Do the Couch-to-5k running plan at half speed

For some reason, lately my heels have been incredibly painful and inflamed, in particular in the morning when I get out of bed and when I first walk on them having sat down for any length of time.

I’ve done a spot of research, and I think what I have is plantar fasciitis, tearing and inflammation in the pad of fibrous tissue and fat that runs from the heel to the ball of each foot. It could have been caused by any number of things – running itself, wearing high heels, wearing flat shoes, wearing shoes of a height different to what you’re used to, being a bit lardy. I’ve always had tight ankles, too (that’s what put the kibosh on me being a famous tap dancer), and that doesn’t help, apparently.

I desperately miss running. Without it, I am starting to feel lethargic, flabby in the leg, and a wee bit depressed. But there’s no way I can run at the moment, so I need to get it sorted. I’m going to call the NHS physiotherapy line tomorrow and see what they think, maybe make an appointment to see the physio. I’ve also found some exercises (linking so I can find them again) to try. In the meantime, perhaps I’ll haul out my mini-trampoline and see if a softer, bouncier surface will make exercising agony-free.

I upped my runs to two ten-minute intervals today. I did have an abortive attempt at this on Friday, but before I started the second run I was overcome with nausea and exhaustion, probably because it was midday and I was running on an empty stomach.

Today, though, it was pretty damn doable. Up hill and down dale through the park in a light refreshing rain, with a toilet stop in the middle of my intra-run walking interval and two ten-second breaks to say hi to a cat and a baby in the second run. It was a bit of a stretch at the end, and I had to push myself, but doing my gratitudes and affirmations really gives me the edge – I was cackling with happiness for a lot of this run. Ace.

I took a couple of weeks’ break for health issues, then restarted back at week five day one a week or so ago. That was easy, so now I’ve done a couple of day two runs – the eight minuters. Are you confused yet? Eight minutes is now a fairly easy run for me, especially if I keep it slow, but I just don’t feel ready to move onto the long 20-minute run of week five day three, especially while it’s hot and humid like it is at the moment.

I’ve added new components to my running though, and I’m finding that they make it even more enjoyable and uplifting. Inspired by a Tony Robbins CD HA and I got from Freecycle, I’ve taken to spending the warmup walk doing an energising breath pattern and some EFT-style tapping (on the finger points). Then for the first run I think of all the things I grateful for – amazing what plops into your head once you start. Then for the second run I incant (in my head or out loud, depending on who’s around) affirmations, affirming my increased confidence, health, happiness, fitness, all-round awesomeness and so on until I feel really really really really ace. This routine seems to make the runs go by quicker, and definitely helps improve my mood even more than running on its own.

Feeling pretty good at the moment. Yay!

I’ve done maybe six week five second week runs – that’s two intervals of eight minutes, with a five-minute walk in between them. I seem to be a bit stuck. If I was doing the programme straight through I should have moved on to a long 20-minute run ages ago, but my last two runs I’ve had to abort early – one when I got a stitch after just eight minutes, and today when I started to feel sick and tearful five minutes into interval two and had to sit down on a bench by the lake for a bit of a cry.

Meh. I suppose I am doing this at my own pace, but I’m a bit miffed that my own pace turns out to be about one millionth of the pace the original Couch to 5k sets for the lardiest, most unfit newbie runners.

I went out with best intentions but after my first five-minute interval I just wanted a lie down under a shady tree and a big glass of Robinson’s barley water. How on earth people do marathons in weather like this is beyond me.

But nil desperandum, it was a great opportunity to do some other kind of exercise. I went home (slowly, via a ten-minute stroke for a lovely little grey and white cat I met in the street) and dug out the Wii for a game of tennis. I’ve always found Wii tennis a bit low on the heart-pumping impact, but today I had the radio on and accidentally discovered that dancing around to disco and Motown while playing ups both the fun and the impact level. 15 minuts of that, and ten minutes of boxing later, sweat was dripping off my chin and I cooled it down with ten minutes of Pilates.

I can’t get over how much I’m enjoying moving my body at the moment. It makes me feel really happy.

That’s three chunks of five minutes each, interspersed with three-minute walks. Though I’m suffering the old sore knee problem all over again, it’s otherwise only getting easier and more enjoyable. Today’s runs were slow and steady, but uphill and down dale, which shows how much my aerobic capacity has increased. I’ve realised how essentially important exercise is to my mental health. There are other factors too, obviously, but I feel so much happier and more balanced when I’m moving regularly. My legs are starting to feel strong and firmer – now I’m thinking of that line, “Lord, her legs are sturdy” from “Living for the city” by Stevie Wonder.

I’ve added in a 20-minute Pilates routine every couple of days too. It’s bloody hard and I hurt the next day, but it’s strangely enjoyable.

