Perceptions

After an incredible experience on the HotChillee London to Paris ride, I wondered if my usual mundane life would ever be the same again? Of course, some months on, it is, but a small part of me has changed forever. Not physically as I continued through the summer to train hard for all the events lined up in the days and weeks to come, not even a mental change as my usual mild obsessive-compulsive doctrines continue to prevail. But certainly a philosophical shift and more significantly too, a change in my soul.
 
This has been reinforced by a spectacular summer of sport. London 2012 on both an Olympic and Paralympic platform has captured the hearts and minds of the nation in much the same way. These events we have watched, cheered on, marvelled at and celebrated are changing perceptions forever.
 
As a collective, we have been drawn into the drama, the stories of supreme commitment and endeavour of years and years of preparation, of sacrifice, of blood, of sweat, and tears. Success does not come easy but victory is compelling.
 
More importantly though perceptions have been challenged and rewritten, and this resonates strongly with my own experiences of 2012.
 
Earlier on this year I confronted a demon when undertaking to run a marathon after a ten year break. I managed to dismiss expectations (my own of course) of competitiveness and ran to raise money for charity. I finally got it, that how fast I could run was not a measure of how worthy a person I was.
 
If that was a thought trickling into my consciousness then riding London to Paris with the team from Stoke Mandeville and three of the most courageous and determined guys I have ever met was a veritable monsoon. Maybe that was my damascene moment, the realisation of the reward of endeavour outside of my own selfish sphere. Sure I've had brilliant moments in my life when I have achieved something special, I've stood atop a podium and heard the National Anthem being played, albeit as a junior member of a team. I have punched the air in joy and unbridled elation at my own success. But nothing matches the pleasure I have experienced this year in a "support" role.
 
Supporting GB athletes, both Olympic and Paralympic, from the arena's and stadia, the streets or our living rooms has reached into our hearts. Here perceptions have been comprehensively revised; Locog put on a brilliant show, the games makers were a spectacular success and the athletes were incredible and inspirational. Newspaper inches were filled with stories of success rather than bemoaning dissatisfactory performances as seemed previously to be the norm. Millions of people turned up and tuned in to support, cheer and applaud. How bloody brilliant. Boundaries were pushed out, limits eradicated. A revolution of good spirit, of good cheer. A revelation! [Not just during the Olympics were perceptions challenged, this summer a British man from a British team won the Tour de France and a British man won a tennis Grand Slam, who would've thought that possible?]
 
Although the games were soon ending, just last week I was lucky enough to have the Alpine Challenge (www.TheAlpineChallenge.com) to continue the theme, a three-day multi-stage cycling event based in Annecy, where I was participating as a Ride Captain for HotChillee. Allocated to Group 4, our goal was to complete rather than compete, a concept I'm getting rather accustomed to. Using various strategies of motivation, and sometimes just plain old physical assistance we all made it through over 300k of riding and more than 5000m of climbing. Here too was plenty of evidence of altered perceptions; riders who hadn't before, who didn't believe they could, DID. It was another privilege to watch the transformation, bodies were battered and exhausted but minds were not beaten. Success for those at the back end was every bit as rich as those contesting the winner's jersey upfront. And proof that sport is for all; for those at the sharp end, the supremely talented Olympian, for those willing to push through disability and life-changing injuries, and for you and I, whatever our shape, size, sex or any other limitations we had previously shrouded ourselves in. The veil of CAN'T does not exist.
 
To conclude, rather shamelessly I have stolen the strapline from the outstanding organisation that has played such a major part in my wonderful year of 2012, HotChillee "a world without limits". Pretty apt. Go smash those boundaries, explore new frontiers, dare to believe. This summer has shown us that it is all possible, just hard work required.

A-MAZ-ING

It's been a while since my last update and during that period I've been preparing for the HotChillee London to Paris (http://www.londres-paris.com/). You may remember the blog entry back in January (“High Excitement”) when I wrote of my pride of being accepted into the HotChillee family as a Development Squad Ride Captain and what this entailed. Over the months since then I have been learning my trade and last week the event took place.

2012 was always going to be a special edition of London to Paris, for one it marked the 25th anniversary of VIP friend Stephen Roche's phenomenal triple in 1987 and there were many legends set to participate. For me though it had an additional and far more personal meaning, it was a journey that I was to undertake with a group of outstanding people. Going back a few months post Brighton marathon I was lucky enough to be assigned as a Ride Captain to Group 7 for the April, May and June training rides. This was the first time that a 7^th Group had been added to the event, and the totally unique feature of this pioneering group was that is consisted of a team of cyclists from Stoke Mandeville and Stewarts Law, riding with and in support of 3 hand cyclists. Riding 507K in 3 days is no mean feat for any endurance athlete, but for the three guys with spinal injuries this was going to be a monumental task. Some of their support team were also complete novices on a bike, and it was clearly going to be a journey into the unknown.

Having done all the training rides and been meticulous in their preparation, this was a team that were determined to do everything to give themselves the best chance of success, but we all started on Thursday morning with a little amount of trepidation. We had a 5.30 am roll-out, it was raining, but spirits were high as we were led out like a pro-peleton; the lead car, motorbike outriders, 3 hand cyclists, 14 upright cyclists, 2 HotChillee Ride Captains (‘dt’ and me), a mechanic’s van and finally the Stoke Mandeville support van carrying medical staff and physio's. It must have been quite a sight.


