My last run on the Friday before I went on holiday was good, I gave myself two days off, and then – not knowing the Porlock area very well – did a really useful fartlek session around Porlock recreation ground on Monday evening while the kids were playing cricket with Don.

So far – so good.

I should have run again at least twice more that week but two things happened, and one of them wasn’t my fault!

The first was that we had a mattress on the bed of our caravan that was extremely well sprung. I know this for a fact because I could feel every damned one of the springs digging into my back every time I moved in bed.

 By Tuesday morning, having slept on this device of torture for three nights, both Don and I were in pain. Not having quite so much padding myself, I seemed to be feeling the worst of it, although my more (shall we say) “well-insulated” other half simply put it down to the fact that I’m naturally a moaning old cow and a terrible patient.

Anyway, running was now out of the question.

And even if it hadn’t been, another effect was by this time starting to take place and this one really was down to me and me alone:

Sheer, bloody laziness.

I was on holiday for goodness’ sake: our days out  were planned and busy; I was eating rubbish packed lunches with lots of cakes and crisps and bread every day (which really does not agree with me – especially when I’m trying to train); By the time we got back to the caravan, the Exmoor air had wiped me out and I was just so ready to put my feet up…every night.

Oh… you name it and I would have used it as an excuse to avoid finding the time or energy to go for a run.

There’s an army saying that I hear a lot: if there isn’t enough time - get up earlier. This policy clashes somewhat with my own holiday ethos: if there isn’t enough time – sod it!

So anyway, I get back from holiday having bagged precisely one run in seven days, a bad back and a stinking attitude problem.

The Bristol Half Marathon was, at this point, just two weeks away. “Well”, I thought to myself, “a couple of nights in my own bed should sort my back out”.

Wrong.

It’s still quite painful on Tuesday, but better than it was, so I forced myself into my lonely,  abandoned running kit and planned to do a nine-miler, just to get back into the swing of things.

It was just so bad, I want to weep thinking about it.

 I was heavy for a start. The junk food on holiday had taken its toll and I weighed about 8 ½ stones. No, I don’t have anorexic tendencies -  it’s just really chunky by my normal standards. And each of those 8½ stones felt double.

My breathing was bad enough that I had to start putting short landmarks in front of me at a very early stage of the  run to keep myself going. This had a bad effect on me psychologically and so did the back pain that started out as a low, nagging ache and escalated into a jarring, wince-inducing stab every time my 16 stone feet crashed down onto the road.

I shuffled to a walk about four miles into this nine mile run, got my breath back, jogged another mile, walked again, pottered along in a kind of lame trot for another mile, then gave up and walked the rest of the way home – spirit broken, morose and in pain.

The Bristol Half was less than two weeks away.

Well, that’s that, then, I thought. No point going on now. I’d had so much time off my training by this time (two weeks is a long time  when you’re just three weeks off a race), I couldn’t possibly catch up in time, even if my back recovered in the next few days.

For the second year in a row, I resigned myself to not going to Bristol.

By Wednesday, I felt agile enough to play badminton, although, to be honest, if I’d been bent double with pain, I’d probably still have played because I love the game so much and I’d already missed it for two weeks. Wild horses wouldn’t have kept me away. It helped, I think…loosened me up.

Saturday’s post brought an envelope from Run Bristol, the company that organises the half marathon. I was so depressed, I didn’t even bother to open it: I knew it contained my race number and timing chip.

But my back was recovered enough by now to try another run. Physically, I was up for it. Mentally, I’ve kind of got myself into the doldrums. I had to get back in the saddle or risk my fitness sliding to a point of no return. I dragged my feet, but eventually there was nothing else to do but get out the door and just do it!

Before I’d even got around the corner, I was telling myself to slow down, but my feet had other ideas and I reached a landmark at 1.1 miles in 9:13.

I just seemed to be on auto-pilot. There was no stress, no pain (beyond a slight ache in the lower back) and I was enjoying myself. I kept it short to make sure I enjoyed the run enough to be eager about my next one, so just 4.3 miles this time in approximately 37 minutes. Not bad, I thought.

