Half-marathon reminiscences

The first question on Monday morning was whether or not the previous day’s half marathon had triggered a relapse of the fatigue of the previous few weeks.  I was delighted to find that Monday’s orthostatic test was a textbook illustration: a 9.8 bpm rise in heart rate from resting to standing , with a healthy shift from parasympathetic preponderance while resting towards a sympathetic preponderance while standing.  In the subsequent two days the orthostatic test has continued to yield similar results with orthostatic rises of around 8 bpm.  I still feel tired, but I think this is normal tiredness after pushing my legs a bit harder than my training had prepared them for.  I appear to have overcome the troublesome fatigue that had hamstrung me when I attempted to recommence training after my illness.

The second question was: how serious was the strain of my left hip adductors that had developed midway through the half-marathon?  On Monday morning there was a dull ache in my upper thigh, and I made no attempt to test the situation any further.  Tuesday evening I did a short easy session on the elliptical cross-trainer without exacerbating the problem, so this morning, I did some cautious hip swings.  I found I could swing the left leg to 90 degrees without trouble.  On the right, I could swing only to about 60 degrees without pain.  The task of preventing rotation of the pelvis when swinging the opposite leg places greater demands on the adductors of the stance leg, so this was not surprising.  I was sufficiently encouraged to try an easy run this evening.  However as soon as I started to jog, the pain returned so I stopped immediately.  The adductors need a few more days of rest, but I am hopeful I will be running again before too long. 

Although my primary goal on Sunday was to test my recovery from fatigue, it was not all about watching the heart monitor.  A few photos from the final stages give a glimpse of some of the other features of the run.

 

In the first picture, on the left, taken about 120 metres from the finish, I am managing to maintain reasonable form.  But with the limited swing of my right leg, a firmly anchored left foot and short stride, I certainly do not look as if I am racing.   The second photo, about 80 metres from the line, shows that despite my short stride and almost non-existent airborne phase, the gap separating me from a runner from Redhill Road Runners (7484) is closing.  The picture catches me relatively late in the swing of the left leg.  There is visible tension in my hip adductors.  At this stage of the gait cycle the main role of the hip adductors is to assist the extensors in arresting the swinging leg and bring the foot backwards relative to the torso.  On account of my feeble swing, that should not have required much muscle power.  I presume the overt tension reflects a mild spasm due to torn fibres.

However it was the next picture that brought back a bit of nostalgia for times past. In the few long races I have run since recommencing running in middle age, I have let the lingering remnants of the competitive spirit of my youth to have free rein in the final kilometer or so.  If two runners are shoulder to shoulder after 20Km, they are likely to be fairly evenly matched and it is usually the one with a bit more fire in his belly who crosses the line first.  But wisdom had dictated that Sunday’s run was not an occasion to let the competitive spirit go wild.  About 1Km from the end, a runner in the yellow vest of the Steel City Striders strode past me and I simply let him go without a challenge.  However here I was, within a few metres of the finish, and it was just too much to let this opportunity go by.   

If I half close my eyes looking at the picture I can almost imagine myself forty years ago – well maybe I would need to put on very dark glasses and well as half-closing my eyes to create that illusion – but at least it looks as if I am racing.  I did retain enough sense to avoid an all out sprint, and was content to cross the line a second or so ahead of my rival from Redhill.  I also overtook the young man to the right of the second photo (4184) and a young woman who is not in the field of view.  So although I had not intended to treat Sunday’s run as a race, it was good to have a brief reminder of times past.

Robin Hood half marathon

I awoke a few minutes before the alarm to a perfect blue sky framed by the skylight. After several days of Indian summer that have almost allowed us to forget how miserable the second half of summer has been, it looked as if it might actually be warm for the Robin Hood marathon and half marathon today. Yesterday had been glorious for any outdoor activity apart from marathon running.  Would today be the same?  

However the weather was not really my main concern.  I was more interested to know whether or not the ‘post-illness’ fatigue that had held me back in recent weeks had really resolved.  For the previous two days, the orthostatic increase in my heart rate on standing had been 14 bpm, a marked contrast to the values in the range -1 to 2 bpm during the fatigue and associated parasympathetic over-activity, which I have suffered in recent weeks.   This morning the orthostatic rise was down to 6 bpm – a little disconcerting but probably not a significant reason for concern. 

