Day 14 - Trying to be a bit more natural

This time out I tried to be a bit more natural with my landing. I've been concentrating a lot on a very deliberate forefoot landing and I wanted to find out what difference it would make if I didn't concentrate too hard but just let myself land naturally in the barefoot shoes.

The result was that I generally landed with a very flat foot, a mid-foot landing I suppose. It was certainly easier on my calves and not at all difficult to maintain for the 1.5 miles that I covered.
Having taken a two extra rest days, the whole run was much more comfortable, and I feel ready to return to running every two days and slowly upping the metreage (I would call it mileage but it doesn't really yet qualify).

Days 12 & 13 - Extra rest

The last couple of times out, I've found my legs getting sore before I've even completed a mile. So I've decided it would be better to give them a rest for a day or two. I've been continuing the massage, and stretching on steps. But I've added two extra recovery days before I do my next run.

Most guides to barefoot running recommend that, when making the transition, you listen to your legs. If they start to hurt, rest them until they stop feeling sore. So I'm giving it a try. Although I do have a sense of progress-less days ticking past, it's also surprisingly easy to just be lazy for a bit.

Day 11 - Where it hurts

I thought it would be helpful to describe where on my legs it hurts. But as I began to try and describe a location somewhere on my calves, I realised I lacked a certain sophistication of vocabulary. As such, I've drawn it instead. The view (if it is not obvious) is of the lower legs from the rear. The red bits are the sore bits.

Day 10 - 1.3 miles and sore calves

Today I tried a new tactic. Last time out I realised that I was doing more barefoot-style running than I intended to. And, as a result, I was overworking my understrength calf muscles. I was faced with two options: to cut down to only doing the barefoot-shod running or to continue longer mileage and warmups but deliberately heel-strike for much of it. Since my chief goal here is to change my style, I opted to cut down to only barefoot.

So this time I ran straight from the front door. I concentrated on cadence, forefoot landing, and silent footsteps. And I ran on the verge where possible. The slightly difficult thing about running straight out of the front door is that we live on a hill, so it is impossible to avoid inclines, including the uphill ones that might demand more of the calf and the achilles. It's not ideal, but it is what it is. So with this in mind, I kept my intervals reasonably short - no more than 0.3 miles at a time, with a minute's walk in between.

Somewhat to my annoyance, the same calf pains that had been there two days before returned. I wanted to test out how or if they developed, thinking it might just be residual soreness, so I continued with my plan. But by the time I had completed 3 reps my legs were telling me it was time to stop. Bloody-mindedness kicked in and I did a fourth, determined to make progress. The legs were sore by the end.

I now wonder whether I'm concentrating too much on the forefoot landing, and whether I ought to let my feet find their natural position. When I slip to something a bit more midfoot it doesn't feel uncomfortable, and it would put less strain on my calves with each step. I think I'll try that next time.

Day 9 - Self-inflicted massage

Today, calf massage. The self inflicted variety. I don't know a lot about massage, but I do know that when the physio does it properly it is very painful. As far as I understand it, the point is to clear out the inflexible scar tissue so that new super-flexy tissue grows more quickly. This all means you heal better and quicker. In running circles it is a something of a panacea. And everybody recommends that you massage your calves regularly if you are doing barefoot running, so I did a bit of a hunt on the internet and settled for following this video.



This was okay, and I felt like I was doing something good. I have to say, though, that it is next to impossible to self-inflict the kind of painful massage the physio does. At least, for me it is. Maybe I just lack a certain steely edge?

Day 8 - 1 mile & What I'm Doing Wrong

After an encouraging run on Saturday which brought to an end my first week of barefoot running I ventured boldly into week two. The received wisdom in running circles is 'never increase your mileage by more than 10% a week.' This is good when you're marathon training, but difficult to accept when you've dropped back to a mile day in order to retrain your running brain.

 

I did a few calculations and discovered that, were I to follow this rule, it would take me 28 weeks to get back to my usual weekly mileage (around 30 miles). That sounds like a long time. I've committed to doing this properly, so I suppose I shouldn't complain, but I don't really want to have to wait that long. And I'm quite worried about how much fitness I'd lose in the meantime. So I wondered what would happen if I just tweaked that rule a bit, and allowed myself a 20% increase each week. 14 weeks. Much more appealing.

 

I hadn't quite made my mind up on that, but 1.2 miles today felt reasonable, especially since I haven't yet been experiencing any discomfort. So I set off on a 2 mile warmup and arrived at the same flat stretch of road I'd used on Day 1. Every time I do this, I have to stash my trainers somewhere. Fortunately there's a handy spot under a bush, beneath a wall, by a stile that does the job. The only people likely to spot them are ramblers. And if you can't trust ramblers, who can you trust?

 

Trainers suitably stashed.

Throughout the warmup, I'd kept my iPod playing with my 180bpm songs*, and concentrated on keeping pace with it. And when I began running in the barefoot shoes, I did the same, again finding the cadence much more natural then in the traditional shoes. But this time, and for the first time, I noticed my right outer calf was complaining after 0.4 miles. I had already decided I would do the run in three sections, with walking in between, in order to give my calves and feet a little recovery time within the session. So I walked, rested a bit, and then set off again. On the second rep I ran slightly shorter, and found increasing discomfort in my calf. And the same again during the following rep. Until, with 1 mile complete, I decided I should call it a day. There was no sense in pushing too hard and damaging something.

I was frustrated that I was finding it so difficult to run even one mile. I'd done my exercises, stuck to the rules etc. I thought I'd been careful, warming up over a couple of miles, taking things slowly. But then I realised I hadn't really been careful at all. Because, in my eagerness to adopt this new cadence, I'd done it during the warm up on both of the previous occasions. And this meant I was running on my toes. For the whole run. So I'd actually done two 3 mile sessions, which was far more than I ever intended to do. No wonder my calf was sore.

