Advice Part II: Advice worth running for.

All this Olympic paraphernalia I am looking at is confirming that I have absolutely no right to be sitting here in this running room shrine. Upon further reflection on my last post it occurred to me that the best advice is from someone unbiased, with no agenda and expertise. And unless you are extremely fortunate, it is usually the sort you have to pay for. In a very convoluted way my severe case of sinusitis back in November led me to secure an appointment with the Australian Running Olympic Team podiatrist.

We started off by talking about why I was there. I explained when I started “running” back in August I noticed a pins and needles sensation in the middle of the ball of my right foot. I thought since I was running in a pair of shoes that were more than ten years old, that maybe it was easy fixed. Luckily I had a very knowledgeable shoes salesman that pointed out what I was describing sounded like Morton's Neuroma and that I should defiantly get it checked out. I tell him all this but do not reveal my ulterior motive is to find out how a podiatrist becomes an advocate for barefoot running and to ask his opinion of whether this is a route I should start running.

He did some basic tests. Placed my foot as far back from the wall with my knee bent still able to touch the wall and measured the distance. Checked my balance by getting me to stand on one foot, eyes open and shut. I laid down and he tried to find the location of the problem. He drew a line in the middle of the back of my heel then he put me on the treadmill first walking and then running. We studied the video. I think the results surprised us both. I have about as close to perfect natural form as you can get which puts me in good position to start barefoot running twice a week.

The official diagnosis is a bursitis which has the potential to develop into a neuroma. The podiatrist said that a good runner comes down to three things: strength, speed and experience. Of which I have none. My treatment involves working on my balance. This helps strengthen the hundreds of small muscles in the foot. Using ice on the foot. Massaging the ball of the foot. Doing three sets of ten reps of calf raises. Re-lacing my shoes so that the first two holes are empty. Which sounds like a fairly simple solution that I should be suspicious. But my only other brief encounter with a podiatrist was after I had my third baby and was diagnosed with crippling plantar fascitis. Which was simply solved by pointing and flexing my feet before I getting out of bed.

As he was strapping my foot I spied, his 2007 New York Marathon Shirt framed on his wall and shared my hope of one day running a marathon. “You will.” He said this matter of factly. I felt absolved of any feelings of self doubt and reborn as a runner. Pretty good value for AUD $100.

Advice Part I: When to run with it and when to run away from it.

I must look like a person that needs advice, because recently I have been given tons of it. Actually I am running away from all the advice I never asked for; the marital advice from the three-time-divorcee, the parenting advice from people that have never had experience looking after kids, and especially the running advice from people who have never attempted to run. Yep, it must be the New Year when all the new resolutions bring out the advice givers out from the comfort of their hypocritical, bigoted comfort zones. The all time pet peeve is what I call retroactive advice: giving you a blow by blow account how exactly they would have done it, and therefore how you should have done it. Which would have been useful. Had they given you the advice beforehand.

All this misguided advice makes me really angry which is lucky. I run better when I am in angry. This works in my favour for a few runs but accumlative anger is exhausting. The Marcothon pretty much robbed me of any lingering sense of joy around my running accomplishments and so I direct the anger inwards towards myself. I went against my instincts that doing the Marcothon was not a good idea and instead was swept away in a culture that says quitters are wimps. Now I have to pay that price. None of my usual tricks meditation, mudras and mantras are working their magic. Most days I run I really feel like I am running backwards or not at all. People walk faster than I run at the moment. My heart is not in it. In a desperate attempt to keep going I resort to running to music on my husbands phone. It completely disorientated me and made me nauseous. His taste in music is really that bad.

I take encouragement that I am still motivated to go for a run. It is when I am actually running I find the motivation has left me behind and I wonder what I am running for? Sometimes I get the eery feeling that runs mirror where I am in life. I think it is time to get back on the meditation rock. I am going to do an intensive ashtanga yoga course and drop back to only 3 runs a week. If I get my head in the right place the runs usually follow.

The best advice I have ever been given has been from myself. It may have not originated from within me but often the source is so clever that it slowly plants a seed somewhere in me so that when the time is ripe it can grow, and perhaps run, with me.

“It’s a skill to know how to give advice. However it is ALSO a skill to take advice. I believe this skill to know how to take (good) advice is a key differential between those that cross that finish line, and those that don’t.” - Nilofer Merchant on August 23, 2011in Entrepreneurship

Marcothon: A reflection on running 5km everyday in December 2011.

The most important lesson I learned completing the Marcothon is to never, ever do it again. Sometimes while on a run I imagine Marco, the created of the Marcothon.* Maybe it's because I am currently in Australia but when I summon Marco, he is always in the pub, a cold pint in his hand. His shirt is covered in splotches of sweat and he leans forward over a slight beer gut (that his wife has convinced him is cuddly) to say,

“Oi mate....” here he pauses, almost philosophically, as he watches some beer slop onto the toes of his thongs. “Maaaaate, I was just thinkin'...we should just bloody well run everyday in December” Taking a big swig of beer he waits to gauge everyone’s reaction, which is a bit lacklustre.

“What? Like even Christmas Day,” some pub goer pipes up.

“Bloody oath Christmas Day!” Marco would reply, slamming down his empty pint, “I said everyday in December didn't I!”

“Struth Marco that's a bit hardcore!” And the more they drink, the more details get hashed out. It's a bit like when I used to work in London and some male manager would implement an idea that was doomed to be an epic failure and my colleague would turn to me, rolling her eyes sighing, “Designed by a man.”

Then an idiot like me thinks it is a good idea. And the part that I am very apologetic about is that I told other people about it, without first trialling it myself. I am sorry. I partially blame all the running endorphins. Maybe the problem isn't actually the Marcothon but rather I wasn't a very good runner to begin with. In November I was really happy if I managed to run 5km once a week and now in December I was expecting myself to run that everyday. Often in the heat of an Australian summer which my body was not acclimatised for having lived in Scotland for five years. Mid month the inevitable happens and I have crippling shin splints and my ankles start rolling unexpectedly. I make an executive decision to take two days off. Those two days off not running seriously felt like two months.

Failing is a slippery slope. At this point it would have been easy to call it quits but it did not cross my mind, but it did take the pressure off knowing I can just pick up where I left off. I know I did not run 5 km everyday. Somedays I ran more, most days I ran less. But despite those two days I ran everyday. Even Christmas Day which was my favourite run by far. Being a Marcothon Finisher I believe has actually made me a worse runner, but it did give me a stronger moral fibre. Like I said the most important lesson I learned completing the Marcothon is to never, ever do it again. Until next December. Who knows what runner I will be by then?

*I would like to clarify I have never met Marco. I assume he lives in Scotland and is Scottish therefore would have an amazingly tolerant sense of humour.