Mindgames

There was much to learn from Saturday's run and for the last 48 hours I have had a ferocious need to blog or, at least, write and reflect. I am pretty sure that Saturday's run is the closest that I will come to the full marathon and, all going well, I think that I have identified a set of stages for myself:

1. Warm up (1-5 miles)

2. Cruising (5-11)

3. Tired 1(11-15)

3. Tiredness 2 (15-18)

4. Confusion/give-up point (18/19).

5. Commit again, use mind, trust body and plod on (19-26).

While this is, by no means, an exact science or map. It does give me some idea of how to mentally prepare myself for the day. Any big challenge that I have faced I have usually rehearsed in my mind. Last Saturday now gives me some vague sense of doing that for June 6th. Recognising the stages gives familiarity, keeps me relaxed and gives me control, at least to a certain extent. I am learning to run through the various levels of discomfort. And, the discomfort is coming a little later each time. Recognising the stages, also reminds me to pace myself at the earlier stage of the run because I will need some reserves to manage the later stage.

I will blog about the managing later, maybe. I have read some interesting stuff on the relationship between the mind and the muscle fatigue.

Back to last Saturday. The training plan suggested 19 miles for Saturday's run. When I looked at Sheep's Head, however, and realised that I could loop back to Durrus over 22 miles, I was determined to do it. I saw it as an opportunity to test my mettle beyond the 20 miles prescribed by the programme and I knew it was a beautiful location. I was keen to get as close to practising the mental and physical exhaustion of the end stage, as possible. I also figured that it would give No.1 an opportunity to get in some cycling. He could loop back and forwards and hither and thither and still provide me with water. The rucksack with the water is very heavy over distance. Besides, it would be almost like our hillwalking days, a good old-fashioned day out in the fresh air.

Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, I (we) miscalculated our distances and, despite factoring in the Kilcrohane hill while planning, forgot that the mountainy hills form a spine along the whole length of the peninsula. This brought complications for the last hour of the day which I shall explain later.

 

At 11:15 on Saturday we were unloading the bike in Durrus for No.1. Minutes later, I was heading out the road, feeling more in need of a little nap than a run, but I got over that. It was a beautiful day to be out, although rather warm for running. It was one of those hazy dense days, the sun was shining down on me for much of the way out and I was sheltered on the East side from any prevailing breezes.  I was running only feet from the shore, looking over at Schull peninsula, squinting against the light to try and see the 'golf balls' (some kind of radio towers that are spherical in shape and very much part of the landscape). It was a warm Summery day (19-21 degrees Celsius), it was also a magnificent spot to be running. It was a real privilege to be out there. By Ahakista (5 miles) and the Air India Disaster memorial, I was well over the warm-up stage.  My slow, shorter start-up steps had lengthened, my breathing and general movement had fallen into a rhythm. The stiffness in my Achilles tendons had ceased squeaking at me. I was moving along nicely.  Occasionally, I talked myself down into a steadier more sustainable pace, there was the tendency to go too fast.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, I was really cruising. I became aware that I was slowly pulling upwards, out of a cooler brief wooded area, heading towards Kilcrohane, but with very little effort. It felt great.  When it happens, this is my favourite moment of the long runs. It's as if all the separate processes and motions required to run are working in harmony. It's like being a purring smooth engine. Before I knew it, I had arrived in Kilcrohane, hot and fairly dripping in perspiration. Reluctantly, I had to stop. I needed to attend to a growing blister on the arch of my right foot and I needed a comfort stop. I stopped my watch to attend to these matters before heading over the hill.

I knew the hill was fairly challenging from previous visits to Sheep's Head and from the map (it rises to six or seven hundred feet). I was determined not to let it burn me out too quickly so I took baby running steps and  walked, at times. I did not have anything to prove or to gain by running smartly up this hill. It was imperative that I did it in a way that conserved energy for the later part of the run.

The hill was fine and, of course, the rise brought beautiful sea views out over Dunmanus Bay on my right.  At the top of the hill, I was rewarded by views of Bantry Bay, Hungry Hill, Adrigole, Dursey and Bere Island. I was still feeling quite comfortable and found myself pacing along, probably not as fast as the outward leg of the journey, but nonetheless, comfortable. I was also distracted by the views, wishing that I was an owl so that I could swing my head around 360degrees! It was beautiful, not perfectly clear, but still so wild, and quite free of noise and traffic. There was the odd car and a tractor with dog in tow. I had a wonderful sense of freedom. A lot of the time, I could run in the middle of the road, feeling more like a child out playing than someone training for a marathon.  The word 'gambol' came to mind. I imagine that my running style was somewhat loose at this stage, I was too busy soaking in the scenery and just the freedom and openness of it.  I did pause at one stage to ask an elderly couple how far to Durrus, but they didn't know either. They told me that they too were visitors. I wasn't too bothered. I was enjoying the freedom of just running along, confident in my pre-run map reading. But pride cometh before a fall.