My illness in June, and the fatigue that followed, had greatly curtailed my training and it was clear that the goal of 99 min that I had set 5 months previously was no longer feasible.  Now the major goal was to confirm that the low volume, graded intensity sessions of the previous three weeks had overcome the fatigue.  It appeared that the best way to do this was to set the goal of maintaining a heart rate in the range 134-137 for the full 13.1 miles.  A few weeks ago, pushing my heart rate much above this level for even a few minutes was crushingly difficult.

While the primary challenge was proving that my cardiovascular system could cope, I was aware that the truncation of my training had prevented me from preparing my legs for the task of racing a half-marathon.  An additional issue was the fact that I had been woken by severe leg muscle cramps several times in the past week, and after yesterday’s hot weather, I was a little concerned about the risk of cramp while running today.  Thomas’ graphic report of his calf muscle cramp in the final stages of the Dingle marathon in yesterday’s heat raised my concern a few notches higher, so before going to bed last night I had mixed myself several litres of an isotonic drink containing 1 gm of salt per litre (roughly the concentration of salt in sweat) in addition to about 80 gm/litre of sugar and some lemon squash.  I had drunk almost a litre before bed and planned to finish the remaining 1 ½ litres this morning before the race. 

By the time I had finished breakfast, sporadic clouds had appeared.  The combination of accumulating cloud cover, glimpses of sunshine, and the light north easterly breeze promised perfect weather for running, but nonetheless I was happy with my precautions and consumed the remainder of my drink as I walked along the embankment beside the river Trent to the starting area.

Because my primary goal was demonstrating that I had overcome the limitations provided by excessive parasympathetic activity, I had decided on the strategy of setting my pace according to heart rate.  In normal circumstances, the main problem with this strategy is that the excitement of the race might increase sympathetic output and lead to misleadingly high heart rate.  As I stood in the start corral, surrounded by milling, anxious athletes, in the few minutes between the cheer that accompanied the start of the wheelchair race, and hooter that would set the  marathon & half-marathon runners on their way, I noted that my pulse was 58.  I suspect that not too many other runners in the corral had a pulse below 60 at that moment.  It was clear that I did not need to worry about spurious sympathetic drive; on the contrary it looked as if my parasympathetic system was still overactive.  Nonetheless, I decided to stick to my strategy of aiming for a heart rate around 134-137. 

The hooter sounded and a mass of 12000 runners began to accumulate speed gradually as they moved towards and then over the starting mats.  No doubt each individual was in his or her own world, intent of what lay ahead, and mainly concerned at this stage to avoid being tripped-up in the melee.  However, to a distant observer, it must have appeared more like a single creature; perhaps some ponderous dragon awakening.  I had positioned myself with the 100-120 minute half-marathon group; and at first I let the human tide carry me forwards.  I reached the 1 mile marker in 7:45 with a heart rate of 135 and feeling relaxed.  Perfect.  

I could see the 105 minutes pace group leader a short distance ahead.  At first I thought that he had misjudged his pace, but then realized that he had probably crossed the starting mat about 15 seconds ahead of me.   His banner was an attractive target to focus on, but I knew that I should ignore it if it distracted me from my target heart rate.   As we ascended the steep climb to Nottingham Castle I allowed my heart rate to rise to 140, but set that as a definite upper limit.  I lost sight of the 105 minute pace leader.  Runners streamed by, many panting with the exertion of the climb.  Rounding the sharp corner beneath the Castle gate, I was delighted by the rousing rhythms of a jazz band.    

The 105 minute pace leader was again in sight and I settled back to cruise at 135-136 bpm.  In the melee of the first water station shortly after 3 miles, I again lost the 105 minute group.  By this stage I was able to select my own path on the road some of the time, but at corners or any other narrowings, we were still hemmed in like African wildebeests in a mass migration.   A short while later, after beginning the gradual ascent towards the ridge that dominates the north east corner of the university campus, I passed Mick and Phil.   Those unfamiliar with the UK running world might not be aware of this inspiring duo.   Mick pushes his severely disabled son in a wheelchair – not one of the whizzy racers but a barely modified ‘domestic’ wheelchair.  Last week they had completed the Wolverhampton marathon in 4:39, and, it appeared that they were moving somewhat faster today, though seeing Mick pushing Phil uphill with more than 22 miles still to go, one couldn’t help feeling humbled by their prodigious effort.