Now I have to decide what to do. If I keep up some mileage by doing warm ups, I think I have to deliberately avoid forefoot striking during that part of the run. And I have to accept that my primary aim at the moment is to build strength. The adaptation to the different running form will only come once I've built up the strength to sustain longer runs in that style. Until then, mixed mode is probably the way to go. I'm annoyed I've foolishly made my calf sore, but at least I can now report on the effects of self-massage over the next couple of days. Should be interesting

*Today's playlist:
One by U2
Call and Answer by Barenaked Ladies
Through it All by Matt Redman
Big Mistake by Natalie Imbruglia

Day 7 - Marathon envy (and me in a wedding dress)

This morning I was like an excited child. I woke up and switched on the radio, excitedly following the interviews with elites and celebrities. Imagining the scene, empathising, sympathising, generally 'ising, It wasn't long before I was out of bed, in front of the TV, watching with anticipation. I took to running up and down the stairs with to tell Rhiannon of every tiny bit of news, such was my need to share the experience with someone. Eventually she was kind enough to come downstairs and spare me the need for this yoyo-like activity. We watched, and we marvelled. And I was still springing around the streets on the way to church, such was the residue of nervous energy.

I love the event, and this is the time of year when I get marathon envy. I always wish I was there, one of the nervous runners attending the Expo, queuing for the loos on raceday, waiting in the pens (wondering what that person dressed as a pantomine horse put as their predicted finish time to end up in the same pen as me), shuffling through the start line and getting swept along for at least the first 13 miles by the extroardinary support and the sheer magnitude of the occasion. I love it, and I keep entering the ballot, but no luck. I probably should run another marathon somewhere because I ought to be able to get the good-for-age standard which secures a guaranteed London entry. This always the Leicester marathon this autumn...

My friend Paul Hanson found this picture from the marathon on the BBC website. It looks uncannily like me in a wedding dress. It's so convincing, even I think it might be me. I'm fairly sure I wasn't there though...

Meanwhile, I can report that I feel a little tightness in my calves after yesterday, but still no pain. That's good.

So let me finish by simply listing the impressive achievements of my Barrow Runners clubmates. Today belongs to them.

2:24 Stuart Spencer
2:46 Alex Toll
3:12 Helen James
3:30 Bomber Harris
3:31 Alex Palmer
3:52 Dean Tonks
4:00 Sarah Morley
4:09 Elaine Pladgman
4:13 Alex Blossom
4:16 Alison Newill
4:42 Pauline Bawtree
5:47 Norman Harding

Day 6 - 1 mile, blue skies, 180bpm songs and Take That

Today's run took place in the historic Lincolnshire town of Stamford. This was our first visit and we chose the perfect weekend for it. Unbroken blue sky persisted throughout the day and the beautiful, warming sun lit the golden stone that abounds in the town centre to show everything in literally its best light.

A perfect blue sky in Stamford.

The rather cool surroundings of the Cosy Club. That guy's wearing my hoody which, thinking about it, I was wearing at the time. Embarrassing.

Street cooked Thai noodles. Delicious.

Having pootled around the shops, enjoyed coffee in the very comfortable Cosy Club, lunched on Thai food cooked before our eyes on a market stall, and sunbathed in the landscaped grounds of Burghley it was time to get the Merrells out again. Following the pattern of previous days I used my old Brooks for a warm up of a couple of miles, before slipping on the new shoes for just one mile. There was no sign of that upper foot pain from a few days ago (I told you it was just phantom runners' pain) but there was a new development. I became very aware on the second half mile (having stopped for a little walk around in the middle) that the little toe on my right foot was starting to complain. It was obviously rubbing, though I couldn't really work out why. At this stage, my instinct is to treat it like I do the tips of my fingers when I haven't played the guitar for a while. They complain a bit, but then they callous and get used to it. Time will tell if the same happens to my little toe.

I introduced a new feature to my training today - the 180bpm (beats per minute) cadence. I don't have the details to hand, but there has been some research which shows that the majority of elite runners, as well as usually forefoot striking, have a stride cadence within a remarkably similar range, at around 180bpm. There are exceptions to this, but it is surprisingly common. And it appears that when these elite runners slow down, or speed up, they still have the same cadence. It's the stride length that adjusts.

While some take this as gospel and therefore declare that the optimum running style must incorporate a 180bpm cadence, it should be noted that were I to try and accompany the likes of Mo or Paula on a 'jog', I'd find I was putting in some considerable effort. Whatever their activity at the time, they still cover the ground pretty quickly. Definitely by an average club runner's standards. So some argue that this cadence is not realistic for ordinary runners. However, most barefoot enthusiasts have observed that their cadence naturally increases when they run without the padding of traditional shoes. The brain responds to the feel of the landing and finds the optimum stride frequency which results in the least impact on the sole of the foot. And it seems that this somewhat quicker cadence often heads in the direction of 180bpm.

One way to adjust your running form is to deliberately increase your cadence. It's virtually impossible to keep the same gait if you do this. You have to adjust your body angle, and change where your centre of gravity sits relative to impact. And you almost can't help but forefoot strike. So I gave it a go. And the simplest way to do this was to use music. Find tracks at the tempo you want, put them on your iPod and set off.

In order to choose some tracks I used two tools available on the internet. The first is jog.fm where a seemingly vast number of songs are catalogued according to bpm. It's very useful, but it is also a bit odd. The songs are not simply listed by tempo, but also by what is best for a certain mile-time (you have to change between metric and imperial at the top of the screen). Quite what makes one song better than another for a particular speed of running I don't know. I can only assume it is to do with the length of the song. But who on earth times their miles using songs? Anyway, if you're willing to hunt a bit, you can find a big list of songs with the tempo you want.

But this may not help much if it doesn't cover the songs you actually own, which was largely the case for me. So I also used Beatunes, a free utility, that analysed my iTunes library, and came up with a list of songs. It wasn't fool-proof, throwing in one or two songs that clearly where not in the right range, but it was still pretty useful. So, on this glorious spring day, I ran along to the sound of:

Piano Man by Billy Joel
Shine by Take That
Four Seasons in One Day by Crowded House
Thank You for Saving Me by Delirious

No doubt this selection tells you everything you need to know about my iTunes library. I suppose it probably is fairly representative, thought I'm a little ashamed that Take That has made it in there. But what is more interesting is what it did, or didn't do, to my running. I tried it with both pairs of shoes, to see how natural it felt.

