So I'm eating to a deficit again. In other words, I'm trying to lose weight.
There are two main reasons for this.
Firstly, my "I can eat anything I want, I just ran a half marathon" mentality has caught up with me, and I have gained 3.5 lbs (1.6 kg). Okay, I know it doesn't sound much, but I would much rather cut down for a couple of weeks to lose a lb or two than go for months on end trying to lose a good few stone. So, I'm nipping it in the bud.
Secondly, I have a beach holiday coming up. A PROPER beach holiday, with sand and sunshine and everything.
So, I have bought myself *deep breath*... a bikini.
I haven't worn a bikini in four years.
Needless to say, I am feeling a little apprehensive about the whole thing. So, if cutting down my calorie intake and ramping up my exercise regime for a couple of weeks is going to give my confidence a boost, I see no harm in it. Besides, I'm probably going to put all the weight right back on with all that scrummy holiday food! :p
Things are going well so far. I've been running a deficit of 500 kcals a day and combining it with Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred (review to come). After seven days, I have lost 2 lbs (nearly a kilo), although some of that is probably water weight, because a 500 kcal deficit is only supposed to lead to a 1 lb per week loss.
Still, if I continue like this, I am well on track on getting back to my ideal weight before I jet off.
Happy days! :D
Sunday 29 April 2012
Saturday 28 April 2012
My finish line photo
For your viewing pleasure.
If that's not the face of a WINNER, I don't know what is!
Sorry I've been off the grid for a while, more robust post coming soon. Promise! :)
If that's not the face of a WINNER, I don't know what is!
Sorry I've been off the grid for a while, more robust post coming soon. Promise! :)
Monday 16 April 2012
Rock 'n' Roll Edinburgh
Yesterday I finished my second race, and this time, it was on my home turf. Beautiful, sunny Edinburgh!
Conditions were pretty perfect, the sun was shining but there was a fair nip in the air. A bit on the chilly side if you were standing around, but once you got moving the cool breeze was really refreshing.
Mr MFC and I gathered at the starting line. Yup, despite medical advice to keep off his sore foot, he decided to run. I would have scolded him for it, but I am hardly one to talk. When I lined up for my last race, I had a sore throat and a tight chest. But, just like me, he doesn't let a little niggle keep him away from an event.
Still, I tried my best to be protective. "Now, seen as you haven't been running in a while," I said, finger wagging and all, "it's more important than ever that you PACE YOURSELF. If you want, you can stick with me for the first 5km, then if you're feeling good, you can run off at your own pace."
Mr MFC nodded solemnly, but after the starting gun fired, I could tell he was having none of it. He wanted to run at his own pace from the beginning, and unfortunately, his pace is a lot faster than mine. After about 500m he was nothing but a dot in the distance.
He wasn't the only one. For the first km or so, everyone around me was drifting forward. I was being overtaken en masse. But, the 'start slow and steady' strategy served me well in Paris, so I wasn't going to change it just to save face.
Instead, I let a knowing smirk flicker across my lips and muttered under my breath, "yup, see you all again at the 10th kilometre!"
Sure enough, the pack started to slow down, and I started to pick them off one by one. It was satisfying overtaking runners that had raced past me in the opening stretch, and from about the 2nd kilometre to the 16th, I felt pretty good.
It was a huge boon when I saw my Mum and Dad at around kilometre 10. I stopped momentarily for hugs and such, but I was soon on my way again. "I've got a personal best to beat!" I shouted at them over my shoulder as I ran off.
I looked at my watch. I was making really good time. I had cracked 10k in just over an hour. My official Parisian time was 2 hours 22 minutes, and at the halfway point, I was on track to beat it.
But it was a tough course. While the first half was relatively flat, the second half was chock full of ups and downs. We went though Holyrood park, a familiar training route for me, but it was odd running along the old roads in a completely different context. Then we turned into the Old Town, and I started to pay for my ambitious pace earlier.
I hit the wall. My breath became harder to catch and my legs started to feel heavy. Despite this, I powered on. I noticed a lot of my fellow runners stop and walk, but I kept running.
I think it's a stupid, personal, psychological thing, but I have never stopped to walk in the middle of a run since I completed the Couch to 5k. I have just got this idea lodged in my brain that if I stop to walk, I'll never start running again. I'm sure it's a completely ludicrous notion but that's why you'll never see me walking until I have crossed that finish line.
