On heat ... so to speak.
A stinking hot night in Sydney sets the tone for the rest of the day. Getting up at 7, I knew it was warm, but when I opened the front door to retrieve the newspaper I was shocked to stillness by a blast of furnace heat. I wasn't alone in feeling it. Across the road at the train station, early commuters were already seeking out the shadiest parts of the platform, whilst those who were running late for their train did not in fact break into a run at all, instead walking languidly to the station, having resigned themselves to waiting for the next train in deference to the heat.
Even at this early hour it was 31C and humid with it, and here's me with a scheduled hill climb to look forward to. I therefore put it off as long as possible, watching the thermometer rise in arrogant impudence, the weather Gods clearly unimpressed with the fact of my having an important race to run in less than three weeks on the far side of the planet and needing to get this training done.
Mrs MLCMM likewise languishes in the heat, waking slowly from her restless night and putting off her own, inevitable visit to the nirvana world of fitness at her gym. Meanwhile, the nobler traits of humanity melt in the heat: patience, endurance, and enthusiasm, all gone. Somehow in spite of the heat's attack on basic decency I manage to remain civil, which is quite an achievement in the circumstance, but as the heat intensifies so does my impatience, my temper not so much frayed, as completely unravelled. I need to get moving, to do something constructive, but then television coverage of the Australian Open grand slam tennis begins, and my attention is too easily distracted by the idiot box, further delaying the donning of running kit.
Through the morning the heat continues its murderous rampage, unchecked and relentless until three hours later, when, still with not as much as a cup of coffee to break my fast, I finally drag myself away from Roger Federer's second round battle with the young American Noah Rubin* and change into my running kit. I put our biggest floor-standing fan in front of the treadmill and set off for a slow, steady, sweat-soaked 45 minutes of constant hill climb. A Niagara of sweat threatens to flood the house, but this run must be done. And somewhat surprisingly, given the conditions, it is. In point of fact the run goes really quite well and I allow myself, cautiously, to begin thinking those thoughts that typically come with the dawn of realisation when training is successful beyond expectation that just maybe I'm beginning to be a runner again. Those thoughts then expand into a cornucopia of ideas about races and goals which resolve further still into calendars and spreadsheets, maps and training schedules, and so another round of athletic, obsessive compulsion begins until... well, let's not go there just yet.
Actually, there are two things working in my favour just now that might make this part of the enthusiastic training cycle go better and last longer than usual. The first is the Maffetone Method of which I have written much in recent weeks. The irony of this scheme is that whilst I by necessity run far slower for several months whilst the Method works its magic, the upshot is that I run for longer, and therefore further, with far less difficulty and far fewer injuries than normal. The positive impact this has on motivation levels is extraordinary, and gives cause for much quiet confidence.
The second positively influencing factor is a major breakthrough at work. When I return from Almeria, I begin a new shift work cycle of just two weeks, unchanging. That is, while I still work a mix of early mornings, night shifts, weekends and so forth, I work exactly the same fortnightly cycle each and every fortnight. I can't tell you the difference this makes to one's life. Knowing for months in advance what I will be working means I can, for the first time in years, find a routine, at least on a fortnightly basis, and be able to plan ahead, and do things on a regular basis. Currently, the uncertainty of what I'll be working from week to week has made life one big question mark, with no routine, no planning ahead and no certainty. And, as an aside, this outcome proves the worth of persevering through the courts, as this stems from nearly three years of legal battles with our management. It's a compromise, but one that has great promise and in which both sides have gained some positives. And it's a slap in the face for the nay-sayers and fence-sitters who would have just allowed our rights to be buried in the mud alongside our trampled bodies, had not a few of us stood up for basic principles and justice.
So yes, you could say things are looking up a tad. It's not the environment nor the time for overt optimism by any stretch, but at least as far as training and racing is concerned, I think the glass half full perspective is definitely justified.
So, on with it, then. Albeit, of course, slowly. Thank you, Dr Maffetone.
*Federer won in straight sets, 7-6 6-3 7-6
Jumpin' Januaries!