What none of us realised was what we would experience over the next three days. We had the worst weather imaginable thrown at us and the hills were tough and relentless. While the hand cyclists were flying on the down hill sections and, with a fair wind, made decent progress on rolling roads, the hills proved to be brutal and our average speeds were slaughtered. We had hoped to average 20 kph but by lunchtime on Day 1 the realisation dawned that this was an ambitious goal. We managed 18 kph that day, our 169K taking us just under 9.5 hours. Even though we all knew we had missed the ferry, the cheer as we greeted the Port of Dover sign was loud and hearty.

A key moment had come just 5 miles outside Dover, with a long and particularly arduous climb to be negotiated before the drop back to sea level. It was cold, it was wet and the skies were so black we were losing the light. One of the hand cyclists was some way back with my fellow Ride Captain ‘dt’ but we were out of radio range. There was some pressure to drop them and to take the rest of the bunch into Dover. As the Ride Captain present it was my decision. I called them together and explained; we could go on to Dover where they could get warm and dry, or we could wait in the cold for the final member of their team and all ride in together. Their response was instantaneous, they would wait. Kirsty organised some aerobics to get everyone moving and we pranced around at the side of the road. Did anyone moan, NO. Was it worth it, hell YES. Once back together we had a fast run into Dover, and made it though the day. I knew then that this journey was going to be very, very special.

With typical HotChillee organisational aplomb we were duly booked on a later sailing, but it did mean that by the time we got to our hotels in Calais it was past 11 pm. Bed at midnight, up at 5 am. Another long day awaited. The weather on Day 2 was particularly atrocious. Driving rain, strong winds, hail stones that stung our faces. Not just for a while, but for hours and hours. At the top of each climb the upright cyclists waited for the hand cyclists who at the steepest sections could only climb at 3 or 4 kph. Sometimes waiting for as much as 20 minutes, the team got truly frozen. There was never one word of complaint though, not ever. Each of us quietly pleaded for a break in the rain so we could at least get warm, and finally we were granted a respite. Sunshine interspersed with showers became the norm in the afternoon. Our moving average was annihilated by the conditions, by the terrain and by tiredness. It took at almost 10.5 hours on the road time to cover the route from Calais to Amiens, average speed only 16.2 kph, and 12.5 hours of elapsed time. Arriving at the hotel everyone was exhausted. There was relief in getting through Stage 2, but we also all knew that we had a strict timetable the following day to roll into Paris and it seemed impossible that we would make it. There were some difficult decisions to be made.

‘dt’ led the discussions and on Saturday, to be in a position to join the victory peleton, cut off times were set along the way. When we set off at 7 am we all knew what we had to achieve, both hand cyclists and upright cyclists alike; the peleton would have to work harder than they had before on the rolling flats and descents to maintain a high speed to give the hand cyclists, Alan, Danny & Luke, a fighting chance on the climbs. We had enlisted the help of our head Ride Captain, Bull, to give the group some additional support.

What I saw that morning I will never forget. The collective will of the group was colossal. The atmosphere was electric and I could feel new levels of energy rising from deep within everyone. Some were in a good deal of pain, some were truly exhausted, and some still doubted whether they had it in them. There were tears but no-one stopped, and we all worked together, as one. We got a great start, the sun was shining, and we were flying. The peleton of upright cyclists was the slickest I have even seen, better than groups who have been riding for years. We worked as a group, with ‘dt’ and Bull supporting the hand cyclists. The hand cyclists fought as if their very lives depended on it – these guys have already overcome so much and it was apparent that they were not going to be beaten. They are made of granite rock. Every fibre of every person was directed to those timing targets, and we smashed them, and then smashed them again. We rode the ‘hill climb’ section and smashed that too. We arrived at the last stop before Paris, average pace on the road 22 kph!  It was a Herculean effort, especially coming at the end of such a physical and emotional roller-coaster, and I saw that day the true meaning of mind over matter. It was a rare honour and total privilege to be a part of it.

All that was left was the procession into Paris. Group 7 was given pride of place. The hand cyclists led in a 1.5 km long peleton of over 450 riders, including such luminaries of the sport as Stephen Roche and Maurizio Fondriest. They rode the cobbles of the Champs-Élysées, past the Arc de Triomphe and finished triumphantly under La Tour Eiffel. Emotions spilled over and uncontrollable tears flowed freely. So too did just a little champagne, then, and into the wee hours.

Those three days count among the best of my life. I learnt so much. It was incredible, humbling, inspiring and I still well up with tears just thinking about it now. Dreams really do come true.

Many special mentions;

• HotChillee for putting on the best show on the earth and for giving me the chance to work with G7.
• ‘dt’ – I can’t think of a more professional and nicer ride captain to work with. You are a gentleman.
• Bob & Julian – awesome in support.
• Julian, Rachel, Andrew, David, Claire, Grant, Jeff, Tim, Hayley, Kirsty, Clare, Paul, Susie & Tom – you rode like demons and then like pro’s. I hope to count you all as friends going forward.
• Alan, Danny & Luke – you are men of steel, grit and determination. Big men, but even bigger hearts. I love you guys. You dared and you believed.

