Unfortunately not a homage to one of the finest Jamaican Bob-sled inspired films to grace the cinema, but some musings on extreme running…
"Every time your foot hits the tarmac, the equivalent of 84 stone (that’s six grown men) thuds through your fibula and tibia. Knee joints grind against each other; the tissue of your meniscus cartilage tears and bleeds internally. For the body to work at its optimum, the temperature of your legs must rise from 37° C to 38° C - making the first five miles torture. As lactic acid accrues in your muscle cells, each stride burns like fire. Blisters throb and burst painfully; toenails bleed; your heart palpitates as the right ventricle weakens with the effort. At mile 12, with your blood sugar levels depleted, you’ll hit ‘the wall’ - as your body is forced to cannibalise your fat reserves to produce energy. If you last until the 20-mile mark, even your mind will start playing tricks on you - the analytical right-hand side of your brain telling your information-gathering left-hand side to just stop. Why don’t you walk?"
Yes! Why don’t you just walk. For god sakes please walk.
Running, even the perhaps limited experience of it I have garnered from my uni gym’s treadmill, can be a cathartic experience. However, after reading this little intro of an article in January’s edition of FHM (an unexpected delight) in which the unnamed writer goes on to interview the "possibly insane" long distance runner Dean Karnazes, to whom this 20-mile opener (or more specifically the 26.2 miles of a marathon) is described as "a mere jog to the corner shop for a Twix" I am less inclined to pursue my dreams of running myself fit around the lauded British countryside, and am more attracted by the idea of copping a lift round the shop for that aforementioned chocolatey snack.
The flight side of the biological human reflex fight or flight, running is second nature though it seems such an unnecessarily painful endurance for the body. This year on 7th April, 38 runners in temperatures as low as -36C completed a marathon in the North Pole, including British man Ted Jackson (see above). I think this man is crazy; the accompanying picture does not discourage this suspicion.
"Every time your foot hits the tarmac, the equivalent of 84 stone (that’s six grown men) thuds through your fibula and tibia. Knee joints grind against each other; the tissue of your meniscus cartilage tears and bleeds internally. For the body to work at its optimum, the temperature of your legs must rise from 37° C to 38° C - making the first five miles torture. As lactic acid accrues in your muscle cells, each stride burns like fire. Blisters throb and burst painfully; toenails bleed; your heart palpitates as the right ventricle weakens with the effort. At mile 12, with your blood sugar levels depleted, you’ll hit ‘the wall’ - as your body is forced to cannibalise your fat reserves to produce energy. If you last until the 20-mile mark, even your mind will start playing tricks on you - the analytical right-hand side of your brain telling your information-gathering left-hand side to just stop. Why don’t you walk?"
Yes! Why don’t you just walk. For god sakes please walk.
Running, even the perhaps limited experience of it I have garnered from my uni gym’s treadmill, can be a cathartic experience. However, after reading this little intro of an article in January’s edition of FHM (an unexpected delight) in which the unnamed writer goes on to interview the "possibly insane" long distance runner Dean Karnazes, to whom this 20-mile opener (or more specifically the 26.2 miles of a marathon) is described as "a mere jog to the corner shop for a Twix" I am less inclined to pursue my dreams of running myself fit around the lauded British countryside, and am more attracted by the idea of copping a lift round the shop for that aforementioned chocolatey snack.
The flight side of the biological human reflex fight or flight, running is second nature though it seems such an unnecessarily painful endurance for the body. This year on 7th April, 38 runners in temperatures as low as -36C completed a marathon in the North Pole, including British man Ted Jackson (see above). I think this man is crazy; the accompanying picture does not discourage this suspicion.
Apart from skeletal and joint damage running can cause the body in regular conditions, especially on hard surfaces, running in extreme temperatures such as the Antarctic puts enormous strain on the heart, presents the possibilities of hypothermia and frostbite, and, without protective goggles, the reflection of the suns ultraviolet rays will effectively cause sunburn to the cornea leading to possible permanent vision loss.
All this sounds invariably like scare-mongering I’m sure, and on the rare occasions I’ll mosey up to the gym I’ll still run the obligatory 20 minutes, and I’ll be feeling the tightening in the backs of my calves, and the burning in my throat, and the banging of my little heart that doesn’t know what its done to deserve this pounding. I used to sprint at school, I chose running over everything else on sportsday, but running like this is not for me. So I’ll come wobbling off that glorified conveyor belt and think if I’m going to be insane for something, it’s not going to be this.
All this sounds invariably like scare-mongering I’m sure, and on the rare occasions I’ll mosey up to the gym I’ll still run the obligatory 20 minutes, and I’ll be feeling the tightening in the backs of my calves, and the burning in my throat, and the banging of my little heart that doesn’t know what its done to deserve this pounding. I used to sprint at school, I chose running over everything else on sportsday, but running like this is not for me. So I’ll come wobbling off that glorified conveyor belt and think if I’m going to be insane for something, it’s not going to be this.
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