With the Brooks it was almost impossible to keep up. I consciously tried to aim for my forefoot and get through my stride quickly, but it felt utterly unnatural. And I was constantly slipping behind the beat. I could just about do it, but it was a big effort, and I couldn't really see how it was helping. But when I switched to the barefoot shoes it was a completely different experience. It was as if my feet wanted to run in this tempo. Where, in the old shoes, I'd been aware of trying to swing the pendulum of my leg through quickly to match the song, I found my weightless feet easily and comfortably going through each rotation. And it was much easier than my first two runs to maintain a forefoot strike.

It's going to take some time, I'm sure, before I get this tempo and this style into my system such that it would feel natural in other shoes. But on the basis of one mile, it can surely be done. It may be that I eventually find my own perfect cadence is not bang on 180bpm but, while I am learning and consciously trying to change, it seems sensibly to go with the recommendation. Now I'm really looking forward to trying it again in a couple of days, even with Gary Barlow and friends keeping me company.

Day 5 - My elite friend, Alan (and a bit of Moorcroft)

After last night's 1 mile run in the barefoot shoes, I thought I might wake up this morning feeling a bit of soreness. But so far, still nothing. I'll take that as good news and carry on as I am doing. I'm happy to have a full mile under my belt, and happy to be making a steady transition while keeping a bit of club-running up.

My elite friend, Alan
One of the guys at our church, Alan, is a former elite distance runner. He was running in the time of Foster and Moorcroft, the golden age of British distance running, one of many international class athletes competing for a few GB places. And I was chatting to him last week about the 10k I'd just done.

It was an undulating and windy course around Markfield in Leicestershire, and I was really pleased with how the race panned out. None of my usual running partners were there, and hence I didn't have the usual people to carry me round at a good pace. So I decided to be quite measured and run well but within myself. This meant letting half the field (not quite half, but it felt like it) charge off in the first mile and then spending the rest of the race picking people off. In the final kilometre I had enough left to chase down and pass 8 runners, and I finished in 39:24 which was my first sub-40, and a respectable time.

So I was standing chatting with Alan and the vicar, Michael, who is also a runner, and telling them I was quite pleased with a steady race and a sub-40 PB. Then I remembered that Alan had been an elite athlete (he's a humble guy and doesn't go on about it) and realised that it probably wasn't all that impressive to him. So I quipped, jovially, "How's that time, Alan, is it within 10 minutes of your PB?" Alan thought for a moment, rocking his head gently from side to side as he did the sums, and then looked at me with his most encouraging face. "Yeah… nearly."

Talking to someone from that golden era got me thinking about Dave Moorcroft and his extraordinary run for the 5000m world record in Oslo, 1982. It made me want to track it down on youtube because I've heard all about it but couldn't remember actually having seen the footage. It really is quite special. Enjoy.

Day 4 - 1 mile on a grass track

Having reach day 4 without any residual soreness, it as time to don the shoes again and go out for another run. Our club was running the first of its summer track sessions, held on the grass tracks of two local high schools. I decided that since I had suffered no ill effects from my first run, and because Lee Saxby reckons anyone who can do 3 sets of 100 jumps is ready to run a mile, I would run a mile. But I would start off in normal shoes for a good warmup.

So that's how it went. 1 mile warm up round the track. Then I ran the rest of the 1 mile reps with everybody else, sat out the second while I changed my shoes, and the joined in for the third. I figured that it would be better to have a bit in reserve, while still running quickly, so that I could focus on my form and not be too fatigued.

Running on the grass, at around 6 minute mile pace, I found the shoes very comfortable. I always had a notion that shoes make you faster, and barefoot running must be slower. Despite my research and growing enthusiasm for this form of running, I've never quite shaken that notion. So I was quite surprised that I found it easy to keep up with my running partners (of course bearing in mind they'd done one more mile than me!). I consciously quickened my cadence, moved a little more upright in my stance (after having seen the video from day 3) and tried to aim for mid to fore foot landing. While the first and second were quite easy, the second didn't come at all naturally. The softish ground and the relatively short distance meant I could fairly happily heel strike. I think I'll have to find some exercises to really practice the landing action.

Then I slipped the old shoes back on and finished the session with some fast 200m reps. By the end of the hour I could feel some tightness in my upper calf, as well as my quads. It's hard to say how much of this is part of the natural shift in muscle use when running fast on a lower traction surface, and how much is the shoes. Time will tell.

Day 3 - Video analysis

Nothing to report today. Except that the calves, feet, ankles all feel normal still. I've tried to do a little  bit of massage on them, but it's tricky when you can't actually feel any soreness. And it's difficult to keep up the exercises now that I've started. 

However, we've got some far more interesting things to think about today. Video analysis. Rhiannon kindly filmed me on the Day 1 so that I had a record of my running style and could see whether the new shoes made an immediate difference.

This first one is in the Brooks GTS 12s. Fully cushioned, apparently America's most popular running shoe (according to the website). It's my first look at my own running style and… I'm going to say it's not too bad. I was worried I might have limbs flailing or a strange lurch, but I appear to look reasonably normal. I'm pleased with a noticeable backlift, which comes just about horizontal, though it could be quite a lot higher. I can see a bit of lateral movement in that backlift, which clubmates have told me about before - my famous flick. It's not as bad as they made out though. There's also bit of a lean, I think perhaps too much of a lean. And I definitely heel-strike.

And here I am in barefoot shoes. In the general shots, I can't really see a difference. The close up is interesting though. In both directions, I've only just set off, and I'm immediately into a heel-strike. But a few steps in it appears I start to respond to the feel of the road and shift to something more mid foot, the whole foot landing at the same time. It's only a few frames we're working with, so it's difficult to tell, but it seems that it takes a few strides to settle in and react to the 'proprioception'. (I've read this word a lot. I think it means 'feeling what it all feels like').

Day 2 - The absence of soreness

A lot of the advice regarding barefoot running, and the transition thereto, is about starting small. People, especially experienced runners, set off too quickly, heading straight out for a long run in their new shoes and damaging themselves in the process. So I've been keen to heed that advice. I've been cautious in my ambitions and deliberately limited myself to half a mile the first day. I've read about sore calves being the usual response to this change of shoe and, though I honestly felt I'd barely gone 10 steps yesterday, I was expecting that today.