"Nothing splendid has ever been achieved except by those who dared believe that something inside them was superior to circumstances." Bruce Barton

[You can find out more about the National Spinal Injuries Centre at Stoke Mandeville here, http://www.buckshealthcare.nhs.uk/NSIC%20Home/spinal, and about Stewarts Law here, http://www.stewartslaw.com/. The Jimmy Savile Stoke Mandeville Hospital Trust is one of the nominated charities of the event and the team is raising funds for much needed specialist sport therapy facilities to assist with the rehabilitation of patients with spinal cord injury.

If you would like to sponsor the team you can make a donation on JustGiving: http://www.justgiving.com/StewartsLaw-L2P/.]

The proof of the pudding

As anyone that has entered a big race can testify to, as the day approaches every fibre of ones being becomes focused on the event. Life is effectively put on hold. Now, some two weeks after the Brighton marathon I've finally cleared the backlog of tasks that I had deferred and can sit and reflect.

Emotions were running high as I crossed the line; not the pure joy and elation of having nailed something, I certainly didn't execute a flawless race and I was totally emotionally and physically exhausted. Nevertheless, I experienced a pride of sorts, of having given all of myself to the event, of having achieved what I set out to do. Totally spent in the quest of a worthy endeavour is quite a satisfying place to be.

That I ran 3:15 should have ticked all the boxes eh? You'll remember my perfect plan outlined in my blog entry “Running the numbers” on 5^th February. The goal was to run three times a week, pretty much all on the treadmill, with just a few pacing sessions thrown in at the track, and to limit the mileage to a maximum of 44 miles per week. This was to protect my fragile Achilles that had some years earlier forced me to quit running competitively. It seemed entirely plausible that I could convert a 2:52 time from 2002 into a sub 3:30 even though it was ten years on.

The plan worked like a dream. Of course real life does not mimic art (or even science) and the chart outlying my training load, the road map my Coach and I were following, shows my inherent tendency to overshoot! The pink line is the projected path, and the blue is what actually happened. But all in all we were very happy with the progression. I stayed strong and healthy losing only a single day in the 3 month period to illness and excitingly my running speeds got faster and faster. Every Friday I spent hours at the gym on the treadmill rotating my long runs between 24 miles run steady,  21 miles with the last 5 miles completed at 7 minute mile pace, and my favourite the 'old skool' 15 x 1 mile reps at 6:50 pace. None of these held any fear for me, and with great satisfaction, I ticked all of them off. Monday’s speed work and Wednesday’s tempo session all pointed to a return to my running form of yesteryear, adjusted of course for the passing of time!

Come race day, I was totally ready. Mentally and physically. I'm pretty meticulous (some would say anal) about race preparation and had left no stone unturned. I'd been over the course, I had all my nutrition sorted and I'd visualised how I would feel at certain points, exploring both good & bad. I felt strong and had a private target of sub 3:10. Yes, a significant leap from the initial goal of sub 3:30 but I believed I could do it, and my hard wired competitive streak wasn't going to settle for an easy ride. The only small nagging concern was voiced by my Coach who in stating that she had no doubt I could run a 3:06 marathon ON A TREADMILL then added the killer blow that it may not work out on the road. 

Fast forwarding to the outcome, was she right? Well yes, it pains me to admit it, and it certainly ‘pained’ me on the day but I didn’t nail it as I had hoped. Now, I’m not knocking my time of 3:15 but I did it the hard way and paid the price. Perhaps I was naive in expecting it to be a breeze. After my debut marathon in 2000 in New York where I made all the mistakes know to man, I vowed I would never do that again and subsequently ran two near-perfect races in London in 2001 and 2002, recording times of 2:54 and then 2:52.  Time has a habit of blurring memories though and I fell foul of mistakes again. In hindsight I went off too fast, but even arriving at halfway in a time of 1:32:31 I wasn’t overly concerned; I still believed that a finish of 3:06, perhaps even 3:08 was still realistic. The problem was that my quads had started to hurt before I even got to 8 miles, whether this was due to the hills, the wind or just the unaccustomed pounding of the road on my legs is anyone's guess, but ultimately it proved to be my downfall. It made for a pretty uncomfortable few hours thereafter. While I managed to block out the pain signals until 18 miles, it finally started to tell and my pace started to fade by around 20 seconds per mile. Another slide in pace occurred at 22 miles, and the last two miles really resembled the ‘Mall shuffle’ that we see every year on the TV coverage of the London Marathon. I was so deep in a well of pain that I didn’t notice the crowds, the support, my loved ones; all I could do was place one foot in front of the other until it was over. So much for my visualisation of a triumphant return to marathon running!

Yet, it was still a triumph. Ok I was totally broken, but I did achieve what I set out to do. I just did it the hard way. I proved that it is possible to run a totally respectable 3:15 marathon by limiting training to 3 runs a week, on low mileage and by using only a treadmill. More importantly, my Achilles stayed strong. Would I do it all again, definitely yes; would I do it the same way, hell NO!

Finally, let’s remember why I started this in thr first place. It wasn’t just for me to experiment with running, training plans, numbers and processes, although all of these were immensely pleasurable and I had a ball. The truly satisfying outcome is that I raised the sum of £1,236 for the Lymphoedema Support Network and that is the true proof of the pudding. A massive THANK YOU to one and all who helped me to achieve this.

Worthy

The countdown clock has tripped over to less than 24 hours and as time inexorably ticks down to zero, pauses for an infinitesimal period, and then begins to accumulate again, so I will embark on the last part of my marathon journey.