Again I allowed my heart rate to rise to 140 on the ascent, and was pleased that there was no sign of the crushing fatigue that I had experienced around that effort level a few weeks ago.  Then there was the helter-skelter descent to the university lake.  I thought ruefully that it was unfair to have to toil steadily uphill for about a mile and then throw away the fruit of that effort in a few hundred yards of knee-jarring descent.  However I consoled myself with the thought that the two remaining substantial hills would each be followed by a gentle down-slope.

Along the shore of the lake I was still hemmed in, but really enjoying the run.  Then came the ascent back to the ridge top.  Again I limited my heart rate to 140, and a handful of runners moved past me, though by this stage, there were others prepared to let their pace drop on the ascents.   Although I was feeling comfortable as I approached the drink station at 6 miles and the weather had remained perfect with almost continuous cloud-cover, I decided to take the offered bottle of Lucozade.  Despite the somewhat sickly sweetness of isotonic drinks while running, I thought it was best to keep my salt level topped- up.  I sipped about half of the 300ml bottle over the next half mile before abandoning it.

By this stage I was descending past the halfway point and pondering whether or not to increase the pace a little.  The 105 minute pace leader was still in sight about 100 yds ahead.  It was now 51 minutes into the race and I was sure he was going a little too fast. I was also beginning to wonder if a time not much over 100 minutes might be within reach.  But then things went seriously wrong.  I had been aware of a tightening of the hip adductors in my left leg since the sharp turn though the gates out of the University campus, and as I increased stride length approaching the 7 mile marker, the pain became quite intense.   I was unsure whether or not to continue.  My legs were clearly not adequately conditioned for a hard half-marathon, and there was a risk of significant muscle damage.  In any case, unless I could do something to relieve the rapidly increasing tightening of my adductors, I would have no option but to slow to a painful limp.

As I turned the corner towards the entrance to Wollaton Park and began the long ascent to Wollaton Hall, I shortened my stride to about 60 cm and the pain in my adductors began to ease.  Despite a cadence of over 200 steps per minute, my pace was now about 8 min/Km (or 12 min per mile).   However, by the drink station at 8.5 miles, just beyond the summit, the pain was easing and I decided to carry on.  Instead of the hoped-for powerful surge down the gentle slope though the deer park in compensation for the slog up to the Hall, I was limited to a very tentative increase in speed. The 105 min pace leader was now out of sight.

Although the adductors continued to nag me, I gradually picked up speed and after leaving the Park, just beyond the nine mile marker, I saw the 105 minute pace leader ahead again.  I decided that fate had declared that he would be my lodestar today, and set out to close the gap.  I drew up to his shoulder at 10 ½ miles but had the feeling I could cope with a faster pace, so I passed him and began steadily working my way forward through the field.  Despite the continuing nagging of my adductors I was fairly comfortable maintaining a pace of around 7:55 per mile. 

Subsequent examination of my heart rate recording confirmed that I was minimally stressed.  Here is the trace of heart rate for a three minute segment at around 80 minutes and also the Poincare plot for the 10^th and 11^th miles.  The heart rate trace shows fluctuations at a rate of about 50 peaks per minute.  As I was breathing at a rate of one breath every four steps, and my cadence was still around 200, these fluctuations almost certainly matched my breathing rate and represent a healthy sinus arrhythmia – the parasympathetic driven fluctuations that ensure that cardiac filling is greatest when the level of oxygen in the lungs is at its highest.  

 

Heart rate trace and Poincare plot during the 10th and 11th miles of the half-marathon

The wide spread of point across the 45 degree line in the Poincare plot confirms a strong parasympathetic drive.  The figure also shows the amount of power in the low frequency range (0.04-0.15 cycles per sec) and the high frequency range (0.15 to 0.4 cycles per sec) of the heart rate power spectrum.  The low frequency activity reflects sympathetic activity while the high frequency reflects parasympathetic activity (though it should be noted that the upper boundary of 0.4 cycles per sec agreed by an  international committee of cardiologists, is actually below the respiratory frequency when running at this pace, and therefore, the high frequency power does not include the respiratory fluctuations).  Nonetheless, there is still greater power even within the high frequency range truncated at 0.4 cycles per sec, providing strong evidence that the balance between sympathetic fight/flight and parasympathetic rest/recovery was tipped towards parasympathetic activity.  Normally one would expect an excess of sympathetic activity at this stage in a half marathon.  Overall, this data is evidence that my parasympathetic system is still being a bit over-protective, but unlike the situation a few weeks ago, I was able to maintain my heart rate near the intended level, without any feeling of fatigue. 

