By Stephie, on Monday 16th April, 2012 at 17:13 pm
So I can’t run. And for a runner it’s like the worse thing in the world. Gone is that adrenaline rush and the endorphin buzz that you thrive on. Gone is the feeling of freedom and deep satisfaction. Gone are my friends, running off into the distance somewhere while I stand and watch. Instead, depression seeps in. Slowly at first, but as the weeks wear on with no sign of improvement, hope withers away and the depression sits heavily alongside frustration and disappointment.
I can’t cycle. Well, only in moderation. Swimming is painful. So that leaves walking. On Friday I decided to see how far I could go before the pain got too much to bear. After just 10 minutes my ankle was aching. It didn’t bode well, but I pushed on, glad to be outside and moving. I had an eight mile out and back route planned. Not far, compared to the distances I’ve been running.
 A welcome bit of grass verge beside the main road, with St Agnes Beacon in the distance. I set off on the main road. There’s no pavement and for 2 miles I felt like I was dicing with death, a target for every tourist to aim at. It’s half term, the Easter break, and they’re driving on the roads with their top-boxes on, blasé and unaware, ignorant of the fact that here in Cornwall, there’ll be walkers, cyclists, horse-riders sharing the roads. I wondered if I’d make it to the beach, my destination, or whether I’d be swatted and squashed like an annoying fly at the first opportunity. Probably the latter.
I was glad to turn off and head down a winding country lane through the hamlet of Mingoose. Such a brilliant name! And not a car in sight. It was like walking back in time: rambling stone cottages and farmhouses, an old chapel (below) now a home, a large manse with manicured gardens, fields lined with willows, trees filled with chaffinches…I was in a world of my own. Feeling good I tried a jog, just a few steps. Won’t be doing that again ’til I’m ‘cured’, aaargh!
 Who wouldn't want to while away a few minutes sitting amongst the bluebells and primroses? A track soon bears off from the lane, wending its way a mile or so downhill to the beach. It varied from mud to stoney ground under foot, the smells were fantastic – pure bliss. When I got down to the beach the light was fading and the tide was right out. I did a bit of big billowy cloud gazing before I turned round and headed back.
 Low tide.
 Amazing light and incredible clouds Heading back meant one thing: Uphill. Which made my ankles ache even more. By the time I’d covered about 6 miles, I’d slowed right down and my right ankle was painful. I hobbled and limped the last few miles home – when did 2 miles get to be soooo long?! I could have sat down on the road side and wept, but I didn’t fancy making the tourists’ lives too easy!
 Back up the footpath through Chapel Combe and home. So, I can’t run. But what can I do? I can’t walk far obviously, but I reckon I could cover 5 miles or so without too much pain. Although I love it, it’s not very aerobically satisfying. I need something lung busting, and so far, I just haven’t found anything I can do to satisfy that without putting stress on my ankles. As I said earlier, aaaaargh! I’ve been going to the gym, doing some resistance work, but pleeeease if you’ve got any ideas of what I can do to get myself into a bit of a sweat let me know!
In the mean time I’m off to a seminar thing on barefoot running this evening – sounds like the best way forward to me and I want to find out more before I start running again. Will be back soon to tell you all about it.
Stephie
By Stephie, on Sunday 12th February, 2012 at 02:58 am
here…
 Wheal Charlotte there…
 St Michael's Mount here…
 Portreath and there.
 Porthtowan I’m lucky to have such dramatic and beautiful trails to run on so close to home, beats city streets any day. I took these pictures over the last couple of weeks on training runs. But training hasn’t been going well…
In a week’s time the big event will be over; I’ll either be celebrating my determination to succeed or drowning my sorrows and nursing sore ankles. Over the last few months I’ve been suffering from worsening achilles tendonitis. Self-diangosed, it has to be said, but it doesn’t take a genius to work it out. Just before Christmas I bought new shoes and the pain has come on and got worse sine I’ve had them. I stopped wearing them before I could no-longer walk. Just in time I reckon, but still too late. The pain has ground my running to a halt and, until this week, walking uphill too.
When I bought the shoes I was told I had ‘bordeline’ over pronation and was recommended a pair of motion control shoes (Asics). I think this was my mistake. The shoes felt great running for a few minutes on the treadmill, well cushioned and a good fit. The same can’t be said for running on the road when it became obvious the rigid heel support was pressing on my achilles. I thought it would ease as the shoes wore in, but I was wrong and by continuing to wear them in the hope they’d get better, inevitably they got worse.