When I set the target of running a marathon for charity, I had no idea what lay ahead, whether my Achilles would hold up, whether my Lymphoedema would be adversely affected, whether my ‘perfect plan’ would work out. I had no doubt that I would enjoy returning to running, but was uncertain whether my body would let me. Looking back today, and ahead to tomorrow, I am so pleased that I took the leap of faith. I have had a ball. My mental state of mind has been great for many weeks now, and even though the swelling in my leg still frustrates me immensely, it IS part of my life & I just have to deal with it.

My Coach always says that I’m a better ‘trainer’ than ‘competitor’, and I have been in my element for the last four months, banging out session after session. Having said that, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, so we will see whether limiting my runs to just 3 a week, with the heaviest mileage week being only 44 miles, will actually be enough. Funnily enough I think that will be a conversation for me and my inner chimp to have around mile 16 tomorrow!

Talking about my Coach, currently in New York on a Buddhist meditation course, she tweeted these ‘5 tips for running with the mind of meditation’ from Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche; mindfulness, joy, challenge, purpose, worthiness. With the thought of running a marathon on my mind, these of course resonated. However, more so, purpose and worthiness stuck out. The whole raison d'être of this undertaking was to raise money for The Lymphoedema Support Network (LSN), my purpose. Training my body over these past months has, primarily, been to achieve this one objective, to be able to complete the course and raise money. I set a target of £1,000 and due to fantastic support from family, friends, and new acquaintances via social media (thank you twitter followers!), I have exceeded this amount. Not to say that there isn’t room for more, so if you want to join in please donate via www.justgiving.com/JulietteClark.

And then, worthiness; this is where perhaps I feel at my most vulnerable and fragile mentally. We, as athletes, tend to feel good about ourselves when mind and body come together, when we are at the ‘top of our world’. But, when there are elements of your body that don’t function as they should, it’s hard to prevent negative feelings of self-loathing from sneaking in. Running this marathon and contemplating the challenge for tomorrow I am reminded of my worth. I can and will run 26.2 miles; I can and will achieve my first goal of my ‘just giving year’ as I have a truly respectable sum to hand over to LSN; and I can and will feel worthy when I cross that finish line with arms aloft.

To all of you that have supported me with messages of good luck and inspiration, thank you for helping me on this journey.

Transitions

Last week marked the vernal equinox, officially the transition from winter to spring. Here in the UK, we also moved our clocks to British Summer Time on Sunday morning, reinforcing the seasonal change. For athletes, the new season not only brings warmer and brighter conditions but in a lot of cases, a change in emphasis too. Cyclists put an end to long winter miles and begin to focus on sharpening for their chosen events. The time trial season gets going in earnest and the hard work really starts. For runners and especially marathon runners quite the opposite is true. For them the hard miles have been put in and the focus turns to the final few quality sessions and the taper. For them the arduous and demanding phase of the ‘season’ is almost done; spring brings a period of transition, at least until the job/race is done.

As both a runner and a cyclist, I am fortunate to have one leg in each camp, the marathon miles have been banked and I can eagerly anticipate the amazing journeys I have ahead this year with Hot Chillee on London to Paris (www.londres-paris.com) and the Alpine Challenge (www.thealpinechallenge.com). As I become more integrated into the Hot Chillee family I feel more and more privileged and inspired; but more on this later.  Having had a near-perfect build up to the marathon, it would be rather foolish to spoil it and take my eye of the ball in these last two weeks. The excitement of impending cycling adventures can wait just a bit longer!

For today and the next two weeks I want to reflect on the motivation behind my marathon challenge (see my blog entry of 14^th January). Raising money for charity is always a brilliant incentive; it drives you on when you start to feel a bit sorry for yourself both during the hard slog of training and during the race when the going gets tough. So now, with a little more time on my hands, I'd like to really focus on this aspect.

Lymphoedema is not fashionable, it doesn't command column inches in the health sections of the press and it is woefully under-funded. Yet there are many, many people, young and old, whose lives are blighted by this condition. The Lymphoedema Support Network (http://www.lymphoedema.org/) is one of only a few resources available in the UK, and I would really like to make a contribution of worth. I set myself a target of £1000 and am currently standing at just over £400 in sponsorship. I very much appreciate the support from those that have already been incredibly generous, nevertheless I would like to implore my other friends, followers and readers of my blog to join in and support me too. Any contribution no matter how small would be absolutely fabulous! Just click on www.justgiving.com/JulietteClark to donate.

Chattering Chimp

It has been over three weeks since my last blog entry when I laid out the ‘grand plan’ for achieving my marathon goal. Planning in isolation is a surreal undertaking; it is a process that starts in the imagination, where thoughts are conjured up. In this nascent stage, there is little form to the plan, just wishes, desires and ideas. It is the ordering of these components that gives structure, from which a sensible formula is derived that finally is transformed into reality.

As a mathematician I put a lot of substance in order; not the kind of day to day order that is associated with obsessive-compulsive behaviour (although there is a fair amount of this in my personality too) but I love the mathematical order of life, of nature, and of the universe. Fibonacci sequences and geometric series fascinate me; the process of creating beauty from mathematics is enthralling. I love the elegance of a perfectly formed equation and the exquisiteness of a closed-form solution. So too in plans; a perfectly formed plan, meticulously executed is right up there as my definition of pleasure!

