The One With The Forrest Gumps

When I wrote the title for this post on Tuesday evening, I was all set to relay the story of how I went shopping for knee supports on Monday. I was going to take a picture of me wearing them or manufacture a ‘hilarious’ image of me strapped into the Forrest Gump leg braces. I was going to joke about how the most horrifying physical challenge for all marathon runners is CROSSING A F#CKING ROAD because not only do you have to execute a ridiculously intricate tippy-toe stepping movement that wouldn’t look out of place in a comedy Riverdance routine as you twist round to see if there are any cars coming, but when you get to the other side you have to constantly chop and adjust your stride pattern like a sh#t-scared showjumping horse approaching the puissance wall as you contemplate mounting the monumental obstacle of the SIX INCH KERB.

But now it’s Friday evening and there’s something wrong with my knees; my left knee in particular which ‘popped’ painfully last night as I was slowing down at the conclusion of a five-mile run. Both knees have since been iced, elevated, compressed, rested and plunged into hot baths and although there’s no obvious swelling, I couldn’t walk today without a constant grinding and crunching seemingly taking place behind the kneecaps on every step.

So now I’m anxious and feeling desperate, especially after just completing the online ‘How Prepared Are You To Do The Marathon In 3 Weeks Time’ assessment questionnaire to discover that I’m officially rated as “sh#tting myself”. Every time I get an email from Just Giving to tell me that another kind and generous person has made a donation to my fundraising effort, I cringe at the prospect of not living up to the responsibility. I feel like I want to write to anyone that hasn’t yet sponsored me to say, ‘save your money, save yourselves, turn around and run… run like the wind’. It actually crossed my mind today to see if I could transfer to the wheelchair race instead.

But I have hope.
I re-read the inspirational words on my wee sister Rona’s fundraising page and have reinforced to myself that not completing 26.2 miles on April 26th is simply not an option.
I have been in touch with various friends and acquaintances that have either had knee problems or are medically trained to give opinions.
I have an outside chance (thank you Carol) at getting an emergency appointment with a renowned sports physiotherapist in Edinburgh next week.
I just need a solution to get me to the finish line in three weeks time.
I will pay any price, financial or otherwise, to make this happen.
I have done too much to give up.

If you read this and have any idea, notion, suggestion or experience that you think might contribute to the solution I need, please let me know with a comment, text, phone call, smoke signal, semaphore flags, Morse code, carrier pigeon, two tin cans and a piece of string… WHATEVER!

Or you could email me at neil_sutherlandAThotmail.com

The One That Wasn't Nearly Enough

My wee brother Keith called me today to inform me that he was on his way out to the all-you-can-eat Sunday brunch at the Four Seasons Hotel in Irving Texas, just north west of Dallas. Oh, and he was also concerned that "the blog has gone cold". To discover the reason for that, we have to go back seven long days… *..cue Scooby Doo squiggly screen..*

Last Sunday when I got home from St. Andrews, I started to feel a bit queasy and the next morning when I got up at 5am to catch a flight to London, I could barely move my aching bones after a night of feverish sleep in sweat-soaked sheets. (I’m going to spare you descriptions of other bodily excretions that took place in a different room of the house.) This condition might have been acceptable if I’d had company but I didn’t so the rest of my week consisted of maximum bathing, minimum shaving, drinking lots of water and Lem-Sip Max Strength, eating a little food, laundering some bed linen, “working” from home, more sleep than I’ve had in what seems like a decade and most alarming of all, absolutely no running whatsoever.

I also developed what I have now officially patented as my ‘worried and concerned face’™ such was the anxiety over not being able to get out the house, far less put on my running shoes. In truth, I did venture out to the gym late on Friday evening but had to stop after half an hour when pixies came floating out of my nose and tried to trip me off the treadmill with a series of mesmerising dance moves and punches to my face. Either that or my legs gave way and I fell over.

And so to my ‘long run’ today. I was supposed to do 16 miles. I reckon I managed 11 at most in the two hours and 6 minutes that I was out. Not nearly enough. By the time Emmylou appeared on my iPod singing ‘Deeper Well’ – “thought I’d died and gone to hell, looking for the water from a deeper well” – I knew exactly how she felt. So if anyone happens to be passing and can hear my shouts from far below in the dark, I’d be obliged if you could throw me a rope. Thank you.

Meantime, let me dwell on more positive things and say a very big thank you to Rona, Douglas, Sue, Bruce, Linda, Evie, Kenny Y, Heather, Elaine and Marshall for their kind and generous sponsorship over the last four weeks.

