Me 9: The Treadmill
As I draw near to the end of this journey into my own sporting life, I make a choice as to whether to tell you what "sporting achievement" is to me now, or what it was to me then.
I could have chosen to write about playing cricket, surrounded by team mates on a sunny day, with variety and meaning and context. But instead I'm going to say a little bit about the other, less romantic, less interesting side of sporting satisfaction. Alone, monotonous, numerical.
Actually, there's not a big difference. As a left arm spinner, at my best, I was alone, monotonous, numerical. My best spells relied on finding my undisturbed groove early, on protecting my figures, on not letting anyone or anything distract me. I would try and bowl maidens, over and over again, and the rest would follow. I remember bowling a 26 over spell once, 5 wickets at 2 an over, just ticking it over. That was bliss for me. I just wanted to bowl and bowl.
I can't do that anymore. I don't have the time or the arm to give to cricket. I play once or twice a year and, though my batting still seems pretty decent, the bowling and fielding that I used to excel at is long gone. I threw my arm out when I was about 23 and it never came back. I can't throw at all, and though I can still bowl, my arm tires after about 3 or 4 overs and doesn't stay in that groove. Theoretically, I could still be a spinner again, a proper one, it's not like it requires speed or agility, but I'd need to get practicing, get some physio, recommit to it in a big way.
Now, now I'm 36 and busy and have a slightly beaten body and a waistline which can expand at any time, I don't really play sport, I do "exercise". Fucking exercise.
I do my best to turn my exercise into sport, but there's no competition, just myself. I run. I've done a few races, and they were good, but I didn't care what position I came or who overtook me on the line, and, really, besides the fresh air and the views, I might as well be on a treadmill.
And it's the treadmill I'm going to write about, because, weirdly, sadly, when I think about my sporting height in the last 5 years or so, it's a winter day, looking out on a car park, with my headphones on, in a gym, on a treadmill, in Sevenoaks.
Again, it's about settling into a groove, not being distracted. Long distance running is very psychological, I think. You can persuade yourself you're having a bad day and then you're done for. If you can find a place where you forget you're running, you're in luck.
I'd joined the gym on a whim (a whim!) in later October, having been doing plenty of running on the hilly streets, and in picturesque Knole Park, for a few months. I found I was fit, quickly polishing off 3km in 12 minutes (which is, incidentally, fact fans, the level of running a Premier League referee needs to be at), just to find a level. It's generally thought that, with the forgiving surface, the absence of slope etc, treadmill running is a tiny notch easier than comparable road running - I haven't actually always found it that way.
In my first couple of weeks going to the gym, I found myself exceeding expectation. Aiming to do 5km in 20 minutes, I did 7km in 28 minutes, and knew I wasn't quite spent at the end. This was encouraging and surprising compared to previous standards I'd attained. I'd always wanted to do 10km in sub-40 minutes (my best was 40.53 in a road race) and clearly I was close to that kind of shape.
By the way, if all this is boring you, that's because it's boring. There's no way to make it otherwise!
So, I thought, let's see if I can get to 10k in 40 minutes, setting the treadmill to 15 km/hour. It's decent amateur running level, nothing more.
So, let's talk about the circumstances. I had a new playlist on my little mp3 player, of all the finest driving indie hits, especially made for the purpose - All My Friends, The Rat, Rebellion (Lies), My Girls. Come now, we're amongst friends here ...
I had to start gradually but not too gradually. On the treadmill, that's so often where the mistake is made. I'd either settle into a gentler rhythm or get to the hard breathing too early - I had to climb to 15km/h at just the right speed that once I got there it felt natural.
And, this time, I managed. It took me 4 minutes of gradual increase, but I felt smooth as soon as I started at the pace. I felt within myself. So, what else did I have to help the time go by? Cars going in and out of the car park, mums and kids, late sunlight, a little TV showing Countdown. Oh yes, Countdown is a very good treadmill show. Even Deal or no Deal can do the trick.
I got to 5km, easy, I got to 7, I'd actually never gone beyond 7km at this pace before, but it was ok. At around 8km it started to get hard, but I thought, no, with the help of that pounding indie backbeat, I'll get to 10km. And once I did, I wasn't done.