But there was nothing. Not a hint of soreness. A slight pain on the top of my left foot, but that was there already. It's one of those pains that appears and disappears with running - you don't know why it is there, it's unusually sharp, and then it is gone a day or two later. I think I've learned to discern the difference between that kind of phantom pain and a real problem by now, and as such I almost don't want to mention it. But in the interests of being thorough and transparent I think I should. But it's nothing. Honestly. (Hmm)

My calves feel normal, so does my achilles, so do my feet. Do you know what this makes me think? I didn't run far enough. I could have done more. That's my natural reaction. My research tells me to still be cautious but my inner voice, which wants to build strength quickly, is telling me, "Go and do a couple of miles. You'll be fine." I do know that some coaches, eg Lee Saxton at VivoBarefoot (who most acknowledge as the expert) talks about doing 1 mile at first, provided you've already done some strengthening exercises, which I have. So it's possible that I am treading a little too carefully.

I won't be running again till Thursday night, when we have a club grass track session. My plan is take the barefoot shoes with me, warm and do some of the session in my old Brooks, and then slip the Merrells on towards the end. I think I could move up to 3/4 of a mile, on the grass. Or am I already slipping way from my considered, cautious approach?

Day 1 - The first half-mile

Today was my first run. Rhiannon came with me, and we warmed up with a couple of miles through the lanes and over the fields till we found a nice flat bit of road in Swithland, the next village along from ours. Then it was off with the old Brooks GTS12s and on with the Merrell Vapor Gloves.

After donning the shoes I did a 1/4 mile run in one direction, stopped, walked around a bit, and then ran back. The instant impression was that it didn't feel that different. Almost disappointing. I could certainly feel the ground more, but I found myself still running in much the same way that I had always done. 

I could hear my feet striking the ground, so I tried to concentrate on landing silently, which I could almost achieve. It was all fairly easy, going at a very slow pace, so I tried upping my pace to something more like proper run. It was then that the issue of landing on the tarmac became much more important. Where, whilst jogging, I'd been able to continue heel striking, I was increasingly aware of trying to land each step in a way that reduced the impact. It didn't hurt particularly, but I felt that if I continued for some time I might end up bruising the sole of my foot around the ball. 

I was hoping, I think, that I would instantly transform my running style in the new shoes. The truth is that I didn't do it automatically - I had to be much more intentional than that. And I expect that will continue to be the case. The one thing that that did instantly change was the action of coming to a halt. I had no idea how easy it was to stop in traditional running shoes. You just take a couple of braking steps and that's the job done. But in the barefoot shoes that doesn't work. By trying to brake, you're putting the full weight of your body into the step, plus the force of your momentum, making it a much a greater impact. So I found I had no choice but to take quick, small steps, decelerating with each one. It was an action very similar to dancing on hot coals.

The biggest surprise of the whole experience came when I put my Brooks shoes back on. It was like running in a pair of sofas! They were so big and soft and spongy. I don't think I've appreciated before just how much cushioning the shoes give. And I was very aware that I could do little but heel strike - that thicker part of the shoe always came into contact with the ground first.

At the end of this test run, Rhiannon kindly filmed me running in both the Brooks and the Merrells, so that we could see if there was any immediately perceptible difference in running style. I'm a bit worried about this because I've never seen myself run. It might be like the rather strange and disappointing experience of  hearing your own voice on tape. 'It doesn't sound like that in my head...' Provided it's not too embarrassing - or, I suppose, even if it is - I'll try to get that video up in the next day or two, along with news of any aches and pains that might occur.

The Story of My Big PB

I'd been training for 12 weeks. The Loughborough Half Marathon was the goal and was going to be perfect. It was local - my home town race - and it fell in the calendar on a date that allowed a 12-week training plan to start immediately after Christmas and New Year. Better still, my brother was going to race with me.

Ben has always been a much better runner than me, naturally fit and fast, representing the county at one stage as a school boy. More recently however I've been the family runner. Where Ben has slipped into grown-up life, kids, demanding work, exercise based around tennis at the gym, I've been out pounding the streets. I'm running better than ever and Ben hasn't really been running at all. So this race was ideal. We'd both start training at the same time, we'd text each other every time we completed a run, we'd use sibling rivalry and brotherly encouragement as a double-edged sword to get us both to the start line in top shape. 12 weeks should be about enough for Ben's natural talent to re-emerge without quite trumping my several years of gradual improvement.

But things like this never quite go to plan. A few weeks before race day I heard that Ben was suffering from pain in his ankle. A trip to the physio quickly confirmed that rest was in order, and his race was in doubt. I cracked on with my training, buoyed by a couple of league races where I'd knocked big chunks off Pbs, quietly transforming what had begun as a mission to run sub-1:30 to the outside chance of a 1:25. The races had confirmed I had the speed in my legs, and I'd been putting in the training, plenty of long runs. So that 1:25 shouldn't be impossibly. But I would have to push, hard, and a running partner in the shape of my older brother was exactly what I would need to carry me round the tricky middle miles. Sadly, Ben's injury got the better of him. In the week before the race he went for one last run and the persistent pain told him it wasn't going to happen. This left me with a dilemma. Go for 1:25, or play it safe and settle for a very achievable 1:30? The answer would most likely come from my rather weak running psyche.

I've always considered it a fairly good thing that I wasn't blessed with exceptional sporting ability - I don't have the character to pull it off. It would have been wasted. Before and during races my thoughts are so often negative. I spend most of the race having an internal debate as to how and when I'm going to pull out. I make creative plans to stop by the side of the road and jog back, citing various excuses. I hit a steep hill and psychologically give up as it appears to tower over me. Or someone edges past me and I mentally let them go, preferring do see them disappear into the distance rather than stay tantalisingly close, because to remain so close is unkind to my weak spirit. When I don't have a partner run with I'm not at all confident about maintaining the effort throughout a race. Certainly not through the best part of an hour and a half.

