Round the Vines is just over a month away. I’m not a huge fan of running (or in my case let’s be honest and call in jogging) but I think that this year I’ll give the 10k a go. I figure that as Gayle will be in amongst the action at Tarawera that weekend, where people actually run 100k on hilly terrain, then I ought to be able to shuffle round a few vineyards. Especially as vineyards are flat. I think there may even be wine at the fuel stations, and it will get me out of being a warden again this year.
So on Saturday I decided to commence training. It wasn’t a very well thought through decision. I was feeling fairly average, it was raining, and everything seemed to be shaping up towards being a raining lego-y afternoon, with a side of tea and chocolate cake. I had the tea, chocolate cake, and built some lego. Then out of no-where I found myself telling the family that I was going for a run. Grant looked at me as if I was mad, pointed out it was raining, and that just moments earlier I had been complaining of feeling a bit rubbish. ‘Perhaps I need the endorphins’ I said. ‘I’ll try out my new toe socks, they will keep my feet warm’.
I drove up the road for a couple of minutes to Dry River road and parked up. Dry River is flat and straight. I like it because it reminds me of an old Roman Road, and I like the donkey that lives at DaisyBank farm half way down. I decided the donkey would be my target, I’d see if I could reach her (or perhaps it is a he-donkey) and then walk back to the car. So off I jogged. I actually felt fairly good. I’ve been doing weekly Fast-fit with Carl , and since the boys acquired a drum-kit I have been going for increasingly long bike rides on Sunday mornings. I made it to the donkey, she was, as usual, in a world of her own, just mooching about. 3k. I was a rock star. I will keep going, I thought to myself. On the way back to the car the long straight road was less appealing. It seemed endless. I became very aware of my useless running style. My right leg seemed wonky. I’ve heard Gayle talk running enough times to know that ‘heel striking’ is bad and I suspected I was the worst kind of heel striker. My ankles began to feel a bit sore, and my hips started to ache. I knew I should take it steady and walk back, but I suddenly seemed to have something to prove to myself, and stubbornly jogged on back to the car. 6k. I was wrecked. I walked in the door with each step threatening to put my legs into full cramp.
By the time I woke up on Sunday morning my legs were so sore that I literally had to hobble around. It was not very impressive. Tomorrow I will see Carl, and find out how you should start training for a 10k. I’ll let you know.