Margaret Thatcher is credited with the quote “Plan your work for today and every day, then work your plan” and when I worked as a trader we used to follow the premise “plan your trade and then trade your plan”. It made a lot of sense; it took sentiment out of the equation in a marketplace driven by hugely-powerful twin emotions of fear and greed. The same applies of course to training plans and it is not for nothing that my Coach calls me “Robot”; I’m pretty good at following a plan as programmed.

Nevertheless, having the ‘perfect’ training plan has potential problems when converted to reality. I’m a process person and if I truly believe that the plan created is the irrefutable solution, then I am very, very reluctant to change it or let it go. I will fight tooth and nail to religiously adhere to every step, every component part that makes up my elegant creation. Ok, I can be flexible if I really have too, I’ve had enough setbacks in my life to be realistic, but in my mind I am then settling for second best or worse; the beauty of the plan has been spoilt and while it may still be practicable it becomes uglier.

So why go into all this detail? Why expose my obsessive-compulsive traits?

Well it explains what I have been dealing with in the three weeks plus since I started the ’10-week-to-race-day’ plan. Nothing has gone wrong; in fact all of it has gone swimmingly. However, I’ve had a lot of chattering from my inner chimp. To use Steve Peters’s model, the chimp represents the emotional part of my brain – that part that I wished to silence by creating the perfect plan in the first place. This is the fear factor; the ‘what if’ statements. I have found myself suddenly worrying about all manner of events that might derail me from the perfect path, and rather than having my usual confidence to start workouts secure in the knowledge that I will complete, however tough, I have been plagued by anxiety. Throughout these past weeks I have been fighting negative talk; what if I can’t do this, what if it is too hard, what if I fail; then the plan will be ruined. Suddenly every individual element of the plan was becoming a test, a goal of its own. This is particularly ridiculous as I am not even "racing" the marathon. And the rationale behind the marathon endeavour has never been about the outcome. What vexes me and sets off nagging doubts is the undoing of my ‘perfect’ plan, the beautifully formed and elegant plan.

Time has triggered this chimp activity. As in any system, the erosion of time towards a critical date intensifies the influence of volatility. Pension valuations illustrate this only too well, where those with many years to retirement are pretty immune to day to day fluctuations in the underlying assets, however it is a different story for those fast approaching their final valuation date, when any sudden movements in the stock market can have a catastrophic effect. The same can be said of chimp noise; when there is plenty of time to play with, the chimp noise can be easily muted, but as D-day approaches the loudness intensifies and can be hard to drown out. Athletes with Olympic aspirations will know this only too well as time inexorably marches on towards 27^th July 2012.

It is worth noting that my Chimp isn't menacing, there are no bared teeth, it is much more of a comical creation along the lines of the primates used in the adverts in the 70s. Nevertheless it is definitely a nuisance. I like quiet, I need this to concentrate and I hate background noise. That is why I don’t train with music, however motivational it might be. I like to tap into the process not obscure it. That is why the chattering, the noise from my comedy chimp is an annoyance, and is disruptive. It has drained my emotional resources just at a time when I need to be concentrating fully on the physical and physiological demands of the training.

Of course, all this worry, this self-doubt, the noise and chattering from the chimp has been unfounded. Not that I’ve found the way to cage the chimp but it has exhausted itself for now and I’ve found a rationale to manage it. I’m learning to accept that this process does not HAVE to be mapped out absolutely, without deviation. Yes, I do want to track the plan, to fulfill my strong desire for perfection, but if this doesn’t pan out it is not a failure; indeed I may even learn new skills as a result. Opportunities, not threats!

Running the numbers

Modern art is a passion of mine and recently I came across a fascinating sculpture by French artist Alexandre Durand that captured my imagination. It is titled "Numerous sum ergo sum" and it utterly enchanted me. As you can see from the picture, it is a friendly duck, proudly exposing a digital dial pad in place of its beak, a reference to codes and numbers that define our digitised society. The title is a modification of Descartes philosophical statement “Cogito, ergo sum”; “I think, therefore I am”. The link between numbers is intensified due to the significance of science in our times; classification and numbering turn anything into mathematics and statistics. I am a number, therefore I am.

Nowhere is this more true than in the pursuit of athletic excellence. Put a group of marathon runners in a room together and very quickly the conversation will be dominated by numbers, roughly breaking into four main categories, (i) the number of miles completed each week, (ii) the length of their weekly long run, (iii) the hoary issue of speed work; how fast and for how long, and finally in the anxious days before the race itself, (iv) the specifics of the taper.

There is a wealth of expert opinion on all of the above and, in my previous incarnation as a marathon runner some ten years or more ago, I stuck dogmatically to the conventional theories. But, this time faced with certain limiting factors (a weak Achilles and Lymphoedema), I’m running with my own numbers, and some unorthodox theories. Flying in the face of long-held wisdom may seem a tad foolish but the numbers do add up, and for the geeks amongst you I’d like to share my method.

100 mile-weeks are long gone; this time I believe I can still achieve a reasonable performance on less than half of that. The difference is specificity and that ALL my training is at or faster than intended marathon pace; my speed work is over a minute per mile faster, tempo runs are conducted at 20 seconds per mile faster, and my long runs are at marathon pace. One of the reasons that I can assimilate this physiological effort is because my training stress is carefully managed on the four days a week when I do not run. Yes, I do cycle on three of these days, and I have not limited the quality of these workouts either, but Coach Helen and I have crafted a structure that is working really well. So, how do we know this? How can we be sure whether I am doing enough, or conversely too much?