In the end, such quandaries became immaterial. The weather had better ideas, and a thick blanket of snow the day before the race put paid to whatever moderate ambitions may have remained. I probably shouldn't have been surprised. I don't have a great record with 'focus' races like this. Last year my big aim was the Stratford Marathon which was scuppered by an injury half way through training. Though I did manage to recover enough fitness sufficiently quickly to switch down to the half-marathon, it was little comfort because race day itself saw record rainfall across the UK and 50mph winds. I did it complete the race, unfit and bedraggled as I was, but it was a terror. I insisted on getting my medal at the end.

So, with the half marathon postponed, with no rearranged date in sight, I had 12 weeks of 5-6 days a week training in the bank and needed somewhere to spend it. With a few weeks to go until the next league race, and that race being a very hilly 10k it seemed wise to look elsewhere. And so to ParkRun I turned. Conkers ParkRun, to be precise. I'd not run it before, but I did know that my other local ParkRun - in Braunstone - was a two lapper with a big hill. So Conkers it would have to be if I were to come out of it with a time that made the hours of training worthwhile.

My PB over 5k had been set a year earlier, after only six months running with the club. At 19:30 it wasn't bad, very respectable even, but I was sure I could run faster. I must be able to go under 19 minutes for a start. I was very sure, because two recent league races over 5 and 6 miles had been run at an average pace that would comfortably take me under that threshold. With this knowledge, and as I so often do, I engaged in a little goal-slippage.

When I settled on running the ParkRun I had in mind to get that sub-19 I'd been looking for. Then, after a good run on a club night I started to revise that. 18:30 should be within my capabilities. I could certainly run that fast. And as I approached the morning itself I allowed the possibility of running my first race at sub-6-minute-miles to creep into my consciousness. I almost always do this. I have about three goals in mind for a race. One, conservative. One, progressive. One audacious. And I don't quite admit to myself which one I'm really going for. I tell myself that I'll be satisfied with the first, will aim for the second and be delighted with the third. Secretly, though I never even admit it to myself, it's the last one I'm really hoping for.

With my threefold ambitions in hand, I arrived at Conkers on the Saturday morning at about 8:30am, 30 minutes before the start. Having risen two hours earlier - that's my minimum, always a least two hours before the race- and fuelled by porridge, banana, espresso and Lucozade Sport – not in one glass - I pulled into the car park. And I found one other car, fewer than expected, which I parked beside. As I opened my door the driver of the other car wound down his window to ask if I knew whether this was the right place for the ParkRun. I had planned to ask the same question, and the empty car park didn't look promising, so I was little help. I told him I would jog off down the nearby path and, should I not return, it probably was. Which I did, and it was. I found another car park full of steaming bonnets, jogging bipeds and day-glo lycra. All the right signs for a race.

My warm up involved running a loop around a small lake several times. I read recently that for shorter races the warm up is particularly important. You need at least 4 minutes (or was it 8 minutes?) of decent intensity to get your heart-beat up and the correct juices flowing. You can do this any time within 40 minutes of the start of the race and the effect would still last, allowing you set off at full pace. So I chose the path around the lake which had a small hill, adding to the intensity, and felt it did the job adequately. I was aware of being a newcomer to this ParkRun, knowing that many people turn out every week generating something of a team atmosphere. I was not one of the usual faces, so I wanted to appear fit, and fast, to anyone watching. I'd seen the winning times for the previous few weeks and knew there was an outside chance of actually winning. I found myself developing an over-serious strut, doing a few more strides and lunges than I really needed to, just to establish my right to stand with the other faster runners on the start-line.

The weather couldn't have been better. Cool, around 3 degrees C. Almost completely still. And a blue sky with a low, warming sun lighting up the lake, the trees, and the brightly clad runners. If ever I was going run fast it was surely today. Then came the countdown, and we were off. I had a plan: stick with the front one or two for the first mile or so, to establish my pace and give me a good chance of staying up there towards the end. It was quite a shock, then, when within 600 metres the first few had already opened up a sizeable gap.

The doubts kicked in. Maybe I'd been too ambitious? Maybe couldn't run quickly without my clubmates around me? Maybe I couldn't run this early in the morning? I glanced at my watch. Maybe it was because these idiots where running at 5:40 mile pace and I was being sensible. First crisis dealt with. So I let them go, and settled on sticking with my own race plan.

Before I'd had time to really get my bearings, the watch beeped to tell me we'd completed a mile. I was in around 8th place at the back of a drawn out bunch. A little worrying - I'd hoped to be placed higher at this point, having expected only one or two others to aiming for low 18s. Seven others seemed too many, but I was going about as quickly as I thought I could comfortably sustain, so I had little choice but to accept the positions as they were, and see if a few slowed down towards the end having exerted too much in the early stages.

A sharp left and a sudden, short, steep hill brought me back up to two runners. I've always hated hills, they usually seem to be my undoing, and I dread them when I know they're coming. But they're also quite easy places to catch someone who has pulled away if you're willing to just put in a little extra effort. This time, for reasons unknown, I found that little extra. I'd moved up to seventh and we were heading back towards the finish.

The leaders were well clear now, so I'd given up any hope of a remarkable victory. It was all about the finish-time. And here's where more of my psychological subtleties come into play. I've already noted that I came into the race with my options open, allowing myself three alternative objectives, refusing to choose one. It was very clear by this stage that I was going to manage the first, going under 19 minutes. I could judge fairly easily from the effort I was putting in, the shortness of breath, the length of my stride, etc, that I was running quickly, and that I was comfortably under the first threshold. The easiest way to check this, of course, would be to look at my Garmin. But I couldn't.

When I'm deep into a run I become obsessed with ignorance. If I checked the watch I would know too much. If I was going quicker than expected I would likely panic, knowing how difficult it would be to sustain my current pace to the end. My fears of tying up would make me back off, even if in reality I was running well. Conversely, if I was going slower than expected I'd also give up, internally, and coast in. It's hard work running a 5k as fast as you can; I wouldn't need much of an excuse to abandon the effort. So I have this obsession with ignorance. It's an urgent sense that I am in a precarious zone of perfect balance which would be upset by knowing anything about my performance. I even get slightly upset by seeing the distance markers. If I don't know how I'm doing, I can keep going. If I find out, I might stop. It seems a very real danger at the time.