A goal time started to form in my head with around 6km to go - I reckon that if I pushed hard right until the very end, I could complete the course in under 2 and a quarter hours.
I started to do the maths in my head - I was running a pace of around 6.30 minutes per km. If I kept that pace up then pushed a little harder at the end, the 2.15 goal was achievable.
But, the constant up and downs of the Old Town took its toll. Every time I looked down at my Garmin, I could see my initial strong pace slip away. 6.49 per km, 6.58 per km, 7.04 per km.
Ah screw it, I thought. I was shattered. If I could beat my Parisian time, which I was still well on track to do, I would be happy. I resigned myself to my new goal, and plodded along fairly contently.
I don't know what happened, I must have got a second wind or something, but with 2km to go my pace started to pick up again. Soon enough, I was running a solid 6 min per kilometre. At 2 hours 5 minutes in, a little glimmer of hope appeared at the back of my mind. If I pushed it, I mean, REALLY pushed it, I could maybe pull the 2.15 goal off.
As I turned the corner onto the Royal Mile, I could hear spectators shouting "It's downhill until the finish!" My face cracked into a grin. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's how to milk those downhills for all that they're worth.
I lengthened my stride, shifted my body weight forward and let gravity do the rest. Soon I was weaving in and out of the slower runners, every so often glancing at my Garmin to check that I was on schedule. My pace shrank to a mere 5.18 per km. For me, that's fast. REALLY fast.
As I approached the bottom of the Royal Mile, the downhill started to flatten out, but I refused to break pace. With 500m and around two and a half minutes to go, I was going at a full on sprint. My legs were screaming, my chest was fit to burst, but I kept going. By the time I was on the finishing stretch, my eyes were fixed on my Garmin. I watched the timer count up to 2 hours, 15 minutes. I had mere seconds to go. I kept going, and swept across the finish line with my face contorted into a fierce, rabid snarl.
I looked down at my watch one final time, and stopped the timer.
2 hours, 14 minutes, and 57 seconds.
I had made it, with 3 seconds to spare.
I let a high pitched cry of joy escape from my lungs. To hell with it, the people who had just seen me finish already knew that I was mental.
The next few minutes were a blur. I let my jellied legs take me through the finishers pen, where I collected my medal, wolfed down a couple of cereal bars and a banana, picked up a bottle of Powerade and let the marshals snip the official timing chip off my shoe.
My official time, incidentally, was 2:14:54. Three seconds quicker than my Garmin time. Mr MFC came in at 2 hours 4 minutes, which for him is slow, but considering he was recovering from an injury, it's certainly not to be sniffed at.
Before the Rock 'n' Roll, I thought that Paris had been my peak. I thought that in France, I was taken over by some mystical force that caused me to perform outwith my means, and I would never be able to pull a stunt like that ever again.
Clearly, happily, I was mistaken. This isn't my peak. This is just the beginning. While a sub-2:15 half marathon is a fantastic achievement for me today, five years from now I hope that I will be able to look back and laugh at such a paltry time.
With the right training, and the right mindset, I reckon a sub 2 hour marathon is totally achievable. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not this year, but in my lifetime, I reckon I can definitely do it.
And as for the full marathon distance? Well, watch this space.
You ain't seen nothing yet.
 |
| The weather is always like this. Honest! |
Mr MFC and I gathered at the starting line. Yup, despite medical advice to keep off his sore foot, he decided to run. I would have scolded him for it, but I am hardly one to talk. When I lined up for my last race, I had a sore throat and a tight chest. But, just like me, he doesn't let a little niggle keep him away from an event.
Still, I tried my best to be protective. "Now, seen as you haven't been running in a while," I said, finger wagging and all, "it's more important than ever that you PACE YOURSELF. If you want, you can stick with me for the first 5km, then if you're feeling good, you can run off at your own pace."
Mr MFC nodded solemnly, but after the starting gun fired, I could tell he was having none of it. He wanted to run at his own pace from the beginning, and unfortunately, his pace is a lot faster than mine. After about 500m he was nothing but a dot in the distance.
He wasn't the only one. For the first km or so, everyone around me was drifting forward. I was being overtaken en masse. But, the 'start slow and steady' strategy served me well in Paris, so I wasn't going to change it just to save face.
