Ok, so for only the second time in over 20 years of running I have to admit that I can't run, or at least at a pace more than 12 minute miles! Fop the first time ever I have been following a 55-70 mile marathon training schedule, aimed for my London entry. Right now I have decided that I have got along quite well on my own Kate-ism schedule, which has given me consistent times between 2.56 and 3.10ish. Whilst I like long races, I can't handle long training, evidenced by the fact that my best marathon, ultra (incl. West Highland Way) times were set on no more than 40 miles a week, but, in the name of 'greed for speed' I have learned the hard way re what I can't cope with, and have gradually become more and more knackered causing random injuries like the big toe (pre Wye) and now my butt/ sciatica. So, the schedule is in the bin and when (if) I can run properly again, it will be back to 1mile/ 2 mile reps on grass. Why practice edurance when I'm lucky enough to have it in my blood anyway?
Thus, I'll admit, I was frustrated on Saturday morning as the hill run/ long canal run was in the bin. Hence, starting at West Linton (and bearing in mind my cycling capabilities are low!!) I peddled, really without thinking of my route, and found my self grinding a bigger gear than I'd like for 35 miles into a headwind to Moffat. From there the 34 miles to Selkirk by stunning Grey Mare's Tail/ St Mary's Loch were largely wind-aided, but turning north for the remainder of the 105 miles back to West Linton, through Peebles were nothing but hellish into the icy wind, plus I had the added bonus of hitting the wall, resulting in a somewhat embarrasing 'leg buckle' as I got off the bike to attempt to enter a newsagent's for some boulstering Kettle Chips! I was like jelly, but their nourishment took me home the remaining 12 miles for a much needed feed.
The 1am night out on George St in Edinburgh was not really planned, or ideal, given that I was due to be up at 6am to meet friends to cycle to Alloa to watch clubmates in the half marathon. So, from 7.10am we battled an even stronger headwind than yesterday out through Kirkliston, Linlithgow, bonnie Grangemouth and over the new Kincardine Bridge (a great unexpected bonus, cutting off at least a mile-thank God!). After minimal time supporting due to the icy wind and insufficient clothing, I took my leave, turning down a kind offer of a lift home, secretly bound for a McDonald's small fries and much needed pint of tea. Fully nourished?... I was determined to get pay-back from the tail wind after the hell on the way out, and was nicely blown along the north of the Forth to Rosyth.
There, the fun started. Not being route-savvy I ended up on about 1.5 miles of A90 in a gale force cross wind with no where to hide as a cyclist. As one huge lorry sucked past me I just held my breath in terror and I was heaved in all directions. Having survived that 'not-to-be-repeated' experience, the real fun was to come. I suffer fairly severe vertigo, so the Forth Road Bridge was going to be a challenge for me anyway- I have never been able to cross it to this day, other than in a crowd in 1999 when the Edinburgh Marathon had it in its route. However, this was really my limit. I could not steer my bike straight c/o the gale force cross wind, and kept being blown into the railings with a God knows how many hundred feet drop greeting my petrified eyes. The wind was so strong that I was convinced I was going to be lifted off, before being distracted by a temporary barrier blowing straight into me. Thankfully a chap was plodding over on his mountain bike (fearlesly, of course) and let this panicking nervous wreck join him for the rest of the route. An hour or so later, I arrived home in one pieve, shattered with wooden legs, a cramping neck, but pleased that I was well 'trashed' after a cumulative 188miles in two days.
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