Applying a methodology that has long been used by cyclists, a Training Stress Score (TSS) is calculated for each workout. These scores are then used to monitor Chronic Training Load (CTL), which very roughly speaking is a 6-week average of training stress. The key to any training program is to push the boundaries and thereby build fitness and enhance performance, without overloading the system and breaking. Having five seasons of data to review, I know the true characteristics of the training stress I can absorb and how far we can push CTL. What is different this time is that running rather than cycling is now my main stress factor.

This graph shows the progression of my CTL since last August when I first considered the prospect of taking on the marathon challenge. I came from a very low level of run training, but the blue line shows that my fitness has built steadily. A cold at the end of November explains the brief downturn in my training load but, that aside, the four-week periodisation is clear, as is the point when the run training starts to ramp up at the end of last year. The peaks in CTL have got me perfectly to my ‘perceived’ boundary with exactly 10 weeks to go. Flawless!

From tomorrow, I switch onto a 3-week periodisation that is very precisely detailed. The best laid plans do not always pan out, BUT if it all comes together the pink line reflects the progression of training load in this key period up to race day. Although I approach the upper boundary of my chronic training load three more times, this is vigilantly managed and my physiological ceiling is respected. Reducing each day, each workout to a number, a training stress score, makes this a mathematicians fantasy; I am a runner, I am a number, therefore I am.

Support me on my marathon journey at http://www.justgiving.com/JulietteClark

High Excitement

As part of my marathon training Friday is 'long run' day. When I reveal to the running stalwarts in my sphere of friends that all my training is done on the treadmill I wait for the standard recoil and looks of horror. But, there are many benefits of training indoors, especially during the winter when a controlled environment provides a great comparison week on week as to my progression. More importantly, though, I find the 'give' on the treadmill to be kinder to my Achilles. Lymphoedema aside, my damaged Achilles is the biggest threat to my marathon goal and I will do whatever is necessary to give myself the best chance of success. If this means banging out up to 3 hours of a long run on the treadmill then so be it. In a bizarre way I actually relish this challenge and use my time productively. I don't listen to music or watch the bank of TV screens, I just run and I think. This is my time for me and usually my mind takes me on an enthralling journey. Juggling work, home life, and both running and cycling training means there is not much spare time in my life and running has become marvelously therapeutic.

This Friday, my mind quickly settled on the exciting plans for 2012 beyond the marathon. Hardly surprising as the previous night I attended the HotChillee Ride Captain and Sponsors dinner. Let me explain a little about HotChillee. They are the organisation behind the phenomenally successful London to Paris (L2P) and Alpine Challenge events. In 2010 I rode L2P and was completely overwhelmed by the experience. Their strap line is "Professional Events for Amateurs" and they are not wrong. Over the years I've taken part in a lot of mass participation events; large scale triathlons ranging from National and World championships, big city marathons in both New York and London and have even competed at the supremely slickly organised Hawaii Ironman. Yet none of these compared to my HotChillee experience. Wow. So impressed was I that I immediately signed up for the inaugural Alpine Challenge that year and returned to L2P in 2011. Many, many others do the same; it's interesting to reflect why? Having ridden between London and Paris once, what's the lure of doing it again? And again. And again. Yet many do. Year after year. The magic is in the whole experience, the camaraderie, that it is just a wonderful three days on your bike. HotChillee are the people that make this happen.

I was hooked, and felt impelled to get more involved. On the road during the events each group of riders is mentored, encouraged and if need be, controlled, by an army of Ride Captains. David (the Bull) and Will, assigned to my group, were an integral part of my enjoyment and inspired me to push to new levels. The Ride Captains are the front line of HotChillee, the ambassadors of the brand and they are brilliant people. Imagine my delight therefore when recently I was accepted on to the Ride Captain Development Squad. I was bursting with pride. This means that I get the chance to become a part of the HotChillee family, to learn the skills needed to be a fully-fledged Ride Captain (RC) and at some stage in the future I hope to guide, assist and support fellow athletes on their own personal journey of attainment. If I can convey just a fraction of the pleasure I have had, we all will be winners.

The duties of a RC start months before the event itself, with organised training rides starting in January, the first of which is tomorrow. So, this evening, as I prepare all my kit, I feel excited, but also mildly apprehensive. Tomorrow, I begin to learn my trade, and to get to know fellow L2P 2012 participants, be they familiar faces from previous years or new-comers.  Only time will tell, but I hope to strike up new friendships and play a part in the achievement of others – this time it’s all about them!

Just Giving

A year ago, faced with the prospect of Lymphoedema for the rest of my life, with no cure and a stark absence of treatments, it felt that my whole world was changing. I was scared and felt abandoned by the medical profession. My GP tried his best but he knew less about my condition than  I did! Trawling the internet for the most part just added to my woes, revealing shocking images of grotesquely swollen limbs. However, my internet quest did bring up one gem, the Lymphoedema Support Network (LSN). Here was an organisation committed to helping people just like me and I seized on the chance to find out as much as I could, signed up for membership and with it gained access to a massive array of  information booklets, DVDs, a telephone helpline and self-help resources. In the last year, pushing their remit forward, the LSN has also instigated a major drive in the area of GP education, laying down important foundations for earlier diagnosis and better support.