Instead, I let a knowing smirk flicker across my lips and muttered under my breath, "yup, see you all again at the 10th kilometre!"
Sure enough, the pack started to slow down, and I started to pick them off one by one. It was satisfying overtaking runners that had raced past me in the opening stretch, and from about the 2nd kilometre to the 16th, I felt pretty good.
 |
| Snapped on Daddy-cam! |
I looked at my watch. I was making really good time. I had cracked 10k in just over an hour. My official Parisian time was 2 hours 22 minutes, and at the halfway point, I was on track to beat it.
But it was a tough course. While the first half was relatively flat, the second half was chock full of ups and downs. We went though Holyrood park, a familiar training route for me, but it was odd running along the old roads in a completely different context. Then we turned into the Old Town, and I started to pay for my ambitious pace earlier.
I hit the wall. My breath became harder to catch and my legs started to feel heavy. Despite this, I powered on. I noticed a lot of my fellow runners stop and walk, but I kept running.
I think it's a stupid, personal, psychological thing, but I have never stopped to walk in the middle of a run since I completed the Couch to 5k. I have just got this idea lodged in my brain that if I stop to walk, I'll never start running again. I'm sure it's a completely ludicrous notion but that's why you'll never see me walking until I have crossed that finish line.
A goal time started to form in my head with around 6km to go - I reckon that if I pushed hard right until the very end, I could complete the course in under 2 and a quarter hours.
I started to do the maths in my head - I was running a pace of around 6.30 minutes per km. If I kept that pace up then pushed a little harder at the end, the 2.15 goal was achievable.
But, the constant up and downs of the Old Town took its toll. Every time I looked down at my Garmin, I could see my initial strong pace slip away. 6.49 per km, 6.58 per km, 7.04 per km.
Ah screw it, I thought. I was shattered. If I could beat my Parisian time, which I was still well on track to do, I would be happy. I resigned myself to my new goal, and plodded along fairly contently.
I don't know what happened, I must have got a second wind or something, but with 2km to go my pace started to pick up again. Soon enough, I was running a solid 6 min per kilometre. At 2 hours 5 minutes in, a little glimmer of hope appeared at the back of my mind. If I pushed it, I mean, REALLY pushed it, I could maybe pull the 2.15 goal off.
As I turned the corner onto the Royal Mile, I could hear spectators shouting "It's downhill until the finish!" My face cracked into a grin. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's how to milk those downhills for all that they're worth.
I lengthened my stride, shifted my body weight forward and let gravity do the rest. Soon I was weaving in and out of the slower runners, every so often glancing at my Garmin to check that I was on schedule. My pace shrank to a mere 5.18 per km. For me, that's fast. REALLY fast.
As I approached the bottom of the Royal Mile, the downhill started to flatten out, but I refused to break pace. With 500m and around two and a half minutes to go, I was going at a full on sprint. My legs were screaming, my chest was fit to burst, but I kept going. By the time I was on the finishing stretch, my eyes were fixed on my Garmin. I watched the timer count up to 2 hours, 15 minutes. I had mere seconds to go. I kept going, and swept across the finish line with my face contorted into a fierce, rabid snarl.
I looked down at my watch one final time, and stopped the timer.
2 hours, 14 minutes, and 57 seconds.
I had made it, with 3 seconds to spare.
I let a high pitched cry of joy escape from my lungs. To hell with it, the people who had just seen me finish already knew that I was mental.
The next few minutes were a blur. I let my jellied legs take me through the finishers pen, where I collected my medal, wolfed down a couple of cereal bars and a banana, picked up a bottle of Powerade and let the marshals snip the official timing chip off my shoe.
My official time, incidentally, was 2:14:54. Three seconds quicker than my Garmin time. Mr MFC came in at 2 hours 4 minutes, which for him is slow, but considering he was recovering from an injury, it's certainly not to be sniffed at.
Before the Rock 'n' Roll, I thought that Paris had been my peak. I thought that in France, I was taken over by some mystical force that caused me to perform outwith my means, and I would never be able to pull a stunt like that ever again.
Clearly, happily, I was mistaken. This isn't my peak. This is just the beginning. While a sub-2:15 half marathon is a fantastic achievement for me today, five years from now I hope that I will be able to look back and laugh at such a paltry time.
