Nature's first green is gold...

16 days until the Boston marathon.

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This will be a somewhat personal post, so if you aren't really interested in that type of stuff, please feel free to stop reading.

The marathon is just over two weeks away, and I have my number.

My excitement has been muted, however, by concern for my father.

He's 72, and his health has been declining in the past few years. Recently, because of his many problems, he's had difficulty walking, and as of two weeks ago he has obtained a wheelchair. There's been some discussion of him having to move to a nursing home.

But he's continuing to have other problems. Last week there was some problem with his feet. Yesterday he was taken to the hospital because he was weak and nauseous. He's back home, I think, but I don't have any details.

So I've had some background anxiety. When I get to work and check my e-mail, I half-expect some additional worrisome news from my family.

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Last weekend I did my last really long run - 22 miles. Most of this was along a canal that runs through our town all the way to Old City. It was slightly breezy, but the daffodils were out. Spring seems to be coming as slowly as possible this year.

Half-marathons are hard!

29 days until the Boston marathon.

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The gun went and the crowd surged forward.

I was towards the front of the 901 runners in the Alloa Half Marathon. It was overcast, drizzling lightly, and cool. Perfect for running. I wore a short-sleeve synthetic shirt, running shorts, socks and the newish running shoes that I'll wear in Boston. The timing chip was strapped to my left leg, just above my ankle-length sock.

I crossed the start line and started the chronometer on my watch.

I ran with the crowd, and consciously took the first mile easy. 7:06. This was a touch too easy maybe; to break 1:30, my goal, I needed to run 6:52 miles. On the other hand, it was useful to go out easy and have some gas in the tank for the later miles.

I tried to pick up the pace slightly in mile 2, and it came in at 7:02.

In mile 3 I picked out a runner who had passed me, and tried to stay with him. He was wearing black shorts and a black shirt and was older, or maybe my age. His calf muscles were thinner than you usually see in a distance runner. He was running a good pace though.

Mile 3 had a bit of uphill, and came in 7:17. I was certainly off pace, and was beginning to think it might not be my day.

In mile 4 I felt like I was picking up the pace. It too had some uphill, but also some downhill. The guy in black was pulling away. I was disappointed to see it come in at 7:18. Was I really that far off pace? It felt like I was running hard, but the clock was telling a different story.

Mile 5 contained a steady downhill. I strided out a bit, and felt that I was running as fast as I dared this early in the race. It came in at 6:27. All was forgiven - I'd cancelled out one of those previous slow miles.

The course descended into a village at the base of a local range of hills. The guy in black seemed to be slowing a bit, and as the route turned to follow a different road, I caught him.

The route was mostly flat for the next four miles, with only an occasional rise or dip. Mile 6 was 6:50.

I started picking people off. I fixate on the person in front of me, close the gap, and then pass. It was a gradual process. 7 came in at 6:58.

Mile 8 contained a short out-and-back on an adjacent road to make the correct distance. I knew this was coming from last year and sped up a bit. 8 must have had a gradual downhill as it came in at 6:16.

Mile 9 had the steepest climb of the race as the route turned back towards Alloa. I was passed by one or two people on the hill, and the mile came in at 7:07.

The 10th mile leveled out a bit, and I caught the guys who'd passed me. It came in at 6:53.

In mile 11 I caught a young guy who looked like a footballer. Now I was running hard. We passed the mile marker together, and I remarked that there were just two to go now. He grunted his assent. The mile came in at 6:49.

The route was now level, or slightly downhill. I passed one or two people, and was now occasionally passed by runner who were opening it up here towards the end. The pace was appreciably quick now. 12 came in at 6:43.

The last full mile. I was tiring now, but able to hold my pace. When I'd first done this race two years ago I'd suffered at this point with iliotibial band pain and fatigue. I'd thought then that I was so happy not be thinking about a full marathon.

This year I was in the midst of marathon training. 13 came in at 6:51. I still couldn't see the turn towards the finish line, but shortly after the mile marker I started to kick. I passed a few runners, and made the final turn towards the end. There was a guy in front of me, and I got close, but didn't pass him.