The return journey on the Western side of the peninsula is at a higher altitude than the outward journey which is almost close to the sea level.  To my right, Schull peninsula, Dunmanus Bay, the little village of Kilcrohane and the rugged landscape typical of West Cork. To my left, the fields fell away to the sea where, at this distance, silent white waves were crashing against the rocks. A pheasant flew straight past me. A pair of Goldfinches flew off to my left. Probably all were attempting to distract me from their respective nests. How could they understand that miles, not nests, were my preoccupation? Another three or four miles and I began to feel tired. Not impossibly tired, maybe not even slowing too much, just aware that my legs were getting heavier. It wasn't difficult to remember to keep my pace down, at this stage. My legs, chest, even my tummy, will volunteer to remind me that my resources are limited and that I should keep within my endurance speed limit. Otherwise, there will be penalty points later.

The road presented me with occasional dips and hollows. As I went on, I began to feel these little rises more and more. As I moved towards the 17/18 mile point at Kiloveenoge, I began to ask each little rise if it will be the one to take the last of my fuel. It's usually at one of these points that the change of pace from motoring to climbing, fails to return to motoring.  It's really quite extraordinary, it can just be a tiny extra effort that burns out the last of the fuel. At this stage, I am also wondering where No.1 is who had gone on to Sheep's Head. At Kilcrohane, we had had a quick discussion and I told him to go off and enjoy his cycle.  Another miscalculation of distances. I check my phone, I had received a text message from him ten minutes ago. He had just arrived at Sheep's Head. I was certainly more than ten minutes from Sheep's Head by now, running or on a bike. I rattle my water bottle. There was enough, just. (On reflection, I should, of course, have stopped at one of the houses and asked for a fill-up.)

At mile 19ish, I have the 'fall apart' moment. I suddenly realise that I will have to cross back over the hill to get back down to Durrus! Duh! I had not spotted that on the map. Besides the road that I had planned to return was not the road that I had travelled on before. I had overshot the runway, so to speak. I should have taken the road signposting me back to Ahakista. I was headed towards Rooska. At this stage, I did not know that the N71 or main road to Bantry was only 4 miles away. I make a call to No.1, leaving him a panicky message.

It was time to ask. A kindly man told me it is 'a bit on' at a sharp corner. The same man stopped in a car later and told me that I would be better heading to the N71 and then to turn back in the Creamery Road to reach Durrus because the climb over the hill would be too hard. I refused, explaining I am in training and that I have to meet someone. He waved, smiled and wished me luck. By now, I am half running, half walking and not at all comfortable. I am in a dispirited space looking for the sharp turn and the road over the mountain to Durrus.  No.1 was on the road back to Ahakista, he too had misjudged distances and our familiarity with the peninsula.  The road in our heads and the road on the map I had intended to take did not match.  Lots of sharp corners later, I realised that I have probably missed it.

Then, just like that, I crossed through the confusion and agitation. As we say at home, 'Come hell or high water', I was determined to finish that run. I was a woman on a mission and that was that. I paused to take out my phone, checked my google map (grateful for modern technology) and realised that the N71 was only four kilometres away like the man had said. I knew what needed to be done. I took charge. I texted No.1, to tell him to meet me at the junction near the West Lodge. Just to be sure, I sent a second text to say that he should bring the car! I had visions of us both arriving at West Lodge, he on his bike and me on foot, and the car back in Durrus.

Anyway, at that point,  I recognised the determination that has often frustrated those closest to me. Imagine trying to parent such single-mindedness! Nothing was going to make me stop on that run, that Saturday! Neither man, nor lack of water were going to have me stop at this point. I plodded on, dependent now on determination and mind games.  I tell myself to relax, it's ok.  "In three minutes, I will be at that cream gable end." or  "In five minutes, I will be opposite that point on the island.  Stay cool."   It dawns on me that my mind has the potential to be my greatest foe and my greatest friend. I have to manage it. I must silence the doubting, I must not waste time on struggling and just do it! It's not easy, but it's doable.

And that was the best thing about Saturday's run. I had read that training of the mind is as important as training the body. I experienced that on Saturday and we spoke about this afterwards. I can only do the marathon on my own. (Is that what is meant by the 'loneliness of the long distance runner'?) I was glad we got lost, I was glad I had to persevere on my own. I clicked into, by accident, a tool I will need on June 6th, exercising commitment, exercising my deep, deep desire to do this event. I want to do it for Etty, I want to do it for me. Saving serious injury or illness, I will.