I guess I don’t really need a motion control shoe. I think my instinct was confirmed when I read an article on a site dedicated to achilles tendons (who’d have thought it?!). In a paragraph titled Anti-Pronation (Exceptions) I read
“tight or short Achilles tendons can cause over pronation. If the pronation is caused by something other than tight or short Achilles tendons, then a motion control shoe will probably be helpful. If Achilles tendon tightness is causing the pronation, then motion control shoes are probably not appropriate.”
My tendonitis is worse in the ankle I know is tighter from the stretching I always do – the motion is far less in this foot than the other one. Ipso facto? Possibly. I’ve grown to loath these shoes whatever; they just represent pain. And if the tendonitis causes me to pull out of the marathon half way round, I can guarantee my resentment will be so great I’ll set fire to them, if I don’t manage to sell them on ebay first.
6 days and counting… R.I.C.E.
Stephie
By Stephie, on Saturday 31st December, 2011 at 23:40 pm
A certain season to be jolly has rather interrupted my training plan. You live and learn: next year (?!!!) I’ll remember to take it into account. The longest run I managed over the last three weeks was 7 miles. Pretty disastrous really, right in the middle of the plan. But, then again I could have been injured and out for a month or more.
It’s not the end of the world though is it? It’s just a run along some cliffs in Devon; a personal challenge and an adventure; an opportunity to meet other likeminded people mad enough to give it a go, for whatever reason (some of them because they’re actually good at it). I love running, the feeling it gives me, but If I have to walk because life got in the way of a couple of weeks of training, then I’ll have to walk and I’ll still enjoy it, because how can you not enjoy being out there?
Who am I trying to kid? Of course it matters, that’s what a personal challenge is isn’t it?!
So anyway, yesterday I put in a 19 mile run. The last couple of miles were of the walk/run variety (I still enjoyed it!), because my legs felt like they were filled with lead. If you listened hard enough you’d probably have heard them clanking. As I hadn’t run a long distance for what felt like a month of Sundays, I decided to make this epic run (my longest so far) ‘easy’ by running some of the way along old tramways that are now part of a cycle network. The trams (for transporting minerals) needed level ground. On reflection I’m not sure I did – it hurt my feet like hell. They’re just not used to it. The thing everyone knows about Cornwall is that it has giant hills. A few miles of level ground are hard to find and the biggest stretches I know of are man-made, like the old tramways.
It was a joy to get on the coastal path after about 7 or 8 miles. The ground became interesting and uneven, the air salty and the wind exhilarating. I’d say the views were fantastic, but the further ’round the coast I got the less I could see of them!
 Isn't there supposed to be a horizon out there somewhere? By the time I got to the 300 foot cliffs of St Agnes Head (about half way through the run) the wind was blowing a gale, rain was coming in sideways and the path was disappearing and reappearing in front of my feet as the fog moved thickly in.
 St Agnes Head. Visibility: mostly rubbish! I turned inland here, past the coastguard station, and headed up over St Agnes Beacon. There are spectacular views from up here: you can see both the north and the south coast. On a good day, obviously. 629 feet above sea level on a day like this wasn’t so good! The fog was even thicker up here and I managed to get lost. Not the sort of lost that induces panic, I mean it’s just a small, but prominent, hill with cottages dotted all around the bottom of it on roads that lead down to the village. It was more like wandering around in circles for ages trying to find the path I actually wanted; I knew that I’d find it from the trig point (or so I thought!), so all I had to do was find the highest point. And when I did eventually find it I decided I’d take a gel break behind the trig and shelter from the exposure to icy winds and horizontal rain that pierced the face like knives. I felt like an explorer! (And looked like a drowned rat, as you can see!)
 Ah, so this is what trig points are for: a bit of shelter from howling winds and horizontal rain! When I finally made my way down I still wasn’t on the path I wanted to be on, but I did at least know where I was. Coming off here meant I had to alter my planned route and I ran home along the main roads. And with the final few miles of tarmac came the jarring and the leaden legs – who in their right minds would run a marathon on roads? (But let’s be honest, they weren’t exactly fresh at this point anyway!)
That’s 26 miles done and dusted so far this week, with another 7 to go on New Year’s Day tomorrow. Providing the legs can take it, I’m off on a jaunt up Brown Willy, Cornwall’s highest point on the wilds of Bodmin Moor. At 1,278 feet I guess we’ll be in for plenty of fog, howling winds and freezing rain. Oh yesssss!
What are you up to this New Year’s Day? Hope you’re doing something fun with family and/or friends? Which reminds me, after dragging Kim up to the moor (no he’s not going to run – he prefers to wait in the car…) we’re off to see Sherlock Holmes - sometimes it’s good to have a teenage son!
