King of the hills

Pic caption: Park Street in the centre of Bristol, where I finished my run at the top.


Just recovering from another long run yesterday, with another hill climb at the end of it.
After going 6.7 miles I wanted to push myself a little further and try to increase the mileage as the half marathon is really getting quite close now.
I reasoned that all the chocolate and bread and red meat I've been happily consuming over the past couple of weeks , (and the odd bottle of wine) would actually act as fuel for my body and enable me to go further than before, drawing on all that sugar and energy to keep going.
Well there may have been something in that as I managed to run 7.6 miles yesterday, in a time of 1hr and 43 minutes. That is one mile further than the last run I did, and I was running for 11 more minutes.
But what I'm even more pleased about is the fact that I managed to run up Park Street, which is a really steep hill in the centre of Bristol, at the end of the run. Probably not as steep or long as Bridge Valley Road, but at the end of a 7 mile run it's pretty darn steep. I had to stop once I reached the top, just opposite the museum where the Banksy exhibition is being held, and I did feel like my knees had been smashed with a baseball bat.
But it was that weird sense of futile heroism that kicks in with me which makes me want to keep going and try to do things that are probably a bit beyond me.
I think I have some psychological complex where I think my whole life is a film and that there are millions of people around the world tuning in to see if I get to the top of the hill. Perhaps we could coin it right here and now and call it the Truman Show complex. Maybe I'll write a book about it and make a fortune that way!
But anyway, I knew I had to go for a decent run yesterday having not really done any exercise since my last run on Tuesday last week, but I thought it was important to get over the trauma of that first.
So after a mediocre day in the home office I finished work at 4 and decided to head out for a run.
I went the usual route across the Downs and up the Portway, but instead of cutting back up Bridge Valley Road to head home I kept going, and going, heading for the centre of the city.
I think by the time I had reached six miles plus my running style resembled a hippo wading through treacle, as each step was just off the ground long enough to count as very slow jogging. It definitely wasn't walking - although that would probably have been quicker.
When I got into the Centre, I realised I had to get back up to the Downs where my car was, and the only way to get there was to go up Park Street and Whiteladies Road.
Of course, what I should have done is keep a couple of quid in change on me so I could get a bus, which would have been a much better option.
The sky looked a bit grey and spots of rain were blowing around on the breeze, making it feel distinctly autumnal, and really not like the end of July.
Then I just thought that the quickest way to get home and to avoid any potential downpour (although the rain would have been welcome to cool my overheating body) was simply to keep running, so I did.
That was when the music in my head really kicked in and the imaginary crowds were screaming my name and Oliver Stone was just ahead of me behind the movie camera giving out epic directions. I fancied I could see fireworks exploding from the top of the university's Wills Memorial tower, but that might have just been the pain of the running.
I just kept reminding myself of my inspiration, Sir Ranulph Fiennes, who at 106 or something crazy, managed his third Everest climb by just saying to himself 'plod forever', and it really works.
I thought I was doing pretty well actually, but then I saw some kids on their bikes racing past me as if they were on the flat.
But I kept going and reached the top, feeling utterly, utterly knackered, and rather dehydrated. Again berating myself for not bringing any money out with me to buy a bottle of water, I ducked into the nearest pub and got a pint of tap water. It slipped down like ambrosia from the gods, not custard, and restored my energy levels just enough to enable me to walk the remaining mile or so up to the Downs to get my car.
There is only five weeks to go now before the Bristol half marathon, and I really do want to put in a decent show for that, although I feel I may have neglected my training a little too much to be able to do a decent time, or even get around without stopping.
But if I can add a mile a week between then and now it may be okay. I have decided that one long run a week is probably the way forward to prepare for the half marathon, but I really need to hit the gym to improve my stamina and all round fitness. It will be an important benchmark though in terms of setting out my training from September onwards for the full marathon next year. Which still sounds like an impossible idea.