on the spleen I coughed up there yesterday. Thanks. I know I seem to be doing this welcome thing most Mondays but there might be a few work colleagues tuning in this week after I bombarded everyone I know on Friday (pay day!) for their support, and more specifically, for them to show me the money.

In that regard, let me say a huge thank you to all who sponsored me in the last seven days… Norm, Gordy, Lorraine, WS, Linda, Stavros, Morven, Kenny, Gill, Neil, Jo, Eric B, Hawaii, Graeme, Nick, Andy and Big Al… I’m constantly amazed by your generosity, kindness and inspirational words of support, although I have to admit I struggled to find the Obama-like rhetoric of hope in Graeme’s succinct “You have no chance of finishing”.

Anyway, despite appearances – and not unlike the second, ragged-looking Death Star - this website will be fully operational by next Monday, not least because I have some days off this week and will be putting my hands to very good use. On the keyboard. And what not.

Have a great week.

The One With The Appreciative Nods

My training plan says that today’s long run should be ‘80-90 minutes jog with walking breaks’. I reckon that constitutes a run of about eight miles so the first thing I do today is go out in the car and drive four miles west out of town. And then four miles back home again. It’s another cold but beautifully clear day as I set out on my initial jog to the ‘stretch zone’, a little area up the hill with a low wall onto which I can raise my legs to stretch the hamstrings and calves like some comedy ballerina; less Darcy Bussell, more Roly Poly.

I’m determined to break the 60 minute non-stop barrier today so start off very slowly, ignoring the ‘pedestrian-passing principle’ whenever possible. Why is it that I seem to be able to reduce the distance between far off pedestrians at a seemingly consistent rate but at the point when I actually catch up to them it seems to take forever to overtake them? Do they hear my footfalls pounding the pavement behind them and start to panic in a “Oh f#ck, it’s just like Jurassic Park!” type of way? Or do they throw in a sneaky hop ‘n a skip to speed up and mess with my head? Or is it like when a police car passes you and the siren changes tone and pitch? Isn’t that Einstein’s theory? My speed relative to their speed multiplied by itself equals E? (For the record, this is exactly the kind of crap that fills my head when I’m out running. Is it just me?)

Being a Sunday and such a beautiful day, there seemed to be an inordinate amount of people out taking exercise. Usually when I run in the daylight there’s a lot of teeth-gritting and pavement-staring going on but today, for the first time, I raised my head and noticed there’s actually a lot of mutual appreciation going on between human beings undertaking common activities. Who knew?

The Woman
As I reached the main part of town, a woman who I’d estimate at 60+ years old was jogging in the opposite direction. As we passed each other, she smiled and nodded at me as if to say “we pensioners can really show ‘em, eh?” So sincere was her smile that I didn’t have the heart to steal her water bottle.

The (Other) Saggy-Assed Jogger
This guy was running in the same direction as me on the other side of the road and I’m sure he speeded up as he passed, despite wearing saggy-assed cotton jogging pants that looked ten times heavier than mine. He glanced over and nodded with a slightly contemptuous “seriously dude, that’s as fast as you can go?” which made me think he was in hurry to check whether a seagull had crapped all over his BMW so I retorted with a nod that said, “usually I’m quite a competitive person but I so don’t want to be you… oh and it wasn’t a bird that crapped on your BMW, it was me. Have a nice day.”

The Kid
On the other side of town I saw a little kid of no more than 10 years old sprinting towards me in a blur like he was trying to catch a bus or was late for a Sunny D convention. As he approached me at great speed I could see he had little earphones in his little ears and his little shoes were proper running shoes and here, to my amazement, was a kid out running for the pure enjoyment of getting exercise. I braced myself for a torrent of youthful abuse but instead he looked up at me and beamed a genuine smile of such warmth that I nearly asked the next woman I passed if she’d mind having my babies. Strangely, she declined.

The Lance Armstrongs
Once I was out of town and heading into the countryside, a group of cyclists approached me all dressed the same in their bright yellow wind jackets and wraparound sunglasses. As they passed me, they were beginning to climb a slight gradient and as they rose out of their seats to begin the ascent, everything seemed to turn into slow motion. I looked at each in turn trying to gauge the effort going on behind the shades and finally, the guy at the back of the pack looked at me and nodded his head with the slightest of forward bows, not unlike that big majestic flying beast thing in the Harry Potter movies. I took this as quite a reverential gesture that said, “if you’re running out here in the countryside, then you’re doing something serious so good on you,” however he may just have been trying to shake a bug off his visor.

Anyway, I broke the 60 minute non-stop barrier today with 62 mins followed by a good stretching session and then an easy 30 minute jog home. Favourite iPod moment of the day was Coldplay singing “Fix You.”