We were onto the home straight (I knew this because the race was essentially an out and back and I recognised the path). This meant there was not far to go, maybe 1.5k, and I was feeling confident. I usually find on club nights, when I'm running with the slightly-too-fast-for-me group, that in the final mile or two I find a second wind, an extra surge of energy. This has given me confidence for the latter stages of a race, ao I was ready to ride the crest of that wave to the finish. That's when he came past. The slightly-older-runner, the grey-haired bustler who eased up alongside me and gently pulled clear. Everything about his build and his gait said he shouldn't be beating me, but he was. And, just like that, the plug was pulled on the bathtub of my confidence and the water began to spiral away.

It's like this every time. When I'm passed in the latter stages of a race, I find my fighting spirit is completely absent. That red mist that sees athletes through to great things – I don't have one. Not even a pink one. Mine's more a mildly yellow mist that concedes defeat and hopes my opponent will pull away quickly so that I don't have to entertain any thoughts of chasing him. At least, it is at first. Until the oscillation comes. That begins when, after 20 seconds or so, I realise he's not getting away or he's still within reach. I get a sudden surge of fighting spirit and start to claw back the metres. But then I realise the extra effort I'm expending, highly doubt I can sustain it, and retreat again. I almost deliberately slow down to let him get away, just so that I won't have to entertain those cruel hopes again. And as I stop worrying and come to terms with my position, I relax, run more smoothly, and start to catch up again. The hope returns, and the oscillation goes on: Hope, defeat, hope, defeat...

On this occasion, I oscillated until we had rounded the final corner and the finish was in sight, about 200m down the track. My silver haired nemesis was a good 30 metres in front of me by now. And I was fairly sure there was no-one behind me (I didn't check of course, being so obsessed with ignorance as I was) so the places were secure. All I needed to do now was pick my pace up as I ran to the line for a strong finish and to shave a couple more seconds off my time.

As I did so, I entered another piece of oh-so-familiar territory. The dawning realisation as I gradually increase my speed that I am closing on the runner in front. What seemed impossible only moments before – making up a 30 metre deficit with now only 150 metres to go – became a maybe. It's at this point in races, and only then, that I remember I actually have a surprisingly good sprint finish.

It's surprising because I'm a terrible sprinter. I don't have any power in my legs. I honestly think I might lose to a 9-year old over a hundred metre dash. But I do seem to have something at the end of races. It's as if a switch flicks in my head, my yellow mist becomes saturated with scarlet, and I'm suddenly flying, extending my stride with every pace, working my arms, straining my sinews, and eating up the ground. My heavy steps rapidly approaching the runner in front must sound mildly terrifying; it has happened more than once that my fellow competitor on hearing my approach has turned his head with a look of mild panic and almost jumped off the track one seeing my flailing limbs and contorted face become large in his vision.

But this time I'd left it too late. Or had I? Or had I? Yes, I had. It was very close. I so nearly caught him on the line (I say 'line' but the crowd around the finish meant all I could see was a blurred mass of people coalescing with a flourescently-clad marshall, each of whom I hoped wouldn't mind me crashing into them when I failed to decelerate in time). But it wasn't to be. So all that remained was the time. Had I done it?

In the heat of my desperate lunge of the tape I had of course still managed to stop my Garmin. This is definitely a runner thing. A symptom of a sport that, save for the fastest few, is not concerned with winning anything, just with personal statistics. Runners have an extraordinary ability to stop their Garmins. It becomes an instinct that overides other primal survival mechanisms. Rather than use my arms to brace myself against the fast approaching mass of bodies, I had reached down and stopped the watch. I suspect I might do the same should I run out into a road and see a perilously close vehicle in my peripheral vision. Where, once, my life might have flashed before my eyes, hopes and regrets all combined in one final vision of my existence, it's quite possible that I might simply reach down and squeeze that button, listening out for comforting beep that tells me my stats are secure.

So I turned the watched face upwards and stared through sweat-blinkered eyes at the multiple fields of information, as my brain processed the image and brought the appropriate digits into focus. There it was. 18 minutes 17 seconds. I had done it. Objective 1: go under 19 minutes. Objective 2: go under 18:30. Objective 3: run under 6-minute-mile pace. All three firmly tucked under my belt. I'd knocked a massive 73 seconds off my previous 5k PB. 73 whole seconds!

I basked in that glory for a full 15 minutes. Enough time to return to the registration desk and hand in my barcode for my result to be recorded. Enough time to announce my achievement to the few fellow runners who had finished before me, most of whom made manly noises and gave me an upside down handshake, the kind that's compulsory in the sporting fraternity. Enough time to inform the man behind the desk that I'd never gone sub-six in a race before and be told, “It's not a race, it's a run.” He had a twinkle in his eye as he said it, but I'd happily have poked that twinkle out. That was a race, my friend, that was a race.

And it was enough time to get thinking. 18:17, that's very close to 18 minutes. What if I'd stuck with that guy who came past and still put in the sprint finish? What if I'd hung on a bit with the front runners earlier on? What if I trained for another month? What if? And thus I'd moved on. I'd been satisfied for 15 minutes, but no longer, because sub-18 was my new goal. I'd just knocked 73 seconds off my PB, surely I could find another 17? I was incomplete again. Such is the life of a runner.

David Castle, Editor of Running Fitness Magazine, gives me some advice

Still on the trail of good advice in the wide world of running wisdom, I got in touch with David Castle, editor of Running Fitness Magazine. Refreshingly, David was a bit more cautious than some others I have contacted, noting that we're still gathering data on the long term effects of exclusively minimalist running.

Here's what he had to say:

"...my best advice would be to find a nice flat field and a pair of shoes that are minimalist rather than barefoot. It all depends on what you wear at the moment. Going from a 12mm drop shoe to 0mm drop shoe is very extreme and unless you are a very efficient runner, you will create all sorts of problems. Research your shoe choice well and find one that suits you, not one recommended by someone else."

The eagle eyed will notice that I'm currently going against almost all his advice! So I need to have a bit of a think about that.