With the right training, and the right mindset, I reckon a sub 2 hour marathon is totally achievable. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not this year, but in my lifetime, I reckon I can definitely do it.
And as for the full marathon distance? Well, watch this space.
You ain't seen nothing yet.
Friday 13 April 2012
6 Treats Under 100 Calories
When I was losing weight, nothing gave me greater joy than discovering a food that was tasty but didn't have a lot of calories. Especially if it consisted of chocolate :)
Now, I know that there are a few "all or nothing" merchants out there, and if that works for you, then great. But I need my treats, however small, to keep me sane. If you deny yourself, then there's a strong possibility that one day you're going to fall off the wagon. Hard.
So here is a list of things that are really yummy, and under 100 calories. I've tried to stay away from fruit, health foods, "light" stuff and such, because these are generally marketed as "diet" food and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that most of these are under 100 kcals. No, I'm talking about the "hidden gems" that you might not necessarily realise are actually quite low in calories.
Now, these are proper treats, so they don't pack a very strong nutritional punch, and can be relatively quite high in fat and/or sugar, so you can certainly "spend" your allowance on healthier food. But will they sabotage your weight loss plan? Probably not.
1. Iced Gems (25g) - 98 kcals
2. Solero - 90 kcals
3. Cadbury Animals (22g) - 95 kcals
4. Twister - 85kcals
5. Haribo Starmix Mini Bag (20g) - 69 kcals
6. Smarties Fun Size Box - 67 kcals
These are just some starters for you, but I'm always on the lookout for more goodies! So if you know of any others, then please tell me about them in the comments.
Now, I know that there are a few "all or nothing" merchants out there, and if that works for you, then great. But I need my treats, however small, to keep me sane. If you deny yourself, then there's a strong possibility that one day you're going to fall off the wagon. Hard.
So here is a list of things that are really yummy, and under 100 calories. I've tried to stay away from fruit, health foods, "light" stuff and such, because these are generally marketed as "diet" food and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that most of these are under 100 kcals. No, I'm talking about the "hidden gems" that you might not necessarily realise are actually quite low in calories.
Now, these are proper treats, so they don't pack a very strong nutritional punch, and can be relatively quite high in fat and/or sugar, so you can certainly "spend" your allowance on healthier food. But will they sabotage your weight loss plan? Probably not.
1. Iced Gems (25g) - 98 kcals
Fat: 0.8g
Saturated Fat: 0.3g
 |
| Via |
2. Solero - 90 kcals
Fat: 2g
Saturated Fat: 1g
 |
| Via. |
3. Cadbury Animals (22g) - 95 kcals
Fat: 4g
Saturated Fat: 2g
 |
| Via |
4. Twister - 85kcals
Fat: 2g
Saturated Fat: 2g
 |
| Via |
5. Haribo Starmix Mini Bag (20g) - 69 kcals
Fat: 0.04g
Saturated Fat: 0.02g
 |
| Via |
6. Smarties Fun Size Box - 67 kcals
Fat: 3g
Saturated Fat: 2g
 |
| Via |
These are just some starters for you, but I'm always on the lookout for more goodies! So if you know of any others, then please tell me about them in the comments.
Tuesday 3 April 2012
A Tale of Two Climates
Okay so considering I'm just back from another sniffle, I had totally expected this week to be really easygoing. Unfortunately, it was not to be...
I had my usual 'long' run on Sunday, where I planned to run 18km (around 11 miles). For the most part, it was beautiful. The sun was shining, it was warm, but there was a little bit of a cool breeze, which is no bad thing when you're out and about.
In fact, I would go as far to say as conditions were ideal. I ended up going around my usual park route, through Holyrood Park and out towards Musselburgh before turning back home.
By the time I got to Musselburgh, I was feeling quite good, so I thought I would go exploring. You see, on my way back, there is a VERY busy junction where the city bypass meets the main road. Que a lot of stopping and starting, waiting on red lights and a LOT of last minute sprinting to catch the green man.
So I decided to give that part of my route a miss, and went down a mysterious cycle path instead. "Heck," I thought, "it's going in the same general direction I want to go in, I'll be fine".
Except I ended up getting lost. Oops. Fast forward through about 15 minutes running about a faceless suburbia, and I finally found my way back.