My main problem was my nagging adductor muscles.  As I had stepped-up the pace, the pain had increased again, so I eased back a little in the final mile or so to minimize damage, and crossed the finish line in 103:28 (chip time 103:17).  My average heart rate for the entire race was 137 bpm.  Ninety-two seconds later, the 105 minute pace leader crossed the line, on schedule to within a second.    

I sit here now with a painful thigh, unsure how much damage I have done, though I do not think it is very severe.  A time of 103:28 for a half marathon is not in itself a great achievement.  If my goal had been a fast time, it would have been foolish to have continued beyond the 7 mile point.   However, this summer various circumstances have conspired against me, and I had been forced to set aside the target time selected five months ago.  Although I had been undecided about starting the race until about two days ago, once it was clear that my fatigue was resolving, running the event with the target of maintaining a heart rate of 134-137 became as important a goal as running a half-marathon in 99 minutes had appeared to be in May.  It was potentially a stringent test of whether or not I have overcome the fatigue.   In the event, I achieved my target despite the adductor problem. 

It was especially pleasing to have been within 4 ½ minutes of my original target time despite seriously curtailed training.  It is tempting to think I might have even achieved the 99 minute target today if it had not been for the injured adductor, but this is very improbable.  The primary problem was that my legs had not been conditioned by an adequate number of tempo and long runs.  Although the overt limitation was provided by the adductors, in fact my legs could not have coped with a much faster pace.  Both legs felt like jelly afterwards, and I was wobbly on my feet for a few hours, quite apart from the limp.  My legs could not have carried me much faster, but it is encouraging to know that my heart appears to have coped well.

Throwing caution to the winds

After a frustrating few weeks in which my lingering breathing problems torpedoed any serious attempt at interval training, I was ambivalent about turning out the for Fetch west-midlands mile today. It was clear that a serious attempt at 6:00 was out of the question, though maybe 6:13 (my M60 PB) was within reach. Last night I was a bit wheezy but the wheezes settled after a puff of my inhaler and this morning there was no trace of a wheeze, so I decided I would run. The event is a sociable get-together of Fetchies as well as being a chance to race over a mile – a distance that still retains a certain magic aura.

The divisions were based on predicted time, so I lined up with the second division (predicted time range 6:00 – 7:30). My expectation for my own time was in the range 6:10 to 6:20 but in light of my lack of opportunity to develop a good sense of pace in that range, I decided I would run a purely tactical race with the goal of finishing within in the first three, and let time look after itself.

Biking Badger led off at a fair lick and I slipped into third place, feeling fairly comfortable but aware that the pace was faster than I could maintain. My time for the first lap (plus the extra 9 metres) was 89 seconds. Biking Badger kept going at his initial pace but almost everyone else slowed a bit. Coming into the home straight for the second time Ronners went past strongly into second place and I tried to follow him but realised that he too was headed for a time well under 6 minutes, so I would have to settle for a contest for third place. I covered the second lap in 93 seconds. As a result of my initial attempt to keep up with Ronners I had opened up a small gap separating me from rest of the field. As far as I could judge from the spectators’ calls of encouragement to the runners behind me, I was about 20 metres clear of the following pack as we entered the third lap. I was still feeling quite comfortable, and decided that my strategy should be to hold onto a moderate lead over the ‘pack’ for as long as possible without pushing myself too hard, so that I would be fresh enough to hold off any challenge in the final lap. My time for the third lap was a leisurely 99 sec. I continued down the back straight in the final lap maintaining a comfortable pace listening for the challenge from behind. But no challenge came, so I picked up speed in the final 200 metres and finished quite strongly, covering the final lap in 93 seconds, for a total time of 6:17.

In retrospect I think that perhaps I could have made a stronger effort for an M60 PB. If I hadn’t taken it easy in the third lap, I might well have achieved a time around 6:12, but in view of the uncertainties about my breathing, I think I made the right decision to run a tactical race. There is no doubt that I was right to let Biking Badger and Ronners go – their finishing times were 5:48 and 5:49 respectively, and there was no possibility that I could have matched those times. So I am quite happy with my third place, even though the next time I run a mile I will be aiming for a faster time.

