It feels particularly hard this month, more than most, to condense and summarise the mood and feeling of training into a few short sentences or paragraphs.
Largely, the month has just happened.
The days, the weeks and then the month has seemed to have come and gone in an instant.
Since the turn of the year and increase in volume, there's been an underlying sense of anticipation; waiting for it all to click. For the workouts at paces that I'd used to maintain over sustained distances to feel like less of a grind over small ones. For my heart rate not to drift into cardiac arrest -threshold- territory at the mere threat of an incline, let alone an actual hill.
The anticipation and faith that such a click was eventually going to present itself helped, in parts, as motivation. A motivation that has otherwise been devoid in my day-to-day training.
Such was this absence of motivation and my ability to stir some sense of it internally, I actively went looking for it. Venturing out to Taupo, despite any vested interest, to watch and otherwise soak in the congregation of collective suffering that is Ironman.
Last November I stood aside the Auckland Waterfront and watched the marathon leaders turn the corner into Kohiamrama and charge down the road. The internal stirring was unquestionable; the hairs on my arms standing to attention an unequivocal physical demonstration of the fire that was being lit in my belly.
Watching the leaders and subsequent packs pass me by was equally motivating as it was frustrating. I was so desperate to be part of it, but I was relegated to the side-lines.
This time, in Taupo, I could watch from the side-lines, able bodied, the stirring and motivation could be channelled and exercised.
Despite the Ironman run course being particularly spectator friendly and conducive to a good atmosphere, with runners repeatedly passing through the crowds over the course of 4 laps, I, unfortunately, felt nothing.
Even watching one of the finer demonstrations of unwavering perseverance as Blumenfelt - the much celebrated favourite - slow to but a walk as he emptied the contents of his stomach before charging on again, failed to invoke any sort of.. Anything.
That morning, having watched the prospective Iron-people set off on their swim and hop on their bikes, I’d accompanied my friend and training partner, Amelia, on her session where she’d asked me to pace her 10K at ~03:50.
As has repeatedly been the case prior to any sort of workout, there was some reservation in my ability to actually maintain the pace. My reservation, I felt, justified; having struggled to maintain that pace for just 5k earlier that week.
I’d made my reservations clear to Amelia before we started, such was my lack of confidence, and that I apologise if I have to tap out at the half way mark. But what transpired was somewhat encouraging. Though it is not likely for Amelia to be a return customer for my pacing services, averaging ~03:45 for the 10k, I, we, persevered.
Not comfortable, not easy. But considering my struggles earlier that week, it was an encouraging sign that something must be working.
The following week, though, is where the magic started to happen; with some suggestion that the elusive ‘click’ was making itself known.
Summer has started to say its goodbyes and its place wind and rain has started to become a more pronounced feature of every day. I’ve no issue with the rain. Rather, I’d actively encourage anyone and everyone to seize the opportunity to run in the rain - it is one of life's simpler pleasures.
What is far less pleasurable, however, is trying to run a workout into 40 km/h winds. Anyone who has frequented the - very well trodden - Auckland waterfront for a run will know all too well the sense that regardless of your direction of travel, headwind is inevitable.
With intentions of running at a specific pace and my confidence still being on the frail side, i instead opted for the monotony of the treadmill. While, arguably, just as equal in displeasure as the waterfront winds, it could at least keep me honest with regards to pace, with some bonus mental fortitude training for good measure.
This is where I was pleasantly surprised.
Whereas the week prior I’d experienced the aforementioned difficulties at holding 03:50 /km, the treadmill enabled 30’ at 03:35 /km. Not only did the treadmill enable it, but it felt comfortable. Sustainable. So much so, that I had some reservations about the calibration of the machine itself. How could that possibly be right, considering my recent struggles?
The following morning though seemed to validate some of this mystery, spontaneous and overnight fitness gain.
My longrun featured a relatively hilly opening before I was to cross paths with a friend, Scott, on his session, where we’d complete another 10k or so with a 5k sustained and steady effort thrown in the mix.
Though not especially fast, relative to the 03:35s on the treadmill, it all just felt remarkably comfortable. The heart rate data, equally, being a demonstration as much. I couldn’t question the treadmill calibration this time. Instead, I questioned the validity of my watches ability to read my heart rate.
Irrespective of my reluctance to believe what the data is - or was- telling me, there would seem to be some suggestion that the ‘click’ had happened. What felt remarkable and in turn encouraged my disbelief, though, was just how black and white it was. It was as though I’d just woken up one morning and my body, my heart and my legs, had just remembered how to run and to run efficiently. A click, by definition, is short, sharp, instantaneous. But I’d just assumed, in running terms, it would be far more subtle.
Even my VO2 max reading couldn’t stop climbing.
With now a handful of data sets seeming to offer some validation about my fitness levels, some of my reservations started to melt away in place of confidence. Though this confidence short lived and whittled away again by the end of the month.
What was otherwise to be quite the perfectly paced, sustained 25’ effort at 03:30 - 03:33s saw me, quite stupidly (and embarrassingly) clip my shoulder and wrist on a temporary fence. Aware of my surroundings (or not) enough to recognise that at least a handful of people would've seen me shoulder check a fence and with at least 10’ still to run, I charged on. That is, until, I realised, I was charging on naked.
It would appear as though my shoulder check exposed a weakness in my watch strap. Such are my dainty wrists and my inclination to have my watch as tight as possible, that i was putting the strap under some considerable strain which had finally given out.
Having thought I’d ‘gotten away with it’ and charged down the road some 100m, the realisation of my nakedness drew on me. So, with my tail between my legs, I retreated. Thankfully, a spectator - and fellow runner - as well as his girlfriend, were not overly intimidated by my aggressive display of masculinity and had picked up the watch and were jogging over to return it. Even being so kind as to pause my activity.
I charged on again, finishing the session. Unfortunately, it was bitter sweet. As whilst the splits were indicative of the perfect pacing I mentioned, it is difficult for me to accept the session and for it to hold any real weight. Not only did the average pace drop out because of the (self inflicted) disruption, it also meant that there was a rest period. Brief, yes, but rest all the same.
Following a mistaken purchase of a replacement strap that was too small, my watch lived in either my inner short pockets or in my hand for the remainder of the month. Without the secure and direct access to my wrist, the data - namely heart rate - for the last of March became skewed.
The skewing and subsequent decline in positive metrics saw me become obsessed with the data. Each run saw my Garmin's VO2 max reading decline and my heart rate increasing, which in turn dictated my thoughts and feelings about each run.
An unreasonable and unhelpful obsession based on incorrect readings, creating a placebo effect where I’ve become convinced, based on numbers rather than feeling, that I’m regressing; despite no change in intensity or frequency.
This, I suspect, is in part due to not having any real result, a race, to contextualise my training. Equally, as March is signed off and April welcomed, I’m confronted with comparisons of previous years. Last year, in April, I ran my Marathon personal best. This is the last race I ran. The year prior, 2024, in April, I ran my half marathon personal best.
The data, skewed or incorrect, suggests I’ve a long way to go to reach such heights again. Further still to reach where I want to be.
Just as fast as it started to click, did it all seem to snap.