The One That Was Four Miles From Threemiletown

I had a day off work today and what a gorgeous sunny day it turned out to be. Actually, that’s been quite a consistent pattern since the turn of the year with very few of the normal Scottish January days where everything, including the grass in my garden, is grey. And hardly any rain. (Cue February blizzards.)

Following a light breakfast consisting of a cup of tea and an ‘everything’ bagel with cream cheese (low fat) and pastrami, I did a few (three) sit-ups in the living room and then went back to bed for a bit (an hour). It was bliss.

Up until now I’ve been running different combinations of the same streets near my home but when my best pal paid a lunchtime visit I decided it was time to try a new route. We drove east out of town and I got dropped off after exactly four miles, right beside the sign for Threemiletown, a sprawling conurbation of two cottages, a tractor and a shifty-looking black and white collie.

Knowing exactly how far I was about to run was a new experience, made all the more enjoyable by the gorgeous weather. It was also the first time I’d run a ‘straight’ route, starting and finishing in different places, much more akin to what will happen on the big day. Might do more of that in the future. For now, today’s favourite iPod Shuffle moment was Stevie Wonder – “Isn’t She Lovely”.

The One With The Blog Excuses

If you’re visiting here for the first time, perhaps because I sent you an annoying email last week demanding that you sponsor me for the 2009 Flora London Marathon, then hello and welcome. It’s been a week since I started this blog, which means it’s been a week since I made the sincere promise that by the time today came around, all would be up to date and you’d have the full, horrid picture of just how p#sh my marathon training was going last year up to Christmas.

To be honest, I had all the backlog of “posts” typed up on my old typewriter (not quite sure what Bling-Bling, my Thai houseboy, does then to put them on the interweb, “scan” them perhaps?) but they’ve disappeared because it’s a been a bit stormy here recently and a freak gale blew the back door open last Thursday and a racoon ran in and grabbed them for nest-lining or dam-building or bedtime-reading or whatever the hell it is that racoons do of an evening.

So as you can see – if you scroll down to the very bottom and work your way up slowly – there are some posts that have TITLES ONLY and have NOT YET BEEN FINISHED. I emphasise this because I received some earnest feedback in the pub on Friday night from my good friend Dave in a conversation that went something like…

Neil: “Hi Dave, happy new year mate. What can I get you to drink?”
Dave: “Um.. gettus a Bottle of Miller, will ya dude?”
Neil: “Yeah, no problem. Oh, and listen… thanks very much for your generous sponsorship which you no doubt donated quickly and easily when you logged on to www.justgiving.com/neilsutherland on Wednesday. It’s very much appreciated.”
Dave: “You’re very welcome dude. And yes, it was very quick and easy once I’d logged on to www.justgiving.com/neilsutherland; couple of clicks and I was done and you know… it left me with a warm spiritual glow inside, having helped my fellow dude.”
Neil: “Yes Dave, that’s so true. Giving is so much more gratifying than receiving, as you know only too well.”
Dave: “Aye.. anyway.. I’m also enjoying the new blog but I think it’s broken dude.”
Neil: “Broken?”
Dave: “Yeah, I read the first bit – skippin' aw the big words of course - and then I scrolled down a bit and read some more, but I couldnae get into some of the others. I was clicking and clicking and clicking but they widnae expand and display any of the text.
Neil: “No Dave, that’s because they’re only titles; I havenae written or posted them yet.”
Dave: “Posted? Like wi’ an envelope and a stamp in a post-box?”
Neil: “Sure. Bling-Bling scans them and then goes down to the post office to send them to the interweb.”
Dave: “Cool, that’s awesome dude. Now whaurs ma Miller?”

So apologies once again. I hope to get up to date with all the posts by the end of next weekend but meantime, let me start a new weekly ritual by saying a very big thank you to all who sponsored me in the last seven days… Keithy, Poochie, Mum & Dad, Ewen & Donna, Helen, Lindsay, David D and Dan & Alexa… your donations will help enormously and are very much appreciated.

The One Round The Loch

On Tuesday I was 'working from home' and had a very pleasant lunchtime run on a gorgeous sunny day. 30 minutes running in total, 25 non-stop. Favourite iPod moment: The Clash – ‘London Calling’.

On Thursday evening, I managed 40 minutes running in total with 35 non-stop. Favourite iPod moment: Feeder – ‘Just The Way I’m Feeling’. Rona once told me that when you break the '30 minute non-stop' barrier, everything's a 'piece of p#ss' thereafter, a technical training phrase I’ve yet to find replicated elsewhere in any other running publication. Well see.