Back soon with pictures of some of the bits and bobs I’ve made over the last month or so, ’til then…
Happy New Year everyone!
Stephie
By Stephie, on Sunday 6th November, 2011 at 16:27 pm
Friday was my first long run of my marathon training programme. The plan was to run along the coast, but I chickened out because my legs were aching like mad from a gym session the day before. Instead I headed to one of my favourite local trails round the woods at Trelissick, which are stunningly beautiful at this time of year. I was stopped in my tracks by these fantastic mushrooms growing in the undergrowth near Roundwood iron age fort.
 Fly Agaric - not to be eaten! A large section of the track runs through woodland alongside creeks giving glimpses of the sky in still reflections, or wading birds like oyster catchers if the tide is low. But I absolutely love it at this time of year for the incredible kaleidoscope of autumn oranges, yellows and reds; the track’s like running on a golden mosaic of fallen leaves, soft under the feet and kind on the knees.
I ran 9 miles at a very easy pace, not far in the grand scheme of things – about a third of the distance I’m training for (28 miles). I’ve decided that I need to do some serious work if I’m going to complete this challenge in February; I realise I’m nowhere near strong enough and my upper body in particular is as weedy as a lawn covered in daisies. My attempts at resistance work at home have been sporadic, and I haven’t got a clue what I should be doing anyway, so I decided I’d go to the gym. Now I’m beginning to think ignorance was bliss!!!
 Reflecitons I’ve had a plan drawn up that I can fit ’round my running days. Three sessions a week at the gym: one for leg work, one for core and one for upper body – all three include some cross training on the bike. Last Thursday was a bit of everything though, where I was shown how to use the myriad rows of scary looking machines. It was hilarious. I have a reasonably strong core, but I was introduced to something called a ‘Roman chair’, where you hang from your arms and lift your legs to 90 degrees – lifting my legs was fine, but I had to give up because my arms couldn’t hold up my own weight!!! After doing a few chest and shoulder presses (with barely any added weight) my arms were like jelly. So not impressive! Then there was some contraption where you did squats half lying down. I think the idea is that you put weights on the thing behind your head somewhere, but I didn’t need any weights, ha, ha! Nope, my quads could do it solo thanks! (Just!!!)
All this effort meant I wasn’t prepared to risk injury running up steep cliffs on Friday, even though a coastal run was on the agenda. I think it was a good call: as I sit here on the sofa today I can report aches but no pains! I’m still confused about how many miles I should be running each week, and I only managed 16 this week which really doesn’t feel enough. I’m wondering if there’s some rule of thumb I should follow – I haven’t been able to find any programmes specifically for off-road marathons yet. Back to Google …
 zippy stuff Another aspect of marathon running I know nothing about is nutrition on the run. Energy gels. I’ve never used them before, so decided to get in some early research and just grabbed a couple randomly off the shelf in a local hiking shop. I’ve been told that you should take one every 45 minutes because the body can’t store enough carbs for longer than that. On Friday I planned to run for an hour and a half, so I seized the opportunity to try out this SIS Smart berry flavour gel.
I stopped about half way, not confident of ‘eating’ on the run yet, and tore the top off. I squeezed the cool sticky stuff into my mouth. It tasted pretty gross and nothing like berries. I was expecting something blackcurranty since the package was purple, but the flavour is indescribable – not like any berries I know for sure!
I set off again up an incline, an old pack-horse track. I felt an instant ‘injection’ of something, but surely it wasn’t carbs? No, that’ll be the caffeine. I felt the hit in my head, suddenly awake and alert. I felt good, but running along I could hear and feel the stuff sloshing around in my gut which was a bit unnerving. I half expected it to come back up and was surprised it didn’t. I was still feeling awake and definitely had some energy in the tank by the time I got back to the car. Result.
Next time I’m going to try the same brand, but a different flavour. I hope it won’t slosh around again, but the results were very obvious so maybe it’s something I’ll have to get used to and put up with. Of course there are other brands to research, so hopefully I’ll have found something that tastes good, feels good and works by mid February…it’s going to be interesting to find out!
Back soon
Stephie
By Stephie, on Wednesday 22nd June, 2011 at 09:50 am
 Join me? Last week my friend Janie and I went to see the Kaffe Fassett exhibition at Trelowarren, a private estate near Helston in Cornwall. Imagine the excitement. We live in the sticks, the end of the earth, and stuff like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for those of us that don’t get to cross the Tamar on a regular basis. (For the uninitiated, the Tamar is a large river that divides Cornwall from it’s neighbouring county Devon, and therefore the rest of the country. It goes virtually all the way from north to south. But it’s not just a geographical border. No. It’s most definitely cultural. And there are some in these ‘ere parts that never cross the Tamar. Ever. And there are most definitely those from the other side that simply forget we exist. Especially those organising exhibitions.)