Lymphoedema that occurs post-cancer is an area of medicine that has generated some research interest but in the main it's woefully under funded. This makes even more remarkable the service that the LSN provide. As part of my '2012 resolution of giving' my first task therefore is to try and raise some money for the LSN.

So how am I going to do this? Not wanting to depart too much from what I know, but also wanting to make it a challenge worthy of my friends & families support, I have signed up to run the Brighton Marathon on April 15th.

It will be 10 years since I last competed over the marathon distance. Since then I've endured a chronic Achilles tendonitis injury that stopped me running for 2 years and pushed me into cycling, not to mention having to deal with Lymphoedema. In recent years I've dabbled with a minor run element in my weekly program but nothing like the distance I need to build up to give due respect to the marathon distance. But that's part of the challenge.

Coach Helen and I sat down some months ago when this idea was first hatched to see if it was a realistic goal. Being sensible my damaged Achilles was never going to allow me to run repeatedly day after day and the high mileage approach I adopted ten years ago was a definite no-go. We devised a plan comprising of only 3 runs a week, training on alternate days of Monday, Wednesday & Friday, with a limit of around 40-45 miles per week. With my mind also on other challenges to come post marathon, we’ve combined these runs with my more usual bike training and it’s intriguing to see whether this ‘less is more’ approach will work.

Gradually I've been getting the necessary miles under my belt and now feel that I'll be there on race day.  For sure it will not be like my last race in April 2002; then I was in the championship race at the London Marathon and ran a respectable 2:52. I competed for myself, for personal gain.  This time it’s about completing not competing; how fast I run is mostly irrelevant although my hard-wired competitive streak has set a target of sub-3:30. This time it's about pushing to the limit for a far worthier cause and sincerely hope that you too will join me on this journey. I resolve to push out the bounds and run 26.2 miles, will you visit my charity page www.justgiving.com/JulietteClark and sponsor me?

Time to give

Reading my last blog entry that was all the way back in April 2011 is a timely reminder of how life moves on. What then felt like a cataclysmic event in my life has now faded into a distant memory. Any readers that don't know me personally may have worried about the outcome, whether I recovered from my knee injury, whether I won the unequal struggle against Lymphoedema. The absence of posts in the last eight months suggest one of two things; either it all went horribly wrong and I couldn't bring myself to write about it, or life returned to normal and day to day tasks took over. Thankfully it was the latter and the past months have been a rewarding learning experience and the future looks bright.

A quick review of what has passed in this period from the perspective of an athlete; I did manage my 'test ' sessions and committed to the HotChillee organised London to Paris bike ride in June. Rich came over from Brisbane and, apart from an issue with his bike frame that was damaged in transit (thanks Sigma Sport http://www.sigmasport.co.uk/ for building a brand new bike in a matter of days) we had the most fantastic time. Ok, I wasn't as fit and prepared as I wanted to be but I still rode my heart out, competed hard with my group 2 co-riders and shed a few tears of relief and joy when we rode in grand procession down the Champs-Élysées to finish under the Tour Eiffel. Rich, Kath, Vicki and I had an excellent evening of celebration. Round one: Juliette 1, Lymphoedema nil. Well it wasn't quite nil to Lymphoedema, as my leg was swollen after three days and 520k in the saddle but it was manageable and was a small price to pay for the elation of the achievement.

This was my highlight of 2011 and was a damascene milestone in helping me conquer the fears that my life was going to change for the worse; in truth little has changed. I'm still an athlete (erstwhile), I train between 10 and 15 hours a week and have some really exciting goals for 2012 (more about these later). I have my health and my happiness. Lymphoedema is a nuisance but it hasn't prevented me from doing things; we had a week in the sun in the summer and we flew long-haul to New York in November, both of which I thought if not impossible then implausible this time last year. I manage my condition; it does not rule me. Some days are good, some are not so, but I've learnt what I need to do, and the rising swell of panic, uncertainty, frustration, helplessness are all part of the past. I truly hope that other Lymphoedema sufferers reading this will take heart from my experiences and believe that life can, does and will go on pretty much as normal.

So what now? Well I freely admit that the past twelve months have been a lot about me; about dealing with Lymphoedema, more than once I caught myself lamenting that "I didn't want this to happen to me". But it did and, hey, really it's not that bad.  Having spent this time in an egocentric state I firmly believe now that it's time to redress the balance. 2012 is therefore my year of giving back. Check back in a couple of weeks for more details and to join me on a new journey.

What is Time?

To quote Saint Augustine, “What then is time? If no one asks me, I know what it is. If I wish to explain it to him who asks, I do not know.”

A quantitative expression of time, defined in physical terms, is that it is a measure of changes of a system. However, from a philosophical perspective if we are the system, this will have a large impact on how we think about time and the temporal aspects of reality.  So, why the venture into the thorny subject of time, and run the risk of getting all bogged down in quantum physics? Well, it seems that it’s been a few weeks since my last blog entry, yet ‘lymphoedema-time’ has different characteristics and, in my system, time is on a go-slow.