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I'd finished in 1:30:49, 163rd out of 901 runners. I'd failed to break 1:30. Worse, I don't think I could have run any harder - I was at or near my capacity for this route.

But I'm 45 years old. This was a personal best time for the half-marathon, which, admittedly, I'd only started doing two years ago. I can't be too disappointed.

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Hmmm.... wonder if I could break 1:30 on a flatter course.

It's not long now...

37 days until the Boston marathon.

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Somehow, the marathon is almost here.

Reluctlantly, I'm forced to concede that the bulk of my training is done.

I'm going to try for another 20 miler this weekend, and then I'm doing a half-marathon race next weekend, then a 20 miler the weekend after this, and then tapering. So, really, just two more proper long runs for this training cycle.

As usual, I don't feel particularly ready, but when I think about it I have done a lot of running. Listening to various running podcasts on my way to and from work, and particularly Marathon Talk, has made me feel that others do much more mileage. I wonder though, if running time, rather than mileage, might be a more appropriate comparison. My suspicion is that it may be easier to book higher mileages if your baseline pace is fast.

For me, it has been challeng to get out as much as I do now, with work, and my children. I had a good 20-miler last weekend, so if I can book one or two more of these, I'll be more confident.

My goal for Boston is to enjoy it. (OK, I'd like to run a good race, and break my marathon personal best as well.)

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This morning we woke to snow, and a few inches have accumulated since that time. The snow is wet, and walking across our deck I left slushy footprints.

Racing in the street

47 days until the Boston marathon.

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I'm part of an informal running club in my town. We run on Tuesday evenings, doing a 6-mile loop through town, and on Sunday mornings, doing a loop through a nearby woodland park.

The Tuesday runs are faster than the Sunday runs. Often, one or another runner will be feeling good, and will start to push the pace a bit midway through the run. On other occasions, it will be pretty fast from the start.

This past Tuesday the pace at the start was reasonable. I chatted with one or the other runners, and at about the midway point one runner, G., started pulling away. G. is older than me, but we run at about the same level.

I was feeling good, and wanted to keep him in sight.

He slowed a bit at the top of a hill, and another runner and I caught up with him. We ran together for a bit, and then the other runner pulled off to head home. G. picked up the pace and began pulling away again.

Another runner, A., caught up with me and we chatted. G. had now opened up a sizeable gap, and I started to pick up my pace.

A. is the fastest runner in the club, and likes to compete. There was little over a mile left of our loop, and to catch G. we had to start making up some ground.

We worked together. He'd set a fast pace for a bit, and then I'd surge ahead with a fast stretch. We began to close the gap.

We crossed a street, and G. looked back and saw us. He sped up.

It was cold out, but I was sweating hard. We had less than a half-mile to go, and we were running all out. G. was going hard; A. was on his tail, but couldn't catch him, and I was running fast, but couldn't stay with A.

G. finished first, A., second, and I came in, breathing hard, just after. On A.'s watch, we'd run the last mile in under 6 minutes. We shook hands.

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The sun is now gaining some strength, and the weekend before last we visited the castle ruins in our town. My son and daughter enjoyed running through the various passageways, and sun made the stone walls seem warm. My son couldn't resist peering over the walls at the rooms below.

A run along the coast

59 days until the Boston Marathon.

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My alarm went off at 6. Reluctlantly, I got out of bed, gathered my running clothes, and took them to the sitting room to dress. We were staying in a small chalet, and I didn't want to wake my wife by dressing in the bedroom.

The chalet was cold as we had turned down the heat for the night. It was near the coast of Scotland, and we'd travelled there for a long weekend during the children's half-term holiday. (Half-term is a week off from school, for no apparent reason, half-way through the school term. I don't remember such breaks when I was a child; I suppose it's a British tradition.)

I made a cup of coffee, and ate a cinnamon whirl that was left in the kitchen. The children started stirring a bit, perhaps excited by waking somewhere new, and I told them it was too early to get up. They agreed, and closed their shared bedroom door, but I could their quiet conversation continuing.

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It was dark outside, and cold. It had rained the night before, but this had cleared, and now the road was icy in places. I had gloves on, but my fingertips were cold.