Cornwall itself might be seen as the back of beyond, but to find Trelowarren you travel out through tiny villages along winding lanes that seem to lead nowhere until you eventually find the leafy entrance. It’s a long carriage drive with panoramic views over the surrounding countryside (that the estate probably owns) that draws you in to the old stable block, where the exhibition is hosted by Cornwall Crafts Association.
We paid our £5 entrance fee and stepped through a white muslin curtain that cordoned off the jewels from the main gallery. And yes, it was like stepping in to a box of jewels. The white rough stone walls of the stable had been transformed with the singing colours of Fassett’s textile designs. Quilts, knitwear, rag rugs and needlepoint pieces were grouped according to colour; blues in one corner, reds in another… It was astonishing and mind boggling trying to figure out how many hours had gone into making the works on show. The knitwear was all hand made, many of the quilts were hand stitched and the amount of work in the needlepoint rugs and upholstery was incredible. But it wasn’t just the act of making something that was so fascinating, it was the detail in the design where the real creativity lay. Some things worked better than others, some were better made than others (Janie commented that he knitted with “very loose tension”!) and I couldn’t help peeking at the back of things to see just how they were put together and whether I felt my own work would stand up to it…
 Catalogue colour Fassett has said that he’s not overly interested in the way the way some people insist on perfect sewing or knitting technique and I agree. His work really isn’t about perfect craft, it’s about perfect colour and pattern and you definitely sense that when you see this exhibition. Even if the gallery attendant didn’t… Mr attendant wasn’t impressed and confided that if Mr Fassett had applied to be a member of the Crafts Association with his knitting, he wouldn’t have been accepted. However, he did say that his quilts wouldn’t have been a problem, “because he has a studio of other people to make those”! Meowww!!! On that note Janie and I left the building!
Time for lunch. We went across the cobbled courtyard to the restaurant where we had the most delicious leek and roast garlic soup topped with creme fraiche and watercress. It’s making my mouth water just thinking about it. After that we had a wander round the yard and the woodland walks, where I spotted some wonderful colour for myself…
 Love the way the dead orange tree and terracotta create a complimentary foil for the water pump  now that's colour!
By Stephie, on Saturday 14th May, 2011 at 09:53 am
 Low tide Awake again my face is red with the sharp stings of tiny grains of sand. I don’t want to move; I’m exhausted, physically spent and heavy. It’s a deeply pleasurable feeling, especially with the sun warming me through. I screw my eyes up tightly against the sandy blasts and roll onto my side away from the constant winds. Looking up I can see one of those fantastic vast open skies with white tufts of clouds billowing past and their shadows running across the beach. It’s low tide and the waves seem miles away.
Earlier I’d been running along the cliff tops and across a nearby common. It was a race. 360 people running 10 miles across the most fantastic, rugged landscape along the north Cornwall coastline. At the start we ran across short grass through carpets of cowslips before going out along the cliffs turned pink by swathes of thrift. We ran across a beach that sapped the energy from the legs if you followed in the footsteps of those who’d run ahead. Miles ahead. Skirting round the scuffed up sand gave a firmer surface.There were near vertical sandy paths up the cliffs, stretches where even the front runners walked, rocks to scramble over and skylarks to listen to. The whole time we were battered in the face by a strong, forceful wind that seemed determined to knock me down. A hail storm added more pain as the ice struck bare arms and face. An hour and 53 minutes later I sprinted across the finish line and stumbled through the funnel, my legs crumbling under me as I gave in to exhaustion. I’d run a slow race, taking it easy because of a torn calf muscle, but it was my quads that wondered what had hit them today.
I could tell my stamina has improved since going to track sessions, even if my time seemed to indicate otherwise! I felt more comfortable in the final miles than before, not questioning that I would make it across the line. But nothing prepared me for running against the full force of the wind, I just wasn’t accustomed to it and it was harder than you’d ever believe. Lying on the grass on the other side of the finish line, red faced with sweat dripping, I was exhilarated. I’ve found the best running experience ever. Off road, on trails, ‘out there’.
Holywell Bay, Cornwall, May 2011
After the race I went down to the beach, curled up in the dunes and dozed for an hour. Recuperated I wandered along the cliff paths and took these photos to share. All this is no more than 10 miles from home…
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Narrative Self in pictures
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I'm running a 28 mile marathon in memory of Josie this February. Come and find out why.
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