It was during my little post-run glow of achievement that I wondered…just ever so slightly wondered…if I could do a long run the next day. If I could, would I be in with a chance of running Bristol after all?

It was one week away. It had been over two weeks since my 11-miler before my holiday. Since then I’d done a fartlek session of about three miles, an agonising and disjointed six and a short, but exhilerating four. It was a long shot. Should I just aim for the nine mile loop? No, that wouldn’t prepare me physically or mentally for running 13.2 the next week. It had to be more.

I opened the envelope from Run Bristol…saw from my race number that I was allocated one of the earlier wave starts because my estimated finsh time was under two hours…felt the timing chip that laces into my trainer on the day…read all the race day information…and was inspired.

This morning I woke up actually looking forward to my long run. I had banana, yoghurt and honey for breakfast and porridge, honey and fruit with a slice of spelt anf rye bread and butter, and a glass of dairy nectar for lunch.

I set off and immediately felt fast. I told myself to slow down, despite my enthusiasm, because you can’t keep up that kind of pace over a long distance when you’ve been out of the loop for a while. It was difficult to find a slower rhythm, though…my energy levels were just so high.

I felt a little tired at about six miles and took an energy gel to boost me for the next stage. I never once thought about stopping, but on a few occasions I did whisper to myself to push harder, go faster. I could feel I had it in me.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, this afternoon I ran 11½ miles in 1 hour, 41 minutes and 43 seconds. I think I worked that out at just under nine minute miling.  If I can do that next Sunday, that gives me a whopping 18 minutes to run the last mile and a half and clock in under two hours. I can do it, I can do it. I know I can!

I’m a chuffed little puddy-cat, with stiff hips and sore toes. But who cares? This chunky loser is back in the game folks!

It’s only been five days since my last long run, but Exmoor beckons for my holiday tomorrow, and with the best will in the world I can’t see me taking time out for an 11 mile run this particular Sunday. I know, my lack of committment is shocking. I’m weak. But I reckon my stab at the 2012 Olympics has passed me by now, so I can afford to relax the regime an incy-wincy bit.

So…11 miles then! Wow! Sore toes (I think another couple of nails have fallen victim to black bruising…hmm, very attractive…that’ll look lovely on the beach. There I’ll be, bikini-clad, looking fit and trim until one’s gaze drops to my feet. Yeuck. Let’s hope it rains – I can keep my wellies on all week).

Apart from yucky bruised toenails, it was a good run. I powered up on porridge for lunch, which isn’t very appealing in August, to be honest, but it did the job. Also, as my mileage is now stepping up on these long runs, I felt the need for an energy boost during the run and supped an energy gel at about 5 miles to keep me going. It was pretty disgusting, taste-wise, but the caffeine at least kept my brain from descending to that foggy level of tiredness that overpowers my determination not to stop.

I know some people might argue that you should be able to run a half marathon without needing to take extra energy on board, but…my theory is this: I’ve very little extra fat on me and therefore I think it’s more difficult for me to convert fat for energy on these long runs. So I do try and fuel up properly before I run, but it only lasts so long. I guess the professional athletes  can do it, but I’d like to know how, and whether I could manage it too.

In the meantime, whilst a little part of me does feel like I’m cheating, no one slags off a Formula One racing car for making a pit stop for fuel, even when it wins…and I don’t even stop, I take my fuel on the hoof. And I’m certainly not in the Formula One league, so I should stop beating myself up about it.

I had a bad headache for a couple of miles. It got me worrying about running-induced brain tumors and heat stroke. And then I realised my pony tail was probably too tight and ditched it. Problem solved – ambulance with screaming sirens no longer required.