..particularly when it’s in what I shall refer to as a waxing phase. Yeah, I mean big and growing bigger. Still.

Most of the time I ignore it. I try not to look at it. I don’t like it being looked at. I don’t like to touch it except when I have to. I’ve only recently started to understand the importance of being aware of feelings and sensations in different parts of it. I accept that it does its job – it keeps my organs in and functioning, and stops my head from falling onto the floor – but mostly I consider it a let-down, a disappointment, an ugly travesty that’s not really part of me.

But sometimes when I run, something weird happens. I feel myself connect to my body. There’s a flow to it, the way the rhythm of my arms and legs pumps blood around my body, the way the movement creates floods of serotonin in my brain. I feel like a well-oiled machine, functioning perfectly, and self-conciousness ebbs away. Yesterday as I was running, my T-shirt rode up my tummy, exposing quite a lot of flesh (and lord knows there’s plenty to expose). Ordinarily I would rather stab myself in the leg than have anyone glimpse my belly, let alone see it shaking and undulating with each heavy step. And I did once stab myself in the leg, so I know what I’m talking about. But for some reason yesterday I didn’t really care. I ran along, a-flapping in the wind, grateful for the cool breeze, for the ability to move, and not really caring about much else. Weird. If only I could cultivate that attitude towards my body the rest of the time.

It was awesome. The sun was shining, a cool wind was blowing, the mum and kids were out in force with buggies and duck-feeding accoutrements. I got clapped by a bunch of charvers (rather than getting the clap from them), cheered on by an old man walking a dog (I stopped to chat and he told me he was quite the athlete in his day) and drew the attention of a small boy to a squirrel hiding in the bushes. He asked me “Why are you running?” I answered “For fun!”, and I really really really meant it.

A few minutes later I experienced a moment of spontaneous joy so pure and intense that I burst into tears. It was one of the strongest manifestations I have ever had of what I call the “bubbling feeling” – in Finding Your Own North Star terms, my body compass’s right-life signal.

Amazing. Remove (at least temporarily) the source of my stress and my stressbusting measures become so effective that I am not merely brought back up to a level of barely-tolerable misery, but blasted into stratospheres of bliss that I barely recognise.

In other news, week three is, I think, over and done with.

The new relaxed attitude seems to be working wonders. No need to write about it or log it on a map, no fretting about calories burned or muscles toned. I am simply running for the joy of being able to move my body.

I’m being good to myself. If I don’t feel like going out, I don’t force myself. I’ll stop partway through a run if I’m not feeling it. Yesterday I went out early evening, but within a few minutes I had bumped into HA getting off the bus, needed a wee, and didn’t like the look of the stormclouds on the horizon, so I turned around and went home. Instead of beating myself up for not sticking to my schedule, I congratulated myself on following my instincts. My body rewarded me this morning with boundless energy that saw me easily through my first week-three run with joy and a spring in my boingy step. I even ran uphill for three minutes, smiling all the way. It’s quite amazing.

Since the brighter mornings and evenings have lifted my mood, made the streets feel safer and (dare I say it) raised my energy levels slightly, I’ve quietly started this goal again. I’ve decided that contrary to the last few attempts I’m going to go about it with the minimum of fanfare and fuss. I’ve always been pretty structured about the goal, careful to log every run not only here on 43T but on mapmyrun.com where it’s gratifying to see the miles clock up and the calories burned. I’ve been approaching it with a level of grit and determination – but that seems to falter the further into it I get.

I suspect that there is a degree of self-sabotage in this. When it comes to improving my body shape and fitness I have a tremendous amount of internal resistance. Some of it I am conscious of, some of it I’m not, but it all adds up to my body and mind wanting desperately to keep me the way I am (or enlarging me further) and conspiring to stop me taking part in activities which go against their wishes. Some may pooh-pooh that idea, but I know my own mind well enough to know that there’s a reason I mindlessly ate a whole box of Ritz crackers in the last 24 hours, and it isn’t hunger. Likewise, I’m not lazy and I enjoy quite a few forms of exercise, but for some reason when I try to exercise to lose weight, I can always find something more important to do.

The concept of an end-goal also seems to stop me dead in my tracks. What will I do once that goal is reached? The last time I got to the end of the programme, I ran my 5k charity race, and within weeks my desire to run tailed right off. My subconscious brain considered the goal done, finished, over, and I acted accordingly.

So this time around, I’ve decided to take a more relaxed attitude to it, and I’m running for the sake of mental peace, not calories burned or glory garnered. As so many of my 43T friends have pointed out, I don’t leave much space for fun or me-ness in my schedule, and it’s about time I carved some out. So I’ll be doing this as and when it suits me, and I may or may not write about it. The end-goal of 5k isn’t important to me, and neither is the effect it might have on my health. I just want to be kind to myself. Surely there’s no reason my subconscious can object to that.