But I can see where he is coming from, especially considering the difference between a 12mm drop and a true minimalist shoe. I think the way it might affect me has a lot do with what I'm trying to achieve. The more I reflect on the whole subject, the more I feel I am open to a life in barefoot shoes, but I'm chiefly concerned with remodelling my running 'form'. For me, that's the purpose of changing the shoe. I imagine that, rather than staying completely minimalist, I might eventually end up running in something that has a zero drop but does offer some cushioning. That way I'm not constantly pounding my feet against concrete and tarmac with nothing in between. This would disappoint some purists but it seems to me the most sensible route - harnessing the advantages while adding a layer of protection. This way, barefoot running is not an end in itself, which ought to allow me operate with a certain level of common sense about the whole thing.

I noticed this edition has 'The Queen of
Ultras' as a headline. I think Barrow's
own Helen James is currently staking a
claim for that title!

David Castle is the editor of Running Fitness, one of those publications I read from time to time. There's a man on Loughborough market who sells old copies of magazines for £1 each. It's great if you fancy picking up something to read and you don't mind if they are two or three months out of date. Most magazines probably fall into that category, unless they are Heat or its equivalent (which I don't read, let's just clear that up...). So when he has a batch of Running Fitness I buy a few at a time. I picked up the January '13 edition last week, with articles all about winter running. Given that my most recent race was cancelled due to snow, it still feels highly relevant.

In the past I have subscribed to Runner's World and there is certainly a contrast between the two titles. RW is snappier, flashier, with more graphics and shorter articles. It always has things aimed at the new runner, though I still enjoy the various features. It's thicker, so it packs more in. Runner's Fitness feels like it's just a little bit more serious, a little bit more highbrow. The articles are often slightly longer, somehow deeper. I feel they resonate with me as a 'thinking runner', as if it is put together by people who really know how runners tick. Clearly I prefer it! (I'm not sure I'd worked that out until I started typing this…) So next time I subscribe to something it should be to RF. But, let's be honest, if they keep appearing for £1 on Loughborough market that subscription might not happen anytime soon.

Running cadence and breathing patterns

Yesterday's club run was a good one. One of those where a few people turned up who are all a bit quicker than me, but who I can just hang on to for a decent tempo run. I always think of a tempo run as one where I'm working hard and I definitely want to slow down - I usually pray there'll be heavy traffic as we approach a road crossing, or that someone's shoelace will come undone - but I know I can keep going. It's real effort, but its sustainable. And if you can find a few people who find it a little bit easier than you, they won't let you slow down when you're starting to suffer.

I have a fairly consistent breathing pattern on these tempo runs. The first 3/4 of a mile or so I'm breathing freely, unaware of any pattern, feeling light and strong. And then as I start working a little harder I settle into a 3-steps-in 2-steps-out rhythm.

I don't know if everybody breathes in time to their running but I certainly do. I wonder if it is because I'm a musician and I can't help but fall in line with whatever I'm hearing - I'm one of those people who walks in time to supermarket music thinking he looks cool. Often when I'm running, a song will get into my head, with a small section going round and round in time to my steps. Its not unusual for it to be a song I don't really know. The other week I had Rihanna (I think it's Rihanna) singing, 'please don't stop the music, the music, the music, please don't stop the music, the music…' round and round and I couldn't shake it. Awful. If I'd know the rest of the song I'd at least have had a modicum of variety.

Anyway, for effort running, I begin with a 5 beat rhythm - 3 in, 2 out - and it seems to work. As the run progresses and I find it increasingly difficult to get enough oxygen in, I switch to a more simple 2-in 2-out pattern. And I usually stick with this until the end.

The thought that struck me yesterday while we were running was: what will happen to my breathing pattern if I switch to a 180bpm cadence? I'm currently at somewhere around 150bpm (I know, I timed it today) When my cadence increases, will I continue to breathe in time to my steps, in the same patterns, and end up hyperventilating? Or will I have to find a new rhythm? I'm not sure I could manage to breathe at all on a run without reference to my cadence. This could be a disaster. But I suppose it might at least put a stop to that Rihanna song...

Video: Adharanand Finn talks barefoot shoes on the Guardian website

Thanks to my friend Ian Paterson for sending me this link. I would definitely recommend Adharanand's book 'Running with the Kenyans' if you're at all interested in running - interesting, witty, engaging, inspiring. I like the way that he has used super minimal shoes to learn, but ended up in something with a bit more cushioning once his technique has changed. That sounds quite sensible to me.

Advice from Chris Adams, 'The Running Coach' (and a bit about my experiences attempting to ski)

In my ongoing quest to gather the world's wisdom on barefoot running, I asked Chris Adams, otherwise known as The Running Coach, a Vivobarefoot certified coach from Chesterfield for his top tip. Here is his sage advice:

"My advice would be understand what you are trying to achieve from the transition, why you are attempting this and how much you are prepared to work at it. Learning any skill requires time, patience and practice, as well as conditioning your body to support this if this involves a physical activity; which of course running does.

Simply put, practicing barefoot running is teaching yourself the skill of running again. For example, if you have been running incorrectly for 25years, whilst you can be taught the skill in a day's session, your body will not adjust so quickly and your coach should help you identify the area's you need to strengthen, increase flexibility, and the tell tale signs to look out for during your training/adaptation." 

The main point that struck me here is the way Chris talks about the role of the coach. I suppose he would, being a coach, but it makes sense. I'm the kind of person who likes to do a lot of research (you may have spotted that by now) and then go out and try to put it all together on my own. But there is a lot to be said for someone with more knowledge and experience than you looking on and identifying weaknesses and errors. I'll give you an example:

I recently went skiing for the first time. In Cyprus, would you believe. There is a tiny handful of slopes in the mountains, in the middle of the island, and it is not unknown for holiday makers to ski in the morning and sunbathe on the beach in the afternoon. Fortunately, I was there with my friend Steve who is a level-something qualified ski instructor and all round good guy. He started me off with the snow plough, as any good instructor will do, and we'd progressed to going down a short run by the afternoon. Good progress you say - I doubt I was ready, but we were only planning one day so I needed to feel like I'd done some actual skiing.