The event is a sociable, light-hearted event and in addition to the mile, the program also includes some 100m races, which gives the non-sprinters a chance to remind themselves why they took up distance running. However, when Slickster crossed the line in the first division race in 11.20, I was glad that I opted for the third division. Although it had been a brilliantly sunny winter day, by the time I stripped off for the third division race the air temperature had dropped, and I was aware that my muscles had stiffened after the mile. I did a short warm-up that got the blood circulating a bit more briskly, but as we lined up I was still rather stiff. However as I have never actually run a 100m race before, it was too good an opportunity to miss. No-one in our division was a specialist sprinter so I hoped I could make a reasonable race of it, without pushing myself too hard.

I concentrated on running as relaxed and as fast as possible, and at 60 metres was pleased to find myself in the lead, but I was aware that a runner a few lanes to the left of me was closing the gap. The competitive instinct took over and I threw caution to the winds. In the next few strides I opened up the gap again, but at 75 metres I felt my right hamstring tear. My experience last November when I had completed a 1K repetition during an interval training session after a minor tear of my soleus and had subsequently been scarcely able to train for several weeks, should have reinforced the lesson that one should stop immediately when muscle fibres start to give way. However at this point I was only about 20 metres from the line, leading in what was my first, and perhaps life-time only, 100m race. So I simply focussed on relaxing as much as possible without losing too much pace, and crossed the line in first place in 15.8.

So now I have an M60 PB for the 100m. In fact it probably could be described as a life-time PB, but despite not having kept records of the races in my youth, I am fairly sure that in my heyday I often covered the final 200m of a 5K at around that pace or faster, so I would be reluctant to record it as a life-time PB.

Afterwards we assembled at the home of el-Bee and Velociraptor for a cake-fest. El-Bee had organized the races, and between them they provided a wonderfully hospitable day. It was great to meet other Fetchies. As Fetch is an internet community, it is especially good to have an opportunity to get together socially from time to time. So overall a very satisfying day: a satisfying tactical race for third place in the second division mile; a victory (albeit over other non-sprinters) in my only attempt at 100m and an M60 PB for that distance; and a great cake-fest. I hope the torn hamstring does not prove too much of a problem, but on balance, am prepared to accept that life is more fun if you are not too prudent all the time.

Thinking about racing again

I have re-instated my plan of doing back-to-back moderate intensity sessions once per week, though after yesterday’s 4×1Km interval session, I took a rather soft option for today’s session, which was 20Km focusing on running form. I didn’t take either a watch or heart rate monitor, so I am being rather lenient in regarding it as a moderate intensity session, but at least it could count as a long run.

The good news is that my peak expiratory flow today was 530 litre/min and yesterday was 510 litre/min. From the beginning of December, when I suffered a bad cold, maybe a flu virus, until last week, my peak flow readings have been in the range 250-310 litre/min. Last summer my peak recording was 615 litre/min, so the past two day’s recordings suggest that I am really on the way to recovery.

If I continue to improve I will run the West Midlands Fetch Mile Challenge race in two weeks time. What time should I set as my target? I am not a miler, though ironically I think I have probably won as many races of one mile as of any other distance over the years, so I will use my past fleeting moments of glory to set the target for two weeks time.

The first victory I remember was in the South Australian schoolboy mile championships in the early 1960’s. In those days there was no dedicated running track in Adelaide, apart from a delightful old cinder track belonging to Adelaide Harriers but that was only about 250 yards per lap, so the state championships were held on a grass track in the west parklands. On the day of the schoolboy championships that year, there had been heavy rain overnight and the track was flooded. In addition, a south-westerly gale was howling up the home straight. So conditions were far from ideal, but that suited me because I used to be fairly good at using mental robustness to compensate for lack of natural talent. Nonetheless, I didn’t think I had much chance of being among the medal winners, and I was amazed to find myself in the lead, battling down the water-logged home straight into the teeth of a gale to win in what must have been the all-time record slowest winning time in a schoolboy state championship. I think it was about 4:45.

The other mile victory I remember was a year ago, in the East Midlands Fetch Mile. The organisers put on a second division race for the slow-coaches, and again to my amazement, I won. On that occasion, my time was 6:13, and that being my only mile race since I recommenced running, stands as my M60 PB.