There’s only four days to go now until World Autism Awareness Day on April 2nd and only four weeks to go until the Flora London Marathon itself. If you’d like to make a donation to this extremely worthwhile cause, and thereby avoid receiving a nagging email from me, you can do so by going to…

www.justgiving.com/neilsutherland

The One In St. Andrews

The weeks seem to be passing quite quickly now. Too quickly perhaps. Because of the length and duration of the long runs at the weekend, the ones during the week seem straightforward in comparison. Too straightforward perhaps? On Tuesday this week, my training plan said “40 minutes, brisk” and for the first time ever I actually felt I completed it at a tempo a notch or two higher than my usual pedestrian (but graceful and biomechanically efficient) pace.

But all I seem to do at the moment is work, run, eat and sleep (and not very soundly at that) and have found myself putting off seeing people until these next five weeks are complete. At which time I can continue to avoid them by rediscovering golf.

However this weekend is different because it’s Mother’s Day tomorrow so I’ve come to St. Andrews to visit my mammy. I did my long run late this afternoon which I’m hoping will mean I get a long, restful sleep tonight but I’ll need to be careful not to leave wet towels and clothes lying all over the floor in case my Mum accuses me of treating the family home like a hotel… I’d hate to have to phone down to my Dad at reception and complain about the maid’s attitude again.

Anyway, the long run was tiring but enjoyable on yet another gorgeous, cloudless day. For anyone familiar with the area, I parked my car beside the Old Course Hotel and ran all the way out to Leuchars, then back to the car to pick up some more Powerade and the most disgusting honey ‘energy gel’ ever concocted, then all the way through St. Andrews past the East Sands to the caravan park on the hill and then back to the car, some 14.5 – 15 miles in total.

Before I left home this morning I charged up my little iPod Shuffle and allowed iTunes a free reign to reload it with whatever it wanted. As usual, it selected a disproportionate number of hits from its (extensive and slightly disturbing) collection of West End musicals… how the hell did the Colonel Hathi’s March – “in da militawy style” – from The Jungle Book get in there? But my favourite iPod moment by far today was REM singing “Fall On Me”. Ages since I’ve heard this. And bring back MTV’s Unplugged.

The One With A Real Half Marathon

It’s the end of week 10 of the 16-week training plan. These next four weekends are going to be hell; a real dark and tough time within the latter part of the plan which will witness the longest training runs and stretch every mental and physical sinew to breaking point; a time to which we marathon runners refer simply as “the four real dark, tough, sinewy-stretchy, pointy-breaky, physical weekends of mental hell”.

Today I should be running 13 miles (followed by 15, 17 and 19 on the next three weekends) so it’s fortuitous, accidental even, that two days ago I came across a poster advertising today’s Meadows Marathon taking place in Edinburgh. Arranged and managed by students of Edinburgh University (so imagine the slick, efficient, organisational skills on show in Bristo Square early on a Sunday morning) the name’s a bit confusing because although it’s being held around The Meadows in Edinburgh, it’s only a half-marathon.

But it’s exactly what I need… a chance to see what it’s like to run with other people while the thronging crowds cheer you heartily all the way round and hot, scantily-clad students smeared in Flora are on hand at every water station to provide resuscitation in all its forms. Alas, not everything turns out to be exactly the same as I’ve fantasised London to be come April. The crowds were thin on the ground for one thing. And I couldn’t believe it wasn’t Flora. But it was certainly an experience running with other people.

I say ‘running with’ but I got the shock of my life when the starting gun went off and almost everyone seemed to shoot off at a sprint leaving me towards the back of the pack, languishing behind four guys carrying large and heavy-looking Loch Ness Monster costumes on their backs.

The ‘race’ consisted of seven and a half laps round The Meadows and right from the start one thing became clear: running ‘laps’ is mind-numbing, delusion-inducing, soul destroying stuff…

Neil (quietly to himself): “Right, there’s that same gnarly-looking tree again. I must’ve passed it a few times now. Only one more lap to go?”
Neil (to himself, but rather more strenuously): “Think again numbnuts, this is only lap 2.”
Neil (out loud): “F##########CCCCCKKKKK!!!!!”

However, one advantage of running seven and a half laps is that at some point you get to see almost every other person running in the race… mainly because they keep lapping you – the winner lapped me three times! But I was heartened by this because while my running style is the very definition of sleek, energy-saving, biomechanical efficiency, most other people looked, if not quite like idiots, then very akin to Phoebe and Rachel. Sure, they’re quick and very fit and probably powering their way to new personal best times but the crooked feet and the flailing ankles and the weird tilting and the stubby little t-rex arms are not going to rack up many style points in my book. Because we all know style points are the most important thing in running marathons, right?

RIGHT?