It’s funny what you worry about when you get silly, unexpected pains isn’t it? I discovered my first varicose vein just above my knee a year or so ago and now I worry about thrombosis every time I’ve been standing for a long time and my legs ache. Oh, God…varicose veins? I’m old, old,old. I’m turning into Auntie Marge. Does running keep veins at bay – or make them worse? (note to self – Google varicose veins).

Anyway, that’s another notch on my trainers. I’ll try and get in a couple of short runs next week in Exmoor and no doubt I’ll be back here in a week or so having tackled a 12 miler.

No rats were harmed in this experiment!

1 hr: 06 min: 20 sec

The Weston A Price Foundation hails liver as a magical organ meat that we should all be eating much more of. What has this to do with running? You might be surprised…

 The Foundation’s article, Recipes and Lore about our Most Sacred Food, talks about a mysterious anti-fatigue factor in liver. This is a most interesting article, particularly the story about the experiment with three groups of lab rats. The first ate a basic diet, fortified with 11 vitamins. The second ate the same diet, along with an additional supply of vitamin B complex. The third ate the original diet, but instead of vitamin B complex received 10 per cent of rations as powdered liver. Read the rest of the article if you want to find out what happened to each group of rats when they were put into a tub of water with no way out and left to swim until exhaustion overtook them. And before you start dialling the RSPCA, I’m pretty sure the evil scientists removed the rats from the water before they drowned.

I ate liver before I ran last night and I felt as if I could have run forever! Now, I do eat liver fairly regularly, at least once a week, but I can’t say that I’ve ever run immediately after eating it, and so I don’t know if tonight’s whizz-bang energy came from the “sacred food” or not. Perhaps it was the rice I ate as well.

I’ll have to try this combination again though – I felt so fresh for the whole 7 miles, I pushed myself, and pushed again…and didn’t tire! Even when I turned the corner for the Hill of Death (a landmark on my route that I usually – and with good reason – ignore) I found myself at the top before I even began to think seriously about stopping for a breather.

Or perhaps my music contributed to my well-being? I had a new playlist on my MP4 player and it was refreshing to listen to something new.

Whatever the reason, I came home with a huge smile and my faith in running as an enjoyable sport restored after my less than happy experience on Sunday’s long run.

Only fools run during the heat of the day!

1 hr: 39 min: 38 sec

It was a hot, hot morning and I almost allowed myself to be talked out of it with the excuse that it’d be cooler tomorrow. But that would upset the whole training schedule, and with my holiday coming up at the end of next week, it’s going to take a few dents as it is.

So I revved up my enthusiasm a notch or two, donned my sunglasses and sun cream, borrowed Georgie’s sun hat (then saw myself in the mirror and promptly threw it off again), and headed for the great outdoors.

And wilted.

Set off slow and pretty much got slower from there on in really. Temperature was 26°/27° by now. I aimed to keep my heart rate and breathing comfortable and just get round. Took plenty of water with me but the mouthpiece on the sodding water bottle was  faulty and gave me a tiny amount of water and a huge gulp of air with each swallow, so I then had to cope with belching indigestion as well as sunstroke. Ho hum.

Not quite sure what was going on by around mile nine, except to say that for some strange reason I had goosebumps on my arms, whilst still sweating profusely. Perhaps I was delirious by then. Who knows? And who cared? There was just me plodding along in the sun, occasionally being passed by a car, the occupants of which were no doubt muttering under their breaths about mad dogs and Englishmen, whilst shaking their heads in sage disapproval.

The tenth mile was interesting: I was coming back into Wincanton now and starting to pass a few people I knew, so whilst all I wanted to do was drag my weary arse to an inelegant halt, pride forbade it. I had to at least look as if I did this every day. Ten miles? Piece of cake. See? Still got some spring in my step…no problem. Limp? What limp? Oh, that! No, no, that’s just…er, just…a new running gait I’m trying out. Help!

And so it ended. Not gloriously, I hasten to add, but it ended, and by then I was too tired to care much about glory or time or even whether anyone saw me choking on that fly at mile seven.

Can someone remind me why I’m doing this again?

Build up to 11 miles next Friday.

