Sports Massages

When it comes to marathon training there are very few things that you could really consider as heavenly mid-session. I mean it is great when you are warmed-up and on the open road or at the very beginning of a fast tempo. And nothing quite beats the satisfaction of a training session done and done well. However, 5 miles in with 15 to go or into your second 800 of 8, you often find yourself having to grit teeth and stay moving.

There is one thing however that can be the closest thing to sporting luxury for its entire duration and that is the sports massage. While there is never a bad time to get a sports massage (though obviously not on the day of or immediately before a race or tough session) perhaps the most satisfying period to get one is mid-taper. Having put in the hard miles, the tough evenings and early mornings the sports massage is a perfect tonic and reward for the tough training being completed. That said there are two very different types of sports massage.

The first is the sports massages that are delivered by men and women who go by the nicknames such as ‘the Grip’, ‘Knuckles’, ‘Claws’ or ‘Iron Fists’. During these sessions they will manipulate/maul your muscles to such an extent that half-way through you won’t know if the towel they gave you is to rest your head on or to bite into. While occasionally required, especially for when your muscles are tense and in need of unknotting, they are generally feck all craic.

The other sports massage however is the one where the masseuse gives a thorough rub that, though firm, relaxes the muscles to a state of such luxury that they would happily sign over the deeds off the house along with the last three digits on the back of your credit card.

While the tenseness of your muscles will determine which massage you will need, I would, all things being equal, go for the latter.

Yesterday’s training

Rest.

Sub 3, The Fifth Go – Dublin 2014 (Part 3)

When I think back to Dublin 2014 I can smile as I remember my friend offering me three types of drink as I came down Heartbreak Hill – water, Lucozade and some really fancy energy drink who’s packaging alone probably cost close to a fiver. I choose the fancy energy drink, which he had to open, which fizzed up into his face from the jogging beside me, which I then took half a mouthful before feckin’ it onto the ground and moving off barely giving a thank you. The wall does that to you.

I can look back and laugh but at the time it was the furthest thing from fun I could think of. I just wanted the end to come and to get out of there. To get into a car. To go home. Imagine that. Training for four months for an event that you only want to get away from! I mean, why would you bother!?

To add salt to my wounds, by the end my watch showed 26 miles a long way before the 26 mile marker and when I finally did see the end, as I got to it, dragging what last bit of energy I had to look decent for the final crowd I realised that the what I thought was the end was just a timer on a local radio station’s car. The end was a further few hundred yards down the road. It seemed like a mile and on seeing it I gave up all pretence of looking anything except utterly devastated.

3 hours 04 minutes and something seconds.

It was a terrible time to come in on. Very few people set out to break 3 hrs and 5 mins. As a result, so many of those who came over the line with me looked equally devastated. A bag of bones approached me talking to me but talking to no one at the same time, saying that he had hoped to break 2 hours 50 minutes and didn’t know what happened. I didn’t care. I hadn’t any sympathy for myself let alone someone else.

In the analysis of the race afterwards I would hear that many, many people fell short of the personal bests. The humid weather sapped many runner’s strength and the blustery conditions didn’t help matters. For me that wasn’t why I failed to break 3 hours.

Nor was it due to not sticking to my own plan and run my own race. Going off too fast at the beginning and gaining a minute in the first half worked exceptionally well for Quentin but didn’t for me. I resolved myself to doing my own thing in every race I’d ever run after that, but that wasn’t the reason I missed out on the sub 3. In the end it was down to me and not just being good enough on the day.

There are days when you are good enough, and there are days when you are not. Those days hurt. Dublin Marathon 2014 was one of those days.

Yesterday’s training

5 miles.

Sub 3, The Fifth Go – Dublin 2014 (Part 2)

At around mile 20 my team-mate looked back at me one last time and I gestured for him to keep moving. My wheels were coming off and there was only one place I was going – backwards.