I want to be clear, resisting the desire to stop running at full capacity is hard and fairly painful. If I'd be on the road, my pace would have dropped slightly to make it more comfortable for myself. That's how it works. On the treadmill, if you're disciplined, you hold the pace and the pain gradually, or quickly, increases.
I thought in songs, then in verses in songs. It's not like hitting the wall in, say, a marathon, where you really don't have anything to give, you do have it to give, it's not per se a massive intimidating distance you're attempting, it's just everything is telling you to stop giving it.
Boredom, monotony is your only ally. I got to 14km in 56 minutes. There'd already been 4 warm-up minutes so an hour in total on the treadmill. Perhaps I could have managed another 4 minutes, the full 15 km in an hour, but I think I opted to give my body a little break. I assumed there'd be more to come at a later date.
I was knackered but ecstatic. 14km in 56 minutes. If I could repeat that feat twice over, that's a 2hr50 marathon. Maybe a 3 hour marathon was not out of my grasp ... suddenly, I had all these hopes about what I was capable of. I entered 3 half-marathons, all over two months away, assuming that by that point, my times would be getting better and better.
But it didn't work out like that, though, for once, not for want of trying. I continued trying to improve speed, to work on the hills, do all the right things, but I started to just jolt my hamstrings. I'd always been very lucky with hamstrings, so can't really complain, but I couldn't build that kind of smooth momentum again. When I tried to run an easy 7km, it was suddenly not so easy. The music never sounded so ideal again, I didn't seem to be going to the gym when Countdown was on.
I realised that was my peak. That dull winter afternoon, looking out on a car park. That was my best ever run. Simple as that. 14km in 56 minutes. I did the half-marathons a few months later, 1.37, 1.35, 1.32. It was cold, I had a cold, they varied. I was pleased, but they were nowhere near what that run on that day had promised.
I'm going to try and stay fit. Sometimes I run better than I think I will. But I'll never match that again. That's just time and age. Maybe I'll find a summer when I actually bowl left arm spin again really well. If I find my groove.
I could have chosen to write about playing cricket, surrounded by team mates on a sunny day, with variety and meaning and context. But instead I'm going to say a little bit about the other, less romantic, less interesting side of sporting satisfaction. Alone, monotonous, numerical.
Actually, there's not a big difference. As a left arm spinner, at my best, I was alone, monotonous, numerical. My best spells relied on finding my undisturbed groove early, on protecting my figures, on not letting anyone or anything distract me. I would try and bowl maidens, over and over again, and the rest would follow. I remember bowling a 26 over spell once, 5 wickets at 2 an over, just ticking it over. That was bliss for me. I just wanted to bowl and bowl.
I can't do that anymore. I don't have the time or the arm to give to cricket. I play once or twice a year and, though my batting still seems pretty decent, the bowling and fielding that I used to excel at is long gone. I threw my arm out when I was about 23 and it never came back. I can't throw at all, and though I can still bowl, my arm tires after about 3 or 4 overs and doesn't stay in that groove. Theoretically, I could still be a spinner again, a proper one, it's not like it requires speed or agility, but I'd need to get practicing, get some physio, recommit to it in a big way.
Now, now I'm 36 and busy and have a slightly beaten body and a waistline which can expand at any time, I don't really play sport, I do "exercise". Fucking exercise.
I do my best to turn my exercise into sport, but there's no competition, just myself. I run. I've done a few races, and they were good, but I didn't care what position I came or who overtook me on the line, and, really, besides the fresh air and the views, I might as well be on a treadmill.
And it's the treadmill I'm going to write about, because, weirdly, sadly, when I think about my sporting height in the last 5 years or so, it's a winter day, looking out on a car park, with my headphones on, in a gym, on a treadmill, in Sevenoaks.
Again, it's about settling into a groove, not being distracted. Long distance running is very psychological, I think. You can persuade yourself you're having a bad day and then you're done for. If you can find a place where you forget you're running, you're in luck.