It’s been a tough learning curve to realise that for my body, the healing process is now incredibly slow-moving, that an injury which should realistically have cleared up within weeks has instead taken months. My new reality has undergone a temporal shift but finally I am getting to a place of equilibrium and acceptance. I now fully understand that time moves at a different pace to my pre-lymphoedema entity and having acquired a new life-skill of patience (though not particularly graciously!) I am now on the road to recovery. My softly, softly approach and willingness to spend hours doing laps in the swimming pool seem to have paid off and this week I have managed a couple of hours of riding and even a 1 hour walk / run session. My knee isn’t completely fixed, but I have a handle of what I can do without ruining all the good rehab work that I’ve done, and as long as I continue to take small steps forward, I feel optimistic. This is a major breakthrough for me and means I can start to contemplate the prospect of riding the 520K from London to Paris this June.

I signed up for this event back in November last year, blissfully unaware of the problems that were to follow, and managed to persuade one of my friends from my days at University to do it with me. Imagine how troubled I’ve felt recently when I didn’t know whether I’d be able to participate, especially when I tell you that Rich is coming all the way from Brisbane! It may still all go horribly wrong, but if I can manage back-to-back 2 hour rides this weekend, followed by back-to-back 3 hour rides next weekend, Coach Helen and I reckon it is 'game on'. We then have eight weeks to build the necessary layers of fitness.

The other example of ‘lymphoedema-time’ is the period that has followed since my diagnosis pre-Christmas and obtaining relevant and useful assistance. I come from a long-line of problem solvers and there are more than a few ‘project managers’ in my life, all of which I can pretty much hold my own with. Hence the tasks of identifying specialists, making arrangements for consultations, and following up with practical applications should all have been straightforward to tick off the list. Not so. Being proactive, I have been lucky enough to build a network of people that can help me, notably experts like Prof Mortimer. But from a day-to-day lymphoedema-management perspective I have had no sway over the time it takes to get into the local NHS system. Thankfully this has started to happen in recent days and I am now under the care of a registered lymphoedema therapist, I have been prescribed with the first tranche of medical compression garments and a request for funding for Manual Lymphatic Drainage has gone to my local PCT.

Adopting a new ‘take’ on time has helped me build on the Zen state of mind alluded to in my blog entry on 13^th January and not to get completely stressed and depressed either about being injured or having to deal with lymphoedema. Is there any relevance of time in the present in connection with time in the past? I guess not. Focusing on the now, it all seems to be coming good again, and I fervently hope this augurs well for the future. Tick tock.

Softly Softly Catchee Monkey

After a mixed response to last week’s slightly unorthodox blog entry (that took the guise of some fascinating discussions but also one or two yawns!), this week I return to more commonplace topics of Lymphoedema and exercise, or rather lack of exercise and too much oedema.  This is the eighth week since the injury to my knee forced me off my bike and into the pool. Since then I've covered almost 45 miles of swimming, spent hours in the weights room and have stubbornly endured almost 13 hours on the hand cycle. What should have taken 3 to 6 weeks at the most to heal has shifted expectations of normality and brought home how much things have changed since the lymphatic system in my right leg gave up the ghost.

To give my malfunctioning healing-system a much-needed boost, I had an injection in my knee around 10 days ago. The standard theory post an intervention of this type is 3 days of rest; I had 5 days off as a sort of ‘belt and braces’ approach and because we just don’t know what is ‘normal’ for me yet. Extremely tentatively, I have since started back training. Alternating between the cross-trainer and low wattage cycling, supplemented with yet more swimming, I have managed 20 minutes, then 30 minutes and am now progressing to 45 minutes back on the bike. Nervously I am monitoring every second, and there is still some soreness, but it is a different type of discomfort. A few years back after a heart-breaking Achilles injury that ruined my pretensions of being a competitive runner, I experienced a similar pain when I returned to the treadmill. Then it was just a case of the muscle memory hanging on to the pain sensation, and this time round I’m fervently hoping it is the same. So softly, softly I am following yet another rehab plan, and if I can survive this week unscathed, there will finally be a light at the end of the tunnel.

This will be just as well as during this injury period my ability to manage the lymphoedema has been woefully inadequate. Without the tool of exercise, lymph clearance has been pretty much nonexistent and my leg has swollen substantially, dealing another blow to my wretched mental state that has been under siege for a number of weeks now. Here too though, I see the light breaking through. My diagnosis of lymphoedema was delivered on December 14^th, and now almost four months later, next Wednesday 6^th April, I have finally arranged an appointment to see a Lymphoedema specialist in Brighton. This is the culmination of a good deal of effort in finding the right person to deal with and waiting while referrals are made, but it is quite a relief to have identified someone who has a wealth of experience in dealing with Lymphoedema. This means I can get properly measured and fitted with medical-grade compression hosiery, perhaps not the most aesthetically pleasing garments but significantly preferable to a distended and swollen limb which is the alternative! I should also be able to get a course of Manual Lymphatic Drainage, as and when needed, and be tutored in the skills of self-massage rather than replicating what I have read in a pamphlet. Moreover, it will be a comfort and encouragement to have someone to talk to on a semi-regular basis, who understands lymphoedema, and can guide me from a practical perspective on the management of the condition.

Don’t say it too loudly, but ‘softly softly’ could bring a fresh glow into my life next week, with a return to training and access to much-needed professional help on the Lymphoedema front too. Fingers crossed that it’s an easier roller to ride.