The road was a single lane farm track. I chose to stay on this, rather than head onto busier roads, as I was unlikely to encounter any traffic. I left a bottle of diluted juice and a snack bar behind a sign near the side of the road. My plan was to run to the end of the track - about four miles - and then back, and then do it all again.

What does one think about on a long run? Initially, I thought about how unnatural it was to be up and running in the dark. It was almost if you are running in secret. I then thought about how, as I age - I'm nearly 45 now - my preferences have insensibly become more domestic, maybe more staid. For example, air travel used to be wholly exciting for me, and it still is to an extent. But now it's tinged with a dread of jet-lag and the fatigue of travel.

The road led through pastures and bits of wood, with only the occasional house. Suddenly, at a curve in the road, I could smell the sea. It was dark out still, but there was a light from a small boat in the bay. A low cloud hung over open water at the end of the bay.

Up ahead was a light near the shore. As I approached, I could see that it was a red telephone booth, with a light on inside. Next to it were lobster traps and buoys. One could leave the phone booth and in five strides be on the water's edge.

The road narrowed, and ended in a fenced driveway. I turned, and headed back the other way as it started to get light.

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Later, after the run and breakfast, we took the children to a sea-life center. It had a trail next to the shore, and I took a picture of a fishing boat anchored a short distance away.

The dark days are ending

67 days until the Boston marathon. Oh my.

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Scotland is unexpectedly north. I mean, if you were to draw a horizontal circle around the globe from where I live, you'd hit Hudson Bay and southern Alaska.

As a consequence, although we don't get unduly cold winters (because of the Gulf stream), we do get the short days, long nights, and the low sun associated with northern latitudes.

December is fine. You get to the shortest day before you know it, perhaps because of the pre-holiday build-up. A tradition here that I've particularly enjoyed is the boozy Christmas party at work.

But then comes January. It's dark. It's usually rainy. And even when the sun is up, it's so low in the sky that it gives little warmth or brightness.

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I went for run at lunch-time today, as it was my only chance for the day.

I jogged from the building where I work, across a few blocks, and headed into the park in the center of Old City.

For the first time in awhile, the sun was out, and the light felt warm on my face. I seemed to hear birds for the first time this winter. It wasn't spring, but there was a noticeable difference in the air. As I ran around the park, I took off my head-band and gloves because I was warm.

As I rounded one turn in the park, I startled some sea gulls who had been resting in a pond there. They took flight. The light was good, and a bit of sea was visible in the distance, so I stopped and took a photo.

Running in the rain

73 days until the Boston marathon.

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I've had a tired, rainy week of running. Last Sunday night I did a 16.2 mile long run. It was made up of three of my 5.4 mile town loops. I felt good - even strong - on the second loop. I listened to The Extra Mile and Pheddipidations podcasts while I trotted away. On the final lap, however, my pace slowed dramatically in the last two miles. I wasn't at the wall, but it was a tired finish.

Monday was my scheduled day off.

Tuesday was my regular full-court basketball game with friends from work. There were only six of us, so there was a fair bit of running in the hour and a half we played. I count this as cross training.

Wednesday I did an 8-mile run on The Road - a long hilly road behind my workplace - with my Work Friend. It was raining and dark, and on the four-mile outbound segment, my legs were tired. On the way back, we faced a stiff wind. My nylon running trousers were soaked and stuck to my cold legs. My fingertips were numb. There was nothing to do but to keep moving. Afterwards, we enjoyed a welcome pint in the pub.

On Thursday the rain was coupled with gale-force winds. My active pair of running shoes were still wet from the day before, so I put on an older pair. I was intitially thinking an easy-paced town loop, but was slightly worried about falling branches near the loch. Instead I did four miles through some of the neighbourhoods in town.

Today, Friday, my wife was leaving for a work trip in the evening, so I had to run at lunchtime. There's a track near where I work, and I did a warmup mile, and then 7 Yassos (800 meters hard, with a 400 meter recovery). There was a driving rain, and for half of each lap around the track I headed into the wind. My clothes were wet, and I felt tired. Near the end of these intervals, however, I did start to feel a little stronger.

So, I've been getting my runs in, but they haven't felt easy.

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Tonight, I'm going to relax with my current book, Life of Pi, and a beer.