Running with(out) music

I love music.

Listening to my ipod, going to concerts, practicing my harp, playing in a folk group, singing along to Bob Dylan while I’m doing the ironing (a habit picked up from my dad) – music is, and always has been, a huge part of my life.

My earphones go in as soon as I leave the house in the morning and they stay in until I get to the office. They go in again when I leave to get my lunch and yet again when I head home. Am I missing out on the sounds around me? Well, yes, obviously. But this is central London. Do I really need to hear horns blaring, motorists and cyclists yelling at one another, and other commuters on the bus having the most inane conversations on their phones as loudly as possible? I don’t think I’m missing out on anything.

It won’t be any surprise to know that when I run, yep, I listen to music. Until a few weeks ago, it hadn’t even occurred to me that this might be considered a bad idea (yes, I already knew that some people don’t listen to music while running but I figured it was just down to personal preference). Then, at running club, our instructor mentioned that she had recently given some advice to a beginner runner who was keen to run a half-marathon in the next year or so (good luck to that person. I’m simply aiming for a sub 1-hour 10k!). One piece of advice was “stop running with your headphones in”.

Er, what?

All around me the other women in the group were nodding and mumbling agreement. Was I the only one out of the loop on this one? How had I missed the no-music message? I tried to imagine it: running without my music. Surely, it would be harder to run with nothing to distract me from that fact that I was, y’know, running.

Now, maybe it really is just me. Maybe my own thoughts are really boring. Here are my thoughts while running without music (i.e. at running club when I’m not talking to someone else!).

“I’m running. Running. Still running. Yep, still running. My legs hurt. Run. Run. Run. Am I at the back? Running. Yep, definitely at the back. Running. Have been overtaken by everyone. Running. Even that OAP who isn’t part of the running group and is in fact just walking along the street. Still running. Can I stop soon? Running. Running. Running.

Riveting stuff. So, at the risk of looking like the running-novice I still am, I had to ask:

“But why? Why is music bad? And how can you run without music without becoming completely bored?”

First up, here’s why it’s bad:

-You can’t hear your feet hitting the ground so you don’t have any sense of how well you’re running.

-You can’t hear your breathing.

Then there are the (im)practicalities:

-some races don’t let you run while listening to music (I’ll be avoiding these I think!)

-Ipods and MP3 players are unreliable – what if you run out of battery power? What if it’s raining and your Ipod gets wet and breaks?

-when you’re training outside, you can’t hear anything apart from your music so you’re unaware of your surroundings, which is pretty darn unsafe.

As to avoiding the boredom:

-Count your steps, give yourself your own internal rhythm rather than relying on music

-Run with a friend

I decided to give it ago and, this week, left my trusty ipod at home and went for a run.

Um. Yeah.

It didn’t go so well.

I was quite bored after about five minutes. Completely bored after ten minutes. I called it a day and stopped running somewhere around twelve minutes.

I came back home. I grabbed my ipod. I set off again. I ran for my planned 40 minutes no problem.

What does it all mean? Am I worryingly addicted to my ipod? Will I ever be able to run without music? As ever, when faced with difficult questions I turned to the oracle that is the Internet to ask “running with music – yes or no?”

Turns out I really had missed the boat on this one as it seems to be one of the most popular debates about running. And, as with all Internet debates, calmness and rationality go out the window and it’s all about picking a side, digging your heels in and slinging some mud at anyone who disagrees with you.

According to the all-knowing Internet, if you listen to music while running you’re just a wannabee runner, a plodding, rude pavement pounder who wants to shut out the world and ignore those around you. If you don’t listen to music while running, you’re a self-righteous, holier-than-thou type who likes making other people feel bad because they can’t run as well as you.

See, a typical Internet debate.

My own take for the moment is that my need for music has something to do with the fact that (*whisper it*) I don’t love running. Sure, I like it a lot more than I ever expected to when I first joined my running group. I’m running pretty regularly and I’ve even given up a few Saturday mornings to the Hampstead Heath Parkrun. But the “runner’s high” so far remains pretty darn elusive. I definitely don’t hate running and I’m not going to give up but for the moment I still need to be distracted by something I do love while I’m finding my running feet.

And surely running with music is better than not running at all…

Lauren vs. Nature

Oh September. I was so looking forward to this month. Why? Well, September meant my first proper holiday this year. Two sunshine-filled weeks in Brazil consisting of a few days in Sao Paulo and then onto the famous beaches of Rio. Bliss.