I just wanted to enjoy it enough that I didn’t back out of my scheduled long run on Sunday. And I did. Enjoy it, that is. No pressure – just savoured the journey…

Decided to consolidate my distance at nine miles this week rather than adding another mile. It was probably a wise move, as I was tempted by several glasses of wine on Saturday night and wasn’t in the best shape to break new barriers, distance wise. Stupid, stupid stupid.

It started well and I went off at a good pace for the first two miles…probably too good considering my dehydrated, hungover condition.

I kept telling myself I’d stop for a walk when I got to the next bend in the road, or that crooked tree, or that dead badger just ahead. Or perhaps, as time passed and I felt even more wrung out, I’d just throw myself under the next car to pass my way and have a nice rest in hospital.

Where I got the determination to keep going I don’t know. I didn’t stop, not  for a moment. As I got closer to home I wondered if I should do that extra tenth mile. After all, I couldn’t possibly feel much worse than I already did and I’d have the satisfaction of knowing I’d added another mile that week.

But my body had had just about enough. Martyrdom doesn’t suit me so I slowed to a rather wobbly walk outside my house and spent the next few minutes realising that my feet were covered in hotspots and it was actually bloody painful to even walk. Sad cow.

On the plus side, a glance at my watch showed that I’d knocked two minutes off last week’s nine mile run (the same route), so I was pretty chuffed. In pain…but chuffed.

Don’s opinion? Pain is good.

What does he know!

It would be a shame not to put my new-found knowledge from the Leadership in Running Fitness course into practice, so on the spur of the moment, I decided to turn this run into an intervals session, something I’ve never done before.

It would have been prudent, perhaps, to have started slowly to warm up cold muscles.

Prudence has never been one of my virtues.

I set off like a hare and decided to keep up the pace to Moorhayes farm (1.1 miles). I made it in just over 9 minutes and I didn’t feel too shattered, so I guess I could only have been running at about 75% effort. I eased up and ran easily for the next five minutes.

When the five minutes were almost over, the lazy devil inside me started whispering that I should just keep on with a nice easy jog, but I  quashed it ruthlesssly (well…perhaps not ruthlessly but I did promise it a chocolate biscuit later if it went away for the next forty minutes) and upped the pace again.

And so it went for the rest of the run. I tried to time the fast efforts for the flat and downhill stretches, and the recovery periods for the uphills. Whilst this might seem like a bit of a cheat, it did in fact have the benefit of making the hills seem flat. I’ll try a session in the future using the hills for the effort and the flats for recovery and see how that goes.

Quite surprisingly, I found myself really enjoying this session and could have been caught grinning stupidly on more than one occasion. Not sure why, it was just exhilarating!

Even more satisfactory was getting home in 53:56, which I’m pretty sure is a new record for me over that distance.

This type of training session will boost my speed and my endurance. It’s definitely going into the overall plan from now on.

B/fast – 2 boiled eggs, milk

Lunch – Pilchards on toast, milk

Is it ever going to stop raining? I like running in the rain but it’s a bugger to get my trainers dry afterwards!

The current thinking, according to the course I attended on Saturday, is not to do static stretches before running, but to do a dynamic warm up and save the stretching for after the run. I’m not sure this works in practice for me. I tried it today and had some shin pain for the first two miles. In fairness to this theory, perhaps the pain owed something to the fact  I was wearing my old trainers (trying to keep my new ones dry for badminton tonight). Must bin them.

Felt pretty stiff going out and only cranked up the pace coming back, but I was running nice and loose then and felt good. Breathing easy.

I must push myself out of my comfort zone. That’s the only way I’ll improve.

This was a couple of days ago now and I can’t remember what I ate. I do remember thinking before I set off that I probably hadn’t had enough. That was the bad news. The good news was that I took the children swimming in the morning, so I was nice and limber.

So off I set and took the first three miles or so really slowly. In hindsight, too slowly. I could have pushed myself a little more and not suffered. But you never know how it’s going to go, so best to keep a bit in reserve when you haven’t done that distance for a long time.