But I was struggling with agonising cramping in my hips every time I tried to hold the snow plough position. I couldn't understand how everybody was doing it so easily and painlessly. This was until Steve took the liberty of filming me and playing it back. I discovered that my version involved holding my knees together as if tied with a rope and splaying my legs outwards. It was utterly bizarre and not entirely physically possible. I had no idea I was doing it and, if that's my usual level of leg control, it's a wonder I can run in a straight line! But having somebody with more knowledge and experience looking on meant he could spot my mistakes and help me to correct them. I can now confirm that skiing is considerably easier if you don't hold your knees together.

So, the question is - will I involve a coach, or do I back myself to learn the technique from videos and websites? I'm assuming that it does come naturally to a certain extent. That's part of the reason for changing to minimalist shoes - they insist on a different style. But how will I ensure that I'm not learning some new, bad habits? I guess Chesterfield isn't that far away, I could consider a trip for a training session. But I am a reluctant spender (I also don't know right now what it would cost, there are no prices on the website). The simpler alternative is to ask the coaches at Barrow Runners to help. They're not barefoot specialists, but they will know how to identify bad running technique. In the end it's the technique, not the shoe, that makes the runner and plenty of faster runners already effectively employ a barefoot technique.

Or perhaps I'll ask Steve to film me, and discover that I run with my knees joined together too. Now that would be worth putting on youtube...

This barefoot runner's strengthening exercises

The importance of strengthening exercises when you first take up barefoot running is well documented. It's important because you're ultimately asking your feet to do things they're not used to. They may have been designed to do these things, but if you've been avoiding using your foot muscles properly for the last 30 years as I have, they're going to need some strengthening.

One of the hardest things about doing strengthening exercises is that, unless you're bench pressing hundreds of pounds,* you don't feel like you're doing much. You have to trust in the program to some extent, believing that it will ultimately make a difference. I don't think my feet are going to end up looking ripped. *this demonstrates what I know about bench pressing. Do people bench press hundreds of pounds?

I already do quite a lot of running (usually somewhere between 20 and 40 miles a week) so I naturally assume my feet/ankles/legs are quite strong. But I'm reminding myself that this is about strengthening the lesser used muscles and that I have to assume I'm not strong until I've done them.

Having done some digging around, I've decided to go with this set that I found on the Vibram Five Fingers website (you have to scroll down the page a bit to find them). They suggest doing them for two weeks prior to actually doing any running, and then making them part of your warm up. Inevitably, I've adapted them a little (does anyone actually follow exercise programs to the letter?), but it's broadly the same. You'd need to visit their site to see the pictures, and set it in the context of their general advice. My account below describes what I did and how it felt. I can't guarantee it's what they actually had in mind!

Here's what I did today:

1) Heel raise/calf stretch

Vibram do these on a flat surface, but I've been doing these on a stair for some time so I've carried on with that. You stand with the balls of both feet on the edge of the stair and then push up until you are on tip toe. At that point you lift one foot off the ground (holding on to bannister) and lower yourself down on the other until your heel is below the level of the step. Then, use both feet to push yourself back up again and repeat. I'm doing this in 3 sets of 20 for each foot, with a 45 second recovery period between sets. 

I remember when I first did this that sets of 10 seemed like plenty, and my calfs would begin to burn a bit towards the end. Now I can fairly happily do 3 sets of 20, so it has presumably been paying off. 

2) Toe grip

Foot flat on the carpet (you really need to use carpet here or there is nothing to grip). Use the toes to grab at the carpet and pull it back towards your heel. You notice that your foot is arching considerably, and I suppose this is a lot of the point. Most people's feets have arches that are much flatter than they could be, so this points towards developing a stronger, more arched foot. For the first set of 20 I did the feet individually but, after a 45 second rest, I couldn't see any particular reason I shouldn't do both feet at once. I could certainly feel the strain towards the end, and the slightly annoying habit of my feet to cramp if I curl them up too much. It will be interesting to see if strengthening/flexing my feet reduces this tendency.

3) Dorsiflexion/Plantarflexion

Sitting on a chair, feet off the floor, flex your foot upwards, bringing your toes back up towards your knees and feeling the squeeze on the front of your ankles and calves. Then stretch your feet out forward with the toes pointing away and down. Full range of motion in both directions. Again, 3x20. I did these a little while ago, and I can still feel a light soreness in my lower shins.

4) Toespread/Toetap

 I have to be honest, I couldn't work this one out from the pictures on the website. So I did a toe spread - basically lifting my feet up and spreading my toes out as far as they would go - and then tried to mimic  drumming fingers on a table, using my toes on the floor. I went in a different direction each time (big toe to little toe, then vice versa). I'm not quite sure yet what this is doing, but it will be interesting to see whether the drumming on the carpet becomes more coordinated/stronger.

5) Eversion/Inversion

Standing up, rock both feet inward as far as you can until you are resting on your heel and the outer ball of your foot. And then outwards to the opposite extreme. This was quite hard to do, so I did 15 ins and 15 outs in each rep, both feet simultaneously. Again, as I just ran through this now to type it, I could feel the soreness in my outer shin.

6) Sock pass

Vibram do this with a towel, but I didn't have one handy so I used one of the socks I just taken off. Sitting down, pick up the sock with the toes of one foot (gripping under the toes rather than between them). Then pass it to the other foot before finally putting it down on the floor. Start again with the opposite foot and pass it back. I was very aware how uncoordinated my feet are, I'm hoping that they might learn to do this quite naturally eventually.

7) Squat (I added this one)

Finally, I did a squat as a heel stretch. Stand with feet about shoulder width apart, pressure more on the balls than the heels. Then squat right down to the floor, keep the heels on the ground, but still effectively standing on the balls. I held it for 30 seconds then stood up and repeated. This flexibility in the heel seems important for barefoot running, so this is a good stretch to keep them flexible. I'm told that not everybody will be able to do this first time, so I feel especially lucky that I can.

So that's the first set of exercises done. I'm not the best at keeping up with exercise programs, but I can usually manage two weeks. So I'll be doing these every other day for those two weeks and see what effect it appears to have.