And, my plan was to look as awesome as possible on said beaches (having convinced myself that all Brazilian women look like Gisele). To help with this, I had upped my gym sessions, I was attending yoga regularly and I had even joined a running club.

Now, I had my reservations about this whole running outside malarkey from the outset (see this post for more info) but I’d been giving running club my best shot. I’d even been doing my homework practice runs outside, rather than merrily trundling along on the treadmill at the gym.

Until running club week five.

At week five’s club I came up against a formidable opponent. I was prepared for bad weather. I was becoming adept at dodging slow-moving pedestrians and pavement-hogging pram-pushers (you don’t own the path just because you have a baby. Yes, yummy mummies of Hampstead, I’m talking to you).  I was even learning not to panic every time I saw a dog. But I had forgotten about the insects.

At week five’s running club something bit me. Something nasty. A mosquito is the prime suspect. Below is a dramatic reconstruction of the incident (note: have opted not to wear running gear for dramatic reconstruction).   

(Also note: obviously, the mosquito isn’t actual size. The one that attacked me was considerably larger.)

I wasn’t all that bothered about the bite at first. Bugs love me. Every time I go on holiday I end up covered in bug bites no matter how much repellent I put on.

I came home. I cleaned the bite. I carried on as normal.

The same thing the next day.

And the day after that. (Oh, and just to heighten the drama and sense of impending disaster let’s note that on this day my boyfriend toddled off to Brazil. Off he went to his conference. I would join him just a few days later).

The next day the bite itched and as the day went on, it started to swell.

By the end of the day my foot was twice its normal size and very painful. That evening I was planning to meet my boyfriend’s mum and show her around our new house.

Instead we took a trip to A&E, where a trainee doctor took a quick look at my puffed-up foot, declared it to be an allergic reaction and sent me home with some penicillin to take ‘just in case’ (she didn’t really make clear just what this was in case of).

We trundled home. The next day I got up, hobbled into work and starting taking the penicillin ‘just in case.’

It made no difference. If anything, my foot got worse.

The next day, my boyfriend’s mum (who was now stuck in London, looking after me as I couldn’t actually walk) and I went back to A&E. A nurse looked at my foot. I told her I was supposed to be flying to Brazil in two days. She laughed. Then she got a doctor.

Cellulitis. *

The fully qualified, non-trainee doctor took one look at my foot, declared it to be a bad case of cellulitis and promptly started me on IV antibiotics.

Oh, and I wasn’t flying anywhere.

I tried really hard to live up to my credentials as a mind, body, spirit editor. I tried to be Zen. I tried to accept the universe’s great cosmic plan. I tried to simply ‘be in the moment’ and accept the present as it was.

Hmmmmmm.

Sod ‘being in the moment.’

There was no Zen.

And why did the universe have an issue with me going to Brazil?

But there was nothing I could do. No walking. No running. And no Brazil.

Fortunately, after three days of IV antibiotics my foot started to show some signs of improving and I was given the okay to fly (even more fortunately, I’d been able to rearrange my flights and travel a week later than planned).

My week in Rio was amazing, and I’m sure that relaxing on Ipanema beach did more to heal my foot than the industrial-strength quantities of penicillin I had to take.

So, at this point, I guess it would be totally understandable if I just gave up on the whole outdoor running thing. After all, I’ve been proved right (and I love it when I’m right!): running outdoors really is bad for your health. And yet, this week, after a three-week break, I found myself lacing up my trainers and joining my running group for week eight’s session.

Yes, I was slow. Yes, I was paranoid that I was going to be bitten again. Yes, I may have been the first person to run around north London while covered in tropical strength insect repellent. But I was there. And I was running.

There are only two weeks of running group left. After that, our fabulous instructor Laura is setting up an intermediate group that will take us from 5k to 10k…and I’m seriously considering joining.

It sounds as if the running bug may also have left its mark on me!

*I had never heard of this (and it’s just a wee bit different to ‘cellulite,’ which is what I thought the doctor said at first). It’s an infection of the skin’s deeper layers and underlying tissue, usually caused by bacteria that get in following a small cut, scratch or, in this case, a bug bite.

Pixie Power

This morning I went for a run. 30 minutes. 3.01 miles.

Nothing too interesting there you might think. Lots of people run.  And I’m sure lots of these people got up this morning and ran faster and for longer than me. But what really struck me this morning was how much I enjoyed my run. If you’d told me this time last year that I would run a 10k (and actually make it to the finish line!) and end up enjoying running in the process I probably would have decided you were delusional.