Anyway, overall I enjoyed the experience and finished the run just a couple of minutes outside my target time of two and a half hours. And I beat the Loch Ness Monster. Only three more real dark, tough, sinewy-stretchy, pointy-breaky, physical weekends of mental hell to go now. Oh, and then the 26 mile one...

The One With The Running Vest

Today my official running vest arrived in the post from the NAS – pretty, isn’t it? – and in an instant, made this whole marathon experience more real than it’s ever been up to this point. Now, finally, I can add vivid colour to the image in my mind of me crossing the finishing line, arms outstretched as I try and dig my nails into the concrete and pull my broken and prostrate body inch by agonising inch towards its final resting place.

Last year’s NAS vest was light blue in colour but I much prefer this one because it’s almost the same as the basketball strip I wore with great success in High School, that being the last time I could run for more than 20 minutes. I’m presuming my official race number will be pinned on underneath the wording but I’m a little concerned that there might not be enough room towards the top to iron on “Lightning Boy Woo! Hoo!”, my official race moniker. We’ll see…

The One With The Top Tip

When training for your first ever marathon, NEVER do your weekly long run on a Monday evening in March after getting home from a shitty day at work and thinking that it looks quite nice outside but forgetting how cold it gets as soon as the sun goes down and timing that exact moment for when you happen to be at the furthest point from your warm home and even warmer bubble bath of scented lavender and ylang ylang.

Got it?

The One With The Running Guilt

Still trying to get this blog up to date... Still trying to catch up on sleep... Still the one I run to, the one that I belong to... jeez, Shania, where'd you come from?

Meantime, if you ever want to leave an encouraging comment here – “run faster fat boy”, or something - I've removed the Krypton Factor-like word verification thingy so it should now be easy to do…

It had been my tentative plan to try and do this weekend’s long run late yesterday afternoon so that I could go to bed afterwards and finally get a decent night’s sleep. But four hours in the office yesterday morning removed all motivation to do anything other than lie on the couch and eat ice cream.

This morning when I woke up, there was a blizzard blowing outside – actual snow and winds, hurricanes even – and it continued for most of the day, so to cut a not-so-very long story even shorter, I didn’t get out today to run the 140 minutes that my training plan seemed to be screaming at me all day… “Only two things come from L’lthgow BOY…”

However, once the roads were clear of snow, I went to the gym for an hour late in the afternoon and found it absolutely packed with anxious people who also hadn’t made it outside for a run today. Sitting at home afterwards without the usual Sunday feelings of aching muscles, creaking bones and desperate, debilitating tiredness left me slightly guilty and uneasy that I’d gone ‘off the reservation’ as far as the training plan was concerned.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t the same blind hysterical panic associated with something serious, such as a new toilet roll being put on with the flappy bit DOWN THE BACK or the milk being poured into a cup BEFORE THE TEA, but all the same, it wasn’t the most pleasant of sensations.

The One With The Dressing Down

Every Friday in the office we get to ‘dress down’; an enjoyable ritual whereby we’re allowed to wear ‘casual’ clothing (i.e. clothing that’s perfectly free to see other people, no questions asked) and in return we throw a few coins into buckets placed strategically at the front door which eventually get donated to the company’s nominated charity.

However staff members undertaking private charity fundraising are allowed to reserve certain Fridays in order to collect the ‘casual’ money for their own particular charity. Four months ago I reserved today for just such an effort which meant that at 7am this morning, I was standing in the reception area of the office rattling my fundraising tin wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a big beaming smile. Oh, and my running shoes. And socks. And a National Autistic Society t-shirt.

My marketing ‘team’ had placed posters around the office over the past few days advertising the event which, in an effort to ensure maximum attendance, excitement and participation, had suggested the shorts I would exhibit this morning would be, to say the least, of the ‘snug’ variety. Alas.. *cough*.. they weren’t. But hey, marketing works (‘I’m Lovin’ It’?) and the people turned up and only a few (men mainly, wtf?) were disappointed with the ‘exhibition’. When I added up the cash from all the buckets and tins at the end of the day, I’d made £502.55, a fantastic result.

Clearly, this is not the occasion to make observations about the strategies people adopt to give money to charity (or not, as the case may be) but standing at the front door for three hours this morning was a fascinating insight into all the intricacies of human behaviour. So let me just say a very big thank you to everyone who made a donation today, especially Jackie, Tom, Ruth, Big Kenny, John and the others who gave hard-earned notes rather than coins. A special thank you too to Morv for the marketing, the tin-rattling, the coffee and the roll and sausage with potato scone (hey.. I’m ‘carb-loading’, okay?) and to Jamie and Eric who turned up to shake theirs also. Tins, that is.