My breathing was very good, not surprising at such a steady pace. Trainers started bruising me again across the joints of my toes at about five miles but I had a better rhythm going by now and so I didn’t let it interfere with that.

The long drag up the hill on the other side of Cucklington seemed easy on this occasion. I always dread this hill unnecessarily. I should know by now that I’m fit enough to cope with it. The long descent on the other side of the hill was bliss – I really lengthened my stride and kept up a good pace home for the last two miles.

Overall I think I averaged a pace of 9:06 per mile. That will do for a sub 2 hour half marathon (just) but I’d like to knock another half minute per mile off that figure if I can.

Five and a half weeks to go.

So it’s turning into a bit of a diary. Hey, I can live with that. Except I was really hoping that one day I’d inspire someone to do something to get fitter and healthier. Well, perhaps I’ve found another way…

Running has been a pretty constant companion to me over the last eleven years or so, give or take the odd break here and there for such minor intrusions as giving birth and providing 25 hours a day care to littl’uns.

Several women I know have tinkered with it as well, perhaps catching my enthusiasm. Some of them are still running today. So when I read an article in Runner’s World about a woman who began a running group and then went on to do several coaching courses, my attention was immediately caught.

Paula Radcliffe I am not, but I could easily see myself with a group of beginners, inspiring someone to run who thinks they can’t, for whatever reason: too old, too fat, too embarrassed, too unfit. I can still remember my elation when I ran my first mile without stopping. It was such a huge buzz. I’d love to pass that on to other people.

So I logged on to UK Athletics web site  and signed up for a Leadership in Running Fitness course.

It was just a one day course, no assessment or anything as scary as that. But I did get to demonstrate my leadership abilities in several practical sessions. That was the hardest part. Faced with all these apparently seasoned runners on the course, who talked with blasé nonchalance about their next marathon in much the same way I’d talk about a trip to the supermarket, it was a daunting task to lead a running session with them.

I couldn’t help mucking about to ease my feeling of self-consciousness. Instead of upping the pace from a walk to a jog in the conventional way, I’d say “Trot on”, then “Canter!” to crank the pace up a gear. I think I did OK. They were probably muttering “Who is this crazy fool?” under their breath but they were kind enough not to comment on it.

I found myself wondering why I was doing this at one point. These people were all affiliated with clubs and many of them were already taking groups of runners out. This course just gave them insurance and an official license from UK Athletics. It was nothing new for them. I’ve never run with a club and have never taken a group of runners out.

However, it soon became clear that I stood to gain more than any of the other participants precisely because I did not have their experience. I learnt how to plan a session, how to incorporate different activities that would keep runners of mixed abilities happy in the same session, how to make it fun.

Having fun is the key. One practical session involved two teams sending a runner in different directions around a track. When they met their opposite number (halfway around the track if they were both running at the same speed), they had to tag each other and then turn and run back to their team and the next team member went off. The lady running this event stressed that there was no competition and it didn’t matter if we jogged or sprinted to meet our opposite number on the track. But it quickly became apparent that no one was willing to be met less than halfway around their side of the track and so we all sprinted from the word go. The only problem was when we met in the middle and had to spin around quickly and set off back the way we’d come. We developed a rather comical method of grabbing each other for a kind of “dozy doe”, to spin each other around. Before we all knew it, we were laughing our heads off and not really noticing how much effort we were all putting into the activity.

I can really imagine a group of beginners enjoying that kind of thing.  Kids too.

So the next step is to get my CRB form sent off so I can get my license, then form a running group. UK Athletics has a new initiative called Run in England, the aim of which is to encourage people of all abilities, ages and backgrounds to be more active. I don’t care if the people I get in my group are aiming to run one mile or ten. I don’t care if they’re not competitive. If I can help even one person to lose weight, or reduce their risk of heart disease, or just to have fun and be more active, I’ll be more than happy.