Prior to January this year, running and I were not friends. Sure, I would hit the treadmill at the gym but it always felt like a necessary evil.

Then at the start of 2012, one of my colleagues – Jen (follow her running adventures at the excellent http://www.2itchyfeet.com/) - suggested a few of us sign up for the inaugural 10k Town and Gown here in Cambridge. Jen – a super-fit and super-motivated lady - had already been bitten by the running bug in a big way. Normally I would have given the 10k suggestion a polite ‘thanks but no thanks’ but this year was different. I was going through a particularly rough break-up. I had just moved to a new house and was back in a flat-share for the first time in two years. I was burying myself in work and not really doing much else. Maybe I should give this running suggestion a try. So, much to my own surprise, I said yes and signed up for my first 10k. This would be the longest distance I had run since…umm…ever.

I printed out a 10k training schedule for beginners and off I went, running by myself along the Cam. The first few runs felt brutal. I really wasn’t used to running outside and it was a very different beast to running on the treadmill – there are no yappy dogs chasing you at the gym for one thing! I was out of breath after 15 minutes of fairly gentle running. I would go back home and my flatmates would take one look at my beetroot coloured face and decide I was about to collapse. Running continuously for 10k seemed unlikely and severely embarrassing myself in front of my colleagues looked to be pretty much a given.

But…gradually…week-by-week and run-by-run…I got better. A little bit farther each time. A little bit stronger. Until finally, not long before the day of the race I found that elusive ‘runner’s high’. That point when running doesn’t feel like a slog, when you feel light on your feet and full of energy, when you just keep going even though you’ve finished your training schedule for that day. My mind was clear. I was less stressed. I had caught the running bug! I ran a practice 10k the week before the race and completed it in 58 minutes. Certainly not the fastest time ever but if I could do that on the day I would be very happy.

Sadly, the universe had other plans.

On race day it was, to use the vernacular, absolutely pissing it down. It was a cold, wet and miserable April morning and when my phone rang just as I was pulling on my jacket I jumped at it, hoping that it would be the race organiser calling to let me know that the whole thing was cancelled. It wasn’t. It was my colleague and fellow runner Sara confirming that it was still all systems go and we were meeting as planned.

Urgh.

I think the rain put a lot of runners off and it was a sparsely attended race (not that I have much to compare it to but there really weren’t a lot of people). The six of us stood huddled under umbrellas for a good 30 minutes before the race started. In those 30 minutes there was nowhere to go and nothing to do apart from get progressively colder and wetter.

The race started and off we went. Large parts of the course had turned into muddy ditches and you had no choice but to slow down and squelch around them. The rain pelted down in sheets for all 10 kilometres and at around the 7k mark I was hit by calf cramp. I kept going and stumbled over the finishing line in a very poor 1hour 12minutes. I was slower than all my colleagues. Now, I know that somebody has to come last, but why did it have to be me?!*

I was disappointed for several weeks afterwards. It seemed that all the training had been a waste of time. And, to be honest, I really hadn’t enjoyed the race. It was wet, it was miserable and for large chunks of it I was running by myself, I couldn’t see anyone in front of me or (rather more depressingly) behind me.

Then I tried to see the positive side of things. Maybe the actual day of the race hadn’t been great. But all the training that had gone before it hadn’t been so bad – apart from those first few runs where I thought my lungs would explode!

So I kept running.

I even signed up for another race. On September 16^th this year, along with 5 of my colleagues, I’ll be taking part in the Chariots of Fire relay race in Cambridge. We’re calling ourselves the Pixies and we’ll each be running 1.7 miles so this is more about speed than endurance. I’ve been training hard and even though I know I won’t be the fastest (I think Jen pretty much has a lock on that one!), I really hope I won’t be the slowest.

After the relay is over…who knows? I’m pretty sure that I’m going to sign up for another 10k. I’d like to improve my time and have a better overall race experience. But whatever happens, I’ll definitely keep running!

So, having read all that (and if you’ve made it to the end – well done!), why not take a look at our sponsorship page:

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserPage.action?userUrl=ThePixies&pageUrl=2

and give some pennies (or pounds) to the Pixies! Any donations would be much appreciated. Thank you!

*I wasn’t last overall (before you start thinking I’m an incredibly poor runner). There were runners who came in behind me. To be fair, most of them were septuagenarians but still, I wasn’t the slowest overall!