At the start I was feeling good. I had done the Dublin half in a personal best of 1 hr 23 mins and 21 seconds. If you double that and add 10, which is often one way of getting your possible marathon time I was a tad under 2 hr 57. So I was optimistic. I had some gels, plenty of water, slept well and had my girlfriend and two of my best friend’s on track who were going to meet at multiple spots. It was almost perfect. The almost were the unseasonably humid conditions for an October Bank Holiday weekend and the strong blustery winds.

My plan had changed a few days before the marathon when I decided to tag along with my team-mate Quentin. He had nailed the half-marathon helping me pace the final kilometre when I was getting into trouble. What was more he had already a sub 3 marathon under his belt having run a 2 hr 59 something the previous year. So I thought if there was something I should pace myself with, it was with him.

I have several memories from this race when things were going well – taking the t-shirt I had underneath my club jersey off along the quays because of the warmth of the day; my parents seeing me at the Phoenix Park; the cheers down at Castleknock; the speed we came down by the Strawberry Fields; the warmth of Dolphin’s Barn turn and giving Frances and Steve a thumbs up after 10. At the half-way mark the plan that we had set ourselves was working and we were a minute to the good as we faced into a strong head-wind that would bring us to the Walkinstown Roundabout. It was here that the good memories were replaced with others.

The feeling of disconnectedness as I ran down through Terenure with the wind not at my back; the beginning of the count as I started to pay more and more attention to the mile markers; running on Quentin’s heels rather than on his shoulder; and then the gaps as slowly he moved away from me.

The look backs became more frequent as he realised my distress. Words of encouragement became calls, which in turn became mouthings, as the distance continued to stretch before finally it was nearly 30 or 40 metres.

At this stage I knew there was no comeback and that Quentin who had ran so well needed to keep on going. I shook the head and he knew. He would later crack another personal best dipping into the 2 58 territory. For me, my personal best was turning into a personal hell as I tried to crack on through the final 4 miles.

Friday’s training

A slow 9 k.

Sub 3, The Fifth Go – Dublin 2014 (Part 1)

After a decent amount off after a strange knee injury that was eventually discovered to be something more associated with young long-jumpers (go figure) I cam back strongly in the summer of 2014. I decided to go under the tutelage of Mark Kenneally, my Olympic marathon running physio who not only kept an eye on the body was now keeping an eye on my training. It was a great lead up.

I felt I was in the shape of my life with several solid months of training and a multiple of good runs and races completed. Short runs, long runs, interval runs, tempo runs, fartlek and hill sessions. I had ran several personal bests in races from 5ks to half-marathons. So when I lined up on the start line of Dublin Marathon 2014 I felt I was in the shape of my life and with the best chance I ever had of sub 3 hours.

At least I thought so.

Yesterday’s training

A sports massage (more on that later:).

Things you will (or might) need #6: Running Belts.

Running belts have in recent years become increasingly part of the marathon uniform. Part of this is due to how they have become more and more comfortable to carry round with you while part of this is due to the hangover of poor food and water stops that used to characterise many long runs.

There is nothing more annoying than coming to a drinks stop only to find dozens upon dozens of plastic cups lined up for you to take a drink from. Successfully drinking out of a plastic cups while running is about as easy as completing a crossword puzzle mid-stride.

First of all the impact of picking one up usually ensures that half the liquid is left either on your vest or on the road with your worst pick-up always reserved for the one stop which is an energy drink stop, meaning you’ll be covered with a sticky sweet substance until your sweat washes it off. Nice.

Then there is the attempt to drink it. This is something that is as impossible as turning lead into wine no matter what anyone tells you. Side ways, breaking them, squashing them, drinking them backwards or upside down. No matter what you do, you may as well be wearing windscreen wipers for the amount that will end up across your face.

I remember the best one was Connemarathon in 2008 when I made such a hames of the waterstop that I was so blinded for the next 50 metres I had to call out to my friend to help guide me forward!

Then of course there is the reason for belts to help keep you stocked with foods. While it would be great to have an army of people out servicing you throughout the race both practicality and the difficulty in meeting people en-route means there is always a good chance that you will miss someone and with that your food. Belts help prevent this.

