I had it all planned out.  Sort of.  Increase my mileage by approximately half a mile a week until two weeks before the race, by which time I’d be up to about thirteen miles (half a marathon), then a couple of shorter runs and lots of rest to conserve energy before the run.  Simple.

After my mate USC (below) described how he’d done a similar thing to his knee and ended up under the surgeon’s knife, on crutches and completely out of sporting action for eight months, I went to the drop-in centre to get my knee checked out.

USC

I felt like a bit of a fraud as she prodded, stretched and massaged my knee, asking “Does this hurt?  How about this?  Or this?” while I sat shaking my head.  Eventually the nurse told me I was suffering from knee-gah! (© The Fiver) having damaged my anterior cruciate ligaments and I should refrain from strenuous activity for six to eight weeks.  “Definitely no rugby,” she said, bizarrely (I think she meant football).  What about running? I asked.  The same answer: Nothing for six weeks.

This is, not meaning to be crude, a bit of a shitter.  I was really getting into the whole running lark, and although no more running this year (!) will set me back no end, I’m still determined to run the kilomathon.  It just means I’ll have to work harder in 2010.

The crowning turd in the water pipe (© Blackadder Goes Forth) was that I went for a weigh-in at Boots today and found I’d GAINED three pounds.  I’ve been running twice a week and playing 5-a-side and I’ve GAINED weight.  I could very easily embark on a murderous rampage right now.

With exercise completely off the cards for THE REST OF THIS YEAR I have to discipline myself to eat very healthily.  I think over the last few weeks I’ve used running as an excuse to not be particularly careful with what I eat.  This must stop.  I hate eating healthily but it looks like it’s back to making my own shitty, flavourless soups to take to work every day.

Anyway, I’m off out now to run down some motorcyclists in my car.   AAAAGGGGGHHHHHH! 

That I can describe myself as “reasonably fit” without too much sarcasm is something of a triumph and a surprise.  I don’t do exercise, generally.  The only mildly energetic pursuit I normally indulge in is a spot of cricket in the summer.  Now, as sports go, cricket can be a fairly sedentary game at the best of times.  This year I took over as 2^nd team captain, meaning that I had an excuse to exert myself even less than usual.  Saturdays this summer typically went something like:

• 10:45 — give girlfriend some bullshit excuse about having to leave early for cricket.
• 11am — meet Miserable Musical Macca, Mr Tickle and Ugly Smug Cunt at Cob Corner.  Full English with toast and fried bread plus black pudding and tea (one sugar).  Chat intelligently about the issues of the day.

• 12ish— trip to Co-op en route to cricket ground.  Buy Nuts or Zoo or both (depending on attractiveness and/or chest size of cover model and/or likelihood of toplessness), some sugary sweets and a bottle of Orange Lucozade (if I’m feeling hungover).

• 1:30onwards — if we’re fielding I stand at first slip shouting encouragement to the lads I get to do all the bowling and running around.  If we’re batting I sit on the balcony occasionally looking up from my copy of Nuts or Zoo or both to cheer on the lads doing all the batting.
• Around 4:30 — tea.  I love playing cricket because it’s one of the few sports which stop halfway through for a meal.  I usually gorge myself, knowing full well I’m going to get my team-mates to do all the batting and bowling.
• 8ish — game finishes.  If we’ve lost I’ll have a few pints of Guinness and maybe console myself with a kebab.  If we’ve won I’ll have a few pints of Guinness and maybe celebrate with a kebab.
• My only real exercise of the day is staggering home about midnight.

Apart from four games I missed due to weddings/stag weekends, I did the above every Saturday from mid-April to mid-September.  This is no doubt the primary reason for me putting on weight, not that I’m trying to blame anything other than me and my generally slothful existence and penchant for unhealthy food.

This all makes me especially surprised at how quickly I’ve got into this running malarkey.  I actually feel really motivated to get out there and run further and quicker every time, knowing that I won’t feel completely and utterly fucked at the end of the run.

Tonight, arguably, I’m going to attempt something very, very stupid indeed.  Wednesday nights — as you loyal readers will know — is my 5-a-side night.  A normal Wednesday night involves driving to football, playing football, driving to the pub for a couple of diet cokes or beers (depending on mood), before going home.  Tonight I’m going to jog 2.7miles to play football then jog the 2.7miles home afterwards.  That’s 5.4miles, plus the two or three hundred yards I will probably run during an hour of 5-a-side.

*collective sharp intake of breath*

There’s no need to worry.  I’ll be fine, honest.  Well, probably.  Possibly. 

I’ve created an iPod playlist of songs which for some reason I think will help me.  Crucially the playlist lasts 29-and-a-half minutes, the target I’ve set myself for each 2.7mile leg.  I know you’re all dying to know what songs make up said playlist so here you go (in order):

• So Alive — Ryan Adams
• Bend And Break — Keane.  Yeah, that’s right.  Keane.
• Yesterday’s News [live] — Whiskeytown
• Under The Gun — The Killers
• Fans — Kings Of Leon
• It’s Getting Better (Man) — Oasis
• Goodnight — Easyworld

It’s by no means perfect but I’ll see how I get on.

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