The ‘long’ run on the plan for this weekend says ’75 mins jog/run’ but because there’s a storm due to arrive tonight or tomorrow, I decided to run in the sun this morning instead.

The town where I live has its own palace sitting atop a little raised hill (as opposed to a sunken hill) beside a picturesque loch where fairies often flutter low above the sun-kissed water and elves skip among the toadstools.

It’s 2.3 miles around the loch with another two or so to get there and back so as I head off, I wonder whether I can run for an hour non-stop.

The path around the loch isn’t great in places and I have to work hard not to get my lovely white shoes all covered in mud but I make it round and head home, all the time thinking, “that must be close to an hour, surely?” When I arrive home, my watch has a little sneer and tells me that I’ve only done 55 in total, 50 non-stop so I punch it in the face and head out again.

“That must be another 10 minutes, surely?” Watch says 5.
“That must be 15 by now, surely?” Watch says 8.
“That must be 15 NOW?” Watch says 10.

By this time I’m approaching the house again and am more than ready to chuck it for the day which is when ‘Fanfare For Rocky’ comes gushing out of my wee iPod Shuffle and I run straight past the house and keep going for another five minutes. Feeling strong now.

The One After The First Gym Session

After the disappointment of week 1 of my training, I sat down yesterday and gave myself a good talking to. Normally when I try and do this, I get bored quite easily with what I have to say to myself, so I always make sure I’ve drawn eyes on the back of my eyelids with a felt-tip pen in the event that I drift off to sleep, so that it appears that I’m always awake and alert and I don’t get offended by my own disinterest and sloth. Clever eh?

Yesterday however, I had absolutely no problem listening to the wise words I had to say to myself in that low, husky (but smoke-free) register that makes the young girls sing (or is that the songs I write?). To further keep me motivated, I placed this photograph of my nephew Tommy by my desk at work so he can hypnotise me with his hypnotic eyes and remind me why I’m doing this. The result is that I’m now feeling a bit more optimistic about week 2, especially as I’m slightly ahead of the game… yesterday the plan said ‘Rest’ but last night I went to the gym.

Some people told me I should avoid going to the gym on a Monday evening between 5pm and 8pm because it’s always very busy with regulars and pretty people as they try and work off their weekend excesses… “Oh, I really shouldn’t have had that fifth Ferrero Rocher at the Ambassador’s do on Saturday night.” It was certainly mobbed around 7pm on the night I went for my induction so last night I turned up at 8.15 hoping I’d have the place to myself. Although not empty, I was pleased to see it was occupied by what looked like less showy newcomers so I felt right at home. For those interested in such things, here’s the cross training plan Leann and I devised last week, Leann mainly…

(i) Exercise Bike: 10 minutes at 80rpm (3 mins at level 5, 2 mins at level 7, 3 mins at level 6 and 2 mins at level 8)
(ii) Treadmill: 22 minutes (2 mins at 6kph and 20 mins at 8kph)
(iii) Cross/Elliptical Trainer: 15 mins (3mins at level 5, 2 mins at level 7, 3 mins at level 5, 2 mins at level 7, 3 mins at level 6 abd 2 mins at level 5)
(iv) Leg Press: 15 rep x 40kg x 30 seconds x 3
(v) Calf Raise: 15 rep x 40kg x 30 seconds x 3 (watch out for low swinging udders)
(vi) Stomach Curls: 10 rep x 3

No, I’ve got no idea what all of those numbers or abbreviations mean either which is why it’s all loaded into the magic key that makes the Dalek machines work all by themselves. I have to admit I really quite enjoyed the ‘workout’ last night and there was a moment on the treadmill listening to Beyonce’s ‘Crazy In Love’ when I was convinced that all the other newcomers and I would dismount simultaneously from our equipment and sashay effortlessly into the video’s perfectly choreographed booty-throbbin’ routine. Luckily, the lateness of the hour diluted my embarrassment somewhat when I was the only one who leapt into the middle of the floor and started a-shakin’.

The One With The New Blog

For those of you joining us for the first time, perhaps via erstwhile sister blog ‘neilwritestheblog’, a very warm welcome to you. It’s a little embarrassing to begin with an apology but you’ve actually caught us a bit off guard this morning as we’re still getting things sorted out and haven’t yet unpacked the good cutlery or tracked down curtains to match the carpets. Found the kettle though. Tea?

The purpose of this blog is to try and document my experience of training for and running the 2009 Flora London Marathon. It’s as much for my benefit (perhaps more so) as it is for anyone who reads it because I hope writing about it publicly will keep me honest about doing what needs to be done, instead of, for example, pretending that I did that first long 75 minute run yesterday. More on that later.