I'd joined the gym on a whim (a whim!) in later October, having been doing plenty of running on the hilly streets, and in picturesque Knole Park, for a few months. I found I was fit, quickly polishing off 3km in 12 minutes (which is, incidentally, fact fans, the level of running a Premier League referee needs to be at), just to find a level. It's generally thought that, with the forgiving surface, the absence of slope etc, treadmill running is a tiny notch easier than comparable road running - I haven't actually always found it that way.
In my first couple of weeks going to the gym, I found myself exceeding expectation. Aiming to do 5km in 20 minutes, I did 7km in 28 minutes, and knew I wasn't quite spent at the end. This was encouraging and surprising compared to previous standards I'd attained. I'd always wanted to do 10km in sub-40 minutes (my best was 40.53 in a road race) and clearly I was close to that kind of shape.
By the way, if all this is boring you, that's because it's boring. There's no way to make it otherwise!
So, I thought, let's see if I can get to 10k in 40 minutes, setting the treadmill to 15 km/hour. It's decent amateur running level, nothing more.
So, let's talk about the circumstances. I had a new playlist on my little mp3 player, of all the finest driving indie hits, especially made for the purpose - All My Friends, The Rat, Rebellion (Lies), My Girls. Come now, we're amongst friends here ...
I had to start gradually but not too gradually. On the treadmill, that's so often where the mistake is made. I'd either settle into a gentler rhythm or get to the hard breathing too early - I had to climb to 15km/h at just the right speed that once I got there it felt natural.
And, this time, I managed. It took me 4 minutes of gradual increase, but I felt smooth as soon as I started at the pace. I felt within myself. So, what else did I have to help the time go by? Cars going in and out of the car park, mums and kids, late sunlight, a little TV showing Countdown. Oh yes, Countdown is a very good treadmill show. Even Deal or no Deal can do the trick.
I got to 5km, easy, I got to 7, I'd actually never gone beyond 7km at this pace before, but it was ok. At around 8km it started to get hard, but I thought, no, with the help of that pounding indie backbeat, I'll get to 10km. And once I did, I wasn't done.
I want to be clear, resisting the desire to stop running at full capacity is hard and fairly painful. If I'd be on the road, my pace would have dropped slightly to make it more comfortable for myself. That's how it works. On the treadmill, if you're disciplined, you hold the pace and the pain gradually, or quickly, increases.
I thought in songs, then in verses in songs. It's not like hitting the wall in, say, a marathon, where you really don't have anything to give, you do have it to give, it's not per se a massive intimidating distance you're attempting, it's just everything is telling you to stop giving it.
Boredom, monotony is your only ally. I got to 14km in 56 minutes. There'd already been 4 warm-up minutes so an hour in total on the treadmill. Perhaps I could have managed another 4 minutes, the full 15 km in an hour, but I think I opted to give my body a little break. I assumed there'd be more to come at a later date.
I was knackered but ecstatic. 14km in 56 minutes. If I could repeat that feat twice over, that's a 2hr50 marathon. Maybe a 3 hour marathon was not out of my grasp ... suddenly, I had all these hopes about what I was capable of. I entered 3 half-marathons, all over two months away, assuming that by that point, my times would be getting better and better.
But it didn't work out like that, though, for once, not for want of trying. I continued trying to improve speed, to work on the hills, do all the right things, but I started to just jolt my hamstrings. I'd always been very lucky with hamstrings, so can't really complain, but I couldn't build that kind of smooth momentum again. When I tried to run an easy 7km, it was suddenly not so easy. The music never sounded so ideal again, I didn't seem to be going to the gym when Countdown was on.
I realised that was my peak. That dull winter afternoon, looking out on a car park. That was my best ever run. Simple as that. 14km in 56 minutes. I did the half-marathons a few months later, 1.37, 1.35, 1.32. It was cold, I had a cold, they varied. I was pleased, but they were nowhere near what that run on that day had promised.
I'm going to try and stay fit. Sometimes I run better than I think I will. But I'll never match that again. That's just time and age. Maybe I'll find a summer when I actually bowl left arm spin again really well. If I find my groove.
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