All in all, I ended up adding about a mile to my journey, which took my 18km run up to 20.5km. Another 600 metres, and I would have done a half marathon.
I was just lucky that the weather was pleasant that day and I was feeling pretty good - it wasn't until I got lost that morale started to dip and I got a bit fatigued.
But, I always say that you can never tell if it was a good run or not until after you've finished. Somehow, I was able to come straight in from my run, get showered and head on into town without so much as a second thought. So I was a little tired, but not TOO tired. That's the sweet spot, really.
So yeah, Sunday's run. Tough but in a good way. Meanwhile, this morning...
I only did 5km (3 miles), but it felt like 40. After our lovely weather last week, we have come back to reality with a snowy and windy bump.
It looked okay when I peeked out the window this morning, sure there was a little bit of drizzle, but nothing I hadn't dealt with before.
Then I stepped outside.
Even with my extra layers on, the wind had a fair bite on it. I think I did the fastest warm-up I have ever done, and actually found some relief when I started running and was able to get all the lovely warm blood around my veins.
My relief didn't last long, though. When I was about halfway through my circuit, the slight drizzle turned into a fully fledged snow blizzard. Welcome to Scotland, everyone.
I was ages away from home, so all I could do was run through it. I tried to run as fast as I could, telling myself that the faster I ran, the faster I could get back to my lovely warm flat.
Even though I lost most of the feeling in my face and lower limbs, I couldn't help feeling as hard as nails.
But no, seriously. I was crying inside.
It was so bad that I skipped the cool-down completely and ran straight home. There was no way I was spending a single SECOND longer than I had to in that weather.
So yeah. I nearly-half marathon and a blizzard run in the space of only three days. I think I deserve some man points, don't you?
I had my usual 'long' run on Sunday, where I planned to run 18km (around 11 miles). For the most part, it was beautiful. The sun was shining, it was warm, but there was a little bit of a cool breeze, which is no bad thing when you're out and about.
In fact, I would go as far to say as conditions were ideal. I ended up going around my usual park route, through Holyrood Park and out towards Musselburgh before turning back home.
By the time I got to Musselburgh, I was feeling quite good, so I thought I would go exploring. You see, on my way back, there is a VERY busy junction where the city bypass meets the main road. Que a lot of stopping and starting, waiting on red lights and a LOT of last minute sprinting to catch the green man.
So I decided to give that part of my route a miss, and went down a mysterious cycle path instead. "Heck," I thought, "it's going in the same general direction I want to go in, I'll be fine".
Except I ended up getting lost. Oops. Fast forward through about 15 minutes running about a faceless suburbia, and I finally found my way back.
All in all, I ended up adding about a mile to my journey, which took my 18km run up to 20.5km. Another 600 metres, and I would have done a half marathon.
I was just lucky that the weather was pleasant that day and I was feeling pretty good - it wasn't until I got lost that morale started to dip and I got a bit fatigued.
But, I always say that you can never tell if it was a good run or not until after you've finished. Somehow, I was able to come straight in from my run, get showered and head on into town without so much as a second thought. So I was a little tired, but not TOO tired. That's the sweet spot, really.
So yeah, Sunday's run. Tough but in a good way. Meanwhile, this morning...
I only did 5km (3 miles), but it felt like 40. After our lovely weather last week, we have come back to reality with a snowy and windy bump.
It looked okay when I peeked out the window this morning, sure there was a little bit of drizzle, but nothing I hadn't dealt with before.
Then I stepped outside.
Even with my extra layers on, the wind had a fair bite on it. I think I did the fastest warm-up I have ever done, and actually found some relief when I started running and was able to get all the lovely warm blood around my veins.
My relief didn't last long, though. When I was about halfway through my circuit, the slight drizzle turned into a fully fledged snow blizzard. Welcome to Scotland, everyone.
I was ages away from home, so all I could do was run through it. I tried to run as fast as I could, telling myself that the faster I ran, the faster I could get back to my lovely warm flat.
Even though I lost most of the feeling in my face and lower limbs, I couldn't help feeling as hard as nails.
But no, seriously. I was crying inside.
It was so bad that I skipped the cool-down completely and ran straight home. There was no way I was spending a single SECOND longer than I had to in that weather.
 |
| Running's actually really glamourous. (Nose starts growing) |
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