If you want to scroll down to the very bottom and work your way upwards, you’ll see some of the things I’ve been up to over the last six months, together with some unfinished stories yet to be.. um.. finished. Between now and next Monday I hope to fill in all the gaps and get up to date so that going forward, there will be something new on this blog almost every day. That ‘thud’ you heard right there was the sound of people who know me, keeling over in disbelief.

After you’ve scrolled down and read a little about the people responsible for making me undertake this ridiculous venture, I’d like you to offer whatever financial support you can in helping me raise funds for the National Autistic Society. If you click on all these brightly coloured red words that are underlined, you’ll be whisked off to my fundraising page where it’s quick and easy to make a donation online. Any amount, big or small, will help and will be very much appreciated.

So why not go ahead and do that now to avoid me annoying you with emails later this week. Because you know that I will so totally do that!

The One With The First 'Long' Run

Every training plan for a marathon includes a weekly ‘long’ run, usually scheduled for the weekend when in theory you have more time to attempt it. (“attempt”… is that the right verb? Makes it sound like I’m trying to jump the Grand Canyon on a scooter. Then again…) Yesterday was dirty, horrible weather, the worst kind of grey Scottish horizontal rain flung against the windows by angry gusts, so I was quite content to forego the plan’s “15 minutes, very easy” and sit in the house all day working on ‘admin’ stuff for this marathon. Things like…

(i) setting up an on-line fundraising page and trying to write the background story explaining why I’m doing this,
(ii) collating email addresses and attempting to find the right words to ask friends and family to give me some of their hard earned money in sponsorship,
(iii) setting up this new blog and struggling to fill it with all the content that had seemed so effortless when it was flying through my brain during the run to the gym on Thursday evening.

The weather didn’t abate until about 2.30 this afternoon at which point I creaked my way off the chair in front of the computer screen and pulled on my saggy-assed, cotton jogging pants. Glancing at the plan, the description of the Week 1 ‘long’ run says “75 minutes, easy run; take walking breaks if needed”. I was out of the house getting buffeted by the wind and enduring severe back, neck and shin pains for a grand total of 30 minutes. I’ll be lucky if 20 minutes of that could in any way be described as “running”. For the entire week, the plan advocated a total of 195 minutes of running. At a stretch, I managed 80.

Tomorrow, this blog is going to have a chirpy introductory post which will attempt to wear its hat at a jaunty angle and put a brave face on this whole venture. But if you read very carefully between the lines I’m sure you’ll spot the abject terror and catch a whiff of the fear of failure that I very definitely feel this evening.

The One With The Gym Induction

Yesterday I did my first proper running, a stop-start affair during my lunch break which in no way made up for the sessions I should have done earlier in the week. This evening, I was meeting qualified fitness instructor Leann for a 7:00pm appointment (it would be a stretch to call it “a date”) so I decided that because the weather was decent, I would run the 2.6 miles to the gym. And I did, more or less, with two or three walking breaks.

Leann is considerate enough (or well trained enough) to keep a straight face when I tell her what I’m working towards and doesn’t flinch an inch when I step on to the scales for the weigh-in, other than to point out politely that I shouldn’t really keep one foot on the floor. Next she takes my blood pressure which is borderline “treadmill safe” and then she takes it again to see if it was an anomaly. It wasn’t, but she decides I’m okay to proceed.

We talk about the type of training I need and the core strength I desperately need to build up and she recommends a circuit of different exercises which build into an hour-long programme. She then uploads the entire programme from her computer into a magic key which I assume will open a secret door to Narnia where training is effortless and unicorns run free by my side, encouraging me as I go and handing me bottles of Lucozade Sport whenever I need them.

Alas no, the magic key fits into a myriad of Dalek-looking equipment, negating the need for me to ever push any ‘start’ buttons or adjust any speeds, which is just as well because if you’ve ever seen Bill Murray in ‘Lost in Translation’ killing time on an elliptical trainer in a Japanese hotel (sorry, I couldn’t find it on the YouTube), you’ll have some idea of what happened to me this evening when I stepped on to this cross training death trap for the first time in my life. Stupid fake cross-country skiing machine.

But pleasingly, all the fitness equipment have little televisions installed, as well as churning out stats and charts on their screens recording everything from my heart rate and calorie burn to a ‘hotness in lycra’ rating. I happened to be wearing my saggy-assed, cotton jogging pants so only a “This Hotness Cannot Be Found 404 Error” message was displayed. Stupid Dalek machine.