As the age grading tables suggest that a time of 4:45 is equivalent to 6:00 at my present age, I will set my gold standard target as 6:00 and my silver target as 6:12. The silver target would be an M60 PB and is the pace that I will aim for in the first two laps. That will mean 93 second laps, which sounds a bit ambitious in my present condition. In view of my recent ill-health I will also allow myself a softer bronze target of 6:24. But all of this planning depends on my lungs remaining is reasonable condition for the next two weeks.

Hard Rock Challenge

On the weekend, while thousands headed to Gateshead for Sunday’s Great North Run, I headed for south- west Scotland to join a smaller more rugged, or perhaps just fool-hardy, band of runners and cyclists for the Dalbeattie Hard Rock challenge, a team duathlon over 26 miles of forest terrain. I was scheduled to do the 10 mile run before handing over to my team-mate, Paul, who would do the 16 mile bike section. After the high winds and torrential rain on Saturday, Sunday dawned clear and crisp with scarcely a breath of wind: perfect weather for running.

I had decided in advance that I would avoid getting into oxygen debt on the hill climbs, and hope that I could maintain my balance well enough on the descents to make up for lost ground. The first two miles included a long steady ascent during which most the the field forged remorselessly ahead of me. However, I resisted the temptation to push too hard on this ascent, and subsequently over the gently undulating mid-section of the race, I was able to overtake at least a few of the many who had forged ahead of me.

Miles seven, eight and nine were over very rough, hilly terrain. On the descents I followed in the footsteps of a nimble footed young woman who skeetered over the tree roots and rocks like an alpine chamois. She appeared to be a local who knew the course well. I was able to maintain a pace faster than I would have dared if I were running alone. At one point as we descended at reckless speed over some tricky boulders towards a few spectators huddled in a small clearing in the gulley below, they called out ‘Come on, Catherine’ and she answered back: ‘you have only come to see me fall’, but she managed to stay on her feet and I did my best to place my feet exactly as she had done. During the 8^th mile I followed close behind as she moved to the head of the string of half a dozen runners whom I had been pursuing for the past few miles.

At this stage I began to plan my strategy for breaking clear of this group. At 8 ½ miles I drew level with the young woman on a moderately steep ascent and even though I was breathing more deeply, I sensed that I was coping equally well with the climb. She was eager to take the lead again when we began the next steep descent and I happily followed close behind. Another small group of spectators shouted out encouragement, one shouting ‘Well done, lady in front’. The tone of voice implied a hint of condescension towards the male runners struggling in her wake. I thought ruefully that on terrain such as this, being elderly was probably a greater handicap than being female. In reality, it was probable that with only a few seconds separating all the runners in our little cluster after more than an hour of competitive running, we were all fairly evenly matched, and it would be mental toughness and strategy that would determine the finishing order. ( I was also aware that some might be solo competitors who would be preserving their energy for the subsequent bike stage – but I had no way of knowing whether any of the cluster were in that category. Nonetheless, I anticipated that the pace would soon quicken).

I knew from reconnoitering the last part of the course during my warm-up that the final half mile was down hill along a well-made track, so near to the 9 mile mark I decided that with the majority of the hard work done, it was now safe to push into the anaerobic zone and allow the lactate to accumulate. I broke away from the group on what proved to be the last substantial ascent of the course. The sound of footsteps behind me faded rapidly and I found myself on my own, somewhat breathless but confident I could sustain the pace to the finish line. As the view of the track opened out in the final half mile, I could see another three runners spread out between 100 and 200 yards ahead of me. There was little chance of overtaking them, but I focused on narrowing the gap as much as possible, and was within 20 yards of the hindermost at the finish. I felt I had run a well paced race. My time was 78 minutes 19 seconds, which allowing for the rough terrain, was very satisfying. My team-mate Paul covered the 16 mile cycle ride in 83 minutes and we were 12^th team out of 39 in male team category.

It subsequently emerged that about half of the group with who I had done battle over the final few miles of the run, including the ‘alpine chamois’ who had led me down the steep descents, were actually solo competitors who went on to complete the subsequent 16 mile bike section. This put my ‘triumph’ in the run section into proper perspective, but nonetheless, I still feel pleased that I was able to execute a strategy that got the best out of myself. After a year dogged by ill-health I am starting to feel confident that my strength is returning. In the final months of the year I will concentrate on trying to develop some speed – I have very little idea of what is a reasonable goal to aim for. I would be really delighted if I could get my time for a mile below six minutes.