The One With The Gym Review

Last Saturday morning I went to the gym for the first time in about three weeks and when I put my magic key into the machine thingy to ‘check-in’, there were a bunch of messages from my fitness instructor Leann asking me to make an appointment with her ‘asap’. The urgency of her tone made me think at first that perhaps she’d seen me having a fly smoke round the back of the five-a-side pitches and I was now being summoned to her office so she could ask me what the hell someone like me, with all that potential, had been thinking and didn’t I know that when she inevitably had to call my parents to break the news, it would hurt her far more than it would me?

But then I remembered I haven’t had a fly smoke since January 3rd so maybe I wasn’t being reprimanded after all and instead, had picked up a monthly gym accolade… February’s Most ‘Distinctive’ Treadmill Running Style (Seniors). So I made an appointment for this evening and jogged the 2.6 miles to the leisure centre to find out.

Amazingly, it turned out to be neither of these scenarios. Although Leann explained that she just wanted to review the original exercise plan and amend if necessary, I think I detected some relief in her eyes that I was actually still alive and my three week absence was not the result of keeling over at home with an aneurism after stretching to reach the remote control.

So now I have the same exercise routine as before but with all the numbers increased slightly so that I can go faster and stronger for longer… or some such thing. Favourite iPod moment as I ran the 2.6 miles home was Neil Finn singing “She Will Have Her Way”.

The One With The Scottish Rain

After last Sunday’s half marathon, the descriptor for today’s long run – “120 mins comfortable pace” – seems, on paper at least, like a bit of a walk in the park. But when you take it off the paper and put it in the discreet back pocket of your running ‘tights’, alongside the ‘special’ black and red jelly babies (oh, I haven’t told you about the jelly babies yet, have I?), and then go outside to face the elements, it becomes less of a walk in the park and more of a two-hour slog in the pissin’ Scottish rain.

Actually, that’s not quite true. It did rain while I was running for the first time since the ‘Toy Story 2 episode’ but only for about half an hour at the start and only when I was running with the force 10 ‘breeze’ at my back. Thankfully, all during that first half hour, my little green iPod shuffle served up, in what I can only assume was a tribute to Friday night’s gig extravaganza by The Signals, a right plethora of Scottish-based rock and pop gems including, but not limited to, the Kevin McDermott Orchestra, Del Amitri, Danny Wilson, Hipsway and the Allan Hendry Band. Awesome.

I spent most of today’s run on the path alongside the Union Canal, which passes through my town on its way from somewhere in the west, all the way to a noisy, overpriced bar/'bistro' in Edinburgh. I'd calculated that canals rarely run uphill or down so changes in elevation, and the resultant agonising pain in my calves and shins, would be kept to an absolute minimum. What I didn’t count on though was the rough terrain of the path where jaggy stones would stab me through the soles of my shoes and slight muddy patches would become barely leapable Red Sea-like puddles after a rain shower. Not to mention the mad cyclists and the fighting dogs who both almost sent me headlong into the murky waters of the canal at different points. And me without my crèche-boy water wings too. Never again.

However, at least I didn’t suffer last week’s little niggling injury again. The day after the half marathon run, I was in the shower and noticed that my left nipple was… um… ‘crusty’ is probably too strong an adjective but chafing-wise, it was certainly ‘medium to well done’. So this morning to counteract this, I lifted the Vaseline jar off the bedside table and headed into the bathroom to begin the Sunday ritual.

Generous amounts were, as always, applied to the inner thighs and massaged well into the muscles for effortless, frictionless movement. A second dosage, more subtle in quantity, was then added to the tops of the inner thighs, moving up slowly, gently, respectfully to allow the lower buttocks to receive their fair share of the ‘oiling’.

It’s at this point on most Sundays that the rubbing stops and the running begins but this morning I returned to the Vaseline jar for a third scoop. As I manipulated the substance delicately around my chest ensuring maximum nipple-lubing, a funky guitar soundtrack kicked up in the background, wah-wah peddle to the fore and all the way up to 11, and my door bell rang unexpectedly. To my surprise, a beautiful girl stood on the front step wearing denim shorts and steel-capped boots, plaid shirt tied up at the front and hands resting gently on each side where her well-laden toolbelt crossed her magnificent hips.

“Hey baby, I hear you got some plumbin’ needin’ seein’ to,” she whispered in a barely audible whisper.

I don’t remember what I said in reply because the next thing I knew it was four hours later and I could barely walk. Still, I’m sure that means I had a great workout.

Favourite iPod moment of the day was The Silencers singing ‘Scottish Rain’. If The Signals had videoed Friday night’s gig, it would’ve looked a lot like this.

Oh and before I forget, a big thank you to Suzanne, Allison and Soapy for their kind and generous donations to my fundraising efforts during the last seven days.