All in all, the evening was quite enjoyable and I was a little out of breath having had more opportunities than I expected to try out all the equipment. As I walked back out to the car park, I started to look forward to my first proper session and the long term benefits it would bring. Which was when I remembered that I hadn’t brought the f#cking car. Cue the thirty minute run, walk, run, walk, run, walk, crawl journey home.

The One At The Gym

There can surely be no worse time to commence a training plan for your first ever marathon than early January. In Scotland. Today is a case in point. It’s the second day back at work after the holidays and there’re plenty of things to do but you just cannot be arsed. It’s blowing a gale and pissing down outside so any thoughts of a quick lunchtime leg-stretch melt like the cheese in your baked potato and very quickly disappear. By the time you get home in the evening it’s pitch black outside, it’s still windy and rainy, your SAD light is broken, a couple of ‘units’ of “Friends” are just about to start on E4, you make yourself a nice wee cup of tea and before you know it, you’re snoring on the couch and drooling all over your Burnt Sienna throw-cushions from Ikea.

My training plan says I should be doing “40 minutes steady” today (what, no fartlek?) but there’s no way I'm venturing outside to get soaked. I’ve been thinking a lot about what the doctor said last week and it does make sense to find other ways to get fit without my feet taking all the punishment. So at the risk of causing (yet another) great disturbance in The Force, I get in the car, drive to the other side of town, track down the local “leisure” centre and I.. I.. I.. *gulp*.. I.. join a gym.

The reception area is busy and noisy and as I fill out forms in a daze and then hand over credit cards, the feeling is, I imagine, akin to turning over your personal effects as you begin a ten-year stretch as punishment for a lifetime of petty smoking and opportunist snacking.

Anyway, I have to go back on Thursday for something called the “gym induction”. I’m thinking of getting the entire blueprints of the place tattooed on my back because if I hear the merest snap of rubber gloves being put on, or the steady trundle of water hoses being unraveled, it’ll be time to start digging a tunnel.

The One With The Swedish B#llocks

Today is Day 1 of the sixteen-week Flora Marathon Training Plan for “first timers”. The plan was emailed to me by the Flora organisers shortly after my place was confirmed last year and consists of sixteen separate pdf files. Not a lovely spreadsheet or a tastefully formatted Word document; not even ONE pdf file with sixteen pages but SIXTEEN SEPARATE PDF FILES.

This incorrect and inefficient use of Office–related applications seems to bother me far more than might be reasonably expected. It’s a disgrace and just plain wrong of course (and they’re a f#cking pain in the arse to print), but I can’t help feeling that I might be transferring some of my own anxiety and insecurity about what’s to come on to the unsuspecting Flora addicts and their crack Adobe habit.

Anyway, for those of you with bionic eyesight, here’s what the plan for week 1 looks like. At the top of the page there’s a breakdown of the running and resting I should be doing each day, at the bottom there’s a motivational tip ("Try running from a lion") and a ‘training’ recipe (101 ways to bake, fry, roast, toast and sauté with Flora) and in the middle there’s a ‘training tip’. It reads as follows:

“Try fartlek! – ‘Fartlek’ is Swedish for ‘speed play’ and consists of bursts of speed in the middle of a training run. After your warm-up, try running at an easy training pace, throwing in bursts of speed for various distances throughout the run. Vary the speed and times of the speed sections, from as short as 15 seconds to as long as 2-3 minutes. Between these bursts, allow yourself enough recovery time to match roughly 2/3 of the effort time.”

A few observations about this…

(i) If this was a wise extract from the Kenyan marathon playbook I might be more convinced. But Sweden? Really?
(ii) This is WEEK ONE of the marathon training plan for FIRST TIMERS. What the F#CK are we doing discussing “speed play”?
(iii) And what’s with the Good Will Hunting algebra problem in the last sentence?
(iv) I am a 44 year-old ex-smoker who’s just recently realised he can get off a couch. I don’t DO “bursts”. Seriously, ask any of the guys I play football with about my “change of pace” and then stand well back because you might just get splattered with something nasty when their SIDES ACTUALLY SPLIT from the convulsive and uncontrollable laughter.
(v) And for that matter, what the hell is the difference between “jog”, “steady”, “easy”, “very easy”, “comfortable” and “brisk” when illustrating the type of running I should be doing? I have one pace. If you’d described each day’s running as “XX minutes, mosey” then you’re talking my type of language.

So Sweden, I love your tasty meatballs and your reasonably priced furniture; I especially love your Henrik Larsson and the blonde one out of ABBA. But as far as your week one training tips are concerned you can Fartlek Off.

For the record, I was going to play football for an hour this evening instead of doing the plan’s “25 minute jog”. But things changed and I didn’t manage either. Bad start.