However the problem with belts is that:

·         They are weight that you have to carry with you.

·         Though they might feel so much comfortable now then they did ten years ago, they still have the propensity of heading north (or south) meaning when you should be thinking of your stride or your poise you are foostering around with clips, belts or fastnerers.

·         To the non-marathon running or udnerstanding public they do look a little silly.

Still sometimes the negatives out-weigh the positives and for that reason I’d expect to see more wearing them than not wearing them come Sunday fortnight. As for me, well I probably won’t. I think I’ll get away with two energy gels in the slight pockets by shorts can hold and then put my faith in supporters.

Wednesday’s training

Rest.

The Taper (as opposed to the tapir)

Tapir: The tapir is a large, herbivorous mammal, similar in shape to a pig, with a short, prehensile snout. i.e. I like the zebra but that’s some tapir.

Taper: The taper is generally the three-week period prior to the marathon where exercise and training is reduced to allow the body to recover and ready itself for race day. i.e. I like training but boy do I love the taper.

The taper is usually what marathon runners refer to as the three weeks leading up the marathon. It is the time that most people regard as what’s needed to allow the body to fully recover from all the miles and all the punishment it has been put through to get it ready for the marathon.

To give some perspective to ready yourself for a marathon you have to train the body to run 26.2 miles at a particular pace. In order to do this, you put yourself through a series of exercises that cause it to extend itself bit by bit. After each bit by bit the body then recovers, rebuilds and gets stronger. As long as you don’t extend it too far that it injures itself (guilty) then you will slowly get stronger and stronger. However, even by doing this incrementally your body is still getting tired from all those miles and unable to run a marathon. So, three-weeks out, you reduce the miles and allow the body to fully recover thus capitalising on all that work and giving you the best shot of running a darn good marathon.

So what should you now do:

·         Sleep a little longer.

·         Reduce the mileage particularly the long runs.

·         Focus on snappy sessions that keep the speed up but perhaps with a little less intensity.

·         Get a good sports massage.

·         Hydrate.

So what should you not do:

·         Keep the 20 mile runs going.

·         Go on the beer.

·         Join a rugby team.

·         Look for PB’s in a charity 10 k race.

·         Begin lunching at McDonald’s.

My taper started Sunday. Boy, do I love the taper.

Yesterday’s training

8 x 800s completed in 3.00 or 3.45 a minute pace with 1 and a half minute recovery in between.

The last long one.

It’s my fifth day in a row running. 7 k, 18 k, 12 k, 14 k and now today – one last long run. If I hit the hoped for 20 miles I’ll hit the magic 50+ miles for the week. Why it will be magic I don’t know. Numbers are arbitrary. Still it will feel god to have achieved even if I don’t feel good getting out of bed this morning.

I would not say I crawl out of bed this morning but the opposite of Christmas Day morning for a 8 year old is how fast I get up today. Toes need stretching, feet are sore, legs are tired and the body needs rest like a house plant needs watering. And in all good time. But this morning it’s my last long run so I get myself ready and get going.

I have ran many, many runs on my own but for the last extended jaunt it’s manna from heaven to have some company. Looping around the fields in Trim with Kieran and our drinks and food stop set up the tough opening 5 k is all but done by the time we’ve caught up on what we’ve been up to over the last fortnight. We are then joined by team-mates James and Maurice and it is with Maurice I complete most of my second half as Kieran stretches the legs up to race pace to test them - something I’ve felt I’ve done enough over the last week.

Just as Maurice finishes his own long run I hit my final 4 k, which is short enough for me to open my own legs up for those last few miles. As I do I see Kieran – a kilometre out from wrapping up his fast final 10 miles – and hook up once more for a kilometre burst before the final 2.5 k is done solo.

32 k. I’m glad I had company. I’m glad it’s my last.

The marathon training is dead. Long live the taper!

Yesterday’s training

Rest.