Category: Races

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An Idiot Abroad

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I have a thing about new clothes. I won’t buy any. I will buy bundles of boxers and party-packs of socks from time to time but that’s about it. I haven’t bought a t-shirt since I started running because I get all the tees I need from races. I have very occasionally bought a shirt in an emergency, usually after I’ve dribbled my lunchtime soup down the one I’m wearing or I’ve been caught in one of those rainstorms which soak me so completely that complete strangers are transfixed by the sight of my nipples and chest hair through the now-transparent fabric. Generally, however, I won’t buy new clothes.

I will buy second-hand clothes. My ex introduced me to the delights of the charity shop. (Hello Jane, if you’re lurking. Hope it’s all going well.) I thought it was weird at the time but she bought me what became my favourite blue shirt in a charity shop in Oxford. I’ve worn it so much that the collar is threadbare and becoming detached and yet I can’t bring myself to throw it out. It’s just such a beautiful colour and the fabric is softer than a kitten’s kiss. I have bought a few things from charity shops myself since then but now that I’m not a fat man any more, there is little on the rails my size.

That’s the basic problem I have now. I need skinny clothes but I don’t want to shell out for them. I’m stuck with shirts I bought five or six years ago because there is lots of wear left in them. It’s a waste for me. I could take them down to charity shops and make space in my wardrobes for clothes which fit but I never quite get round to doing it. Twice in the past week, I’ve gone into shops to buy a new pair of trousers and a couple of shirts, spent half an hour carefully selecting the items I want, taken them to the till and then bottled at the last minute and left the shop empty-handed. Partly it’s the cost. Clothes are expensive. Nice clothes are really expensive. The clothes I like are really very nice indeed. I tried again at Tesco. Tesco clothing is not particularly nice but it’s not that expensive. It’s like new charity shop stuff but even thirty quid for two shirts which don’t billow like spinnakers and a pair of decent trolleys which won’t fall down is too much for me to pay. I’m too tight to pay for snugly fitting clothes.

There is a proviso to that last statement. I’m not too tight to pay for snugly fitting clothes made from Lycra. If you can run wearing it, I’m more than happy to fork out for it. I wouldn’t buy those things for thirty quid on Friday but I paid £40 for my lovely new, too sexy for slow, track spikes yesterday. I didn’t even buy them from the interwebz. I went into a real shop and talked to real people and really bought a real pair or really quick shoes. Shame I’m too broken to use them right now.

Yup, I’m on the injury bench again. I broke at mile four of the Wimpole Half Marathon Hoohaah. In truth, I shouldn’t have even started but it’s my favourite race in my favourite place. Who wouldn’t want to run around Wimpole for a couple of hours and get a medal at the end? There was the additional delicious prospect of hugs from various marshals round the course but I never got as far as seeing any of my mates who were out there. They were perhaps a little relieved not to have to deal with a sweating, slobbery, wheezing mess of a man clinging onto them in an attempt not to fall over. Social runs can sometimes be so detrimental to social relationships.

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Bloody Things

I’ve been bitten to buggery this week. I have lumps on my legs where I’ve been the unwitting provider of din-dins for various bitey-bastard things. If they’d asked nicely, I would have given them enough blood for them to fill all six of their little boots several times over. Did they ask? Did they fuck. They’re insects, parasites. Vile, nasty, silent, flying, biting, bloody wee things with the “see, want, take” attitude that the Daily Mail ascribes to migrant workers. In fact, the only thing worse than one of these sodding awful creatures is a Daily Mail columnist who doesn’t understand what a parasite really is.

Now, while the unsightly lumps and scars on my legs are a problem for people looking at them I’m not worried about that. My misanthropy will not allow me to give enough of a toss about you lot. Sorry, and all that. Actually, I’m not at all sorry. Sod you. These are my lumpy, hairy wee legs and if I want to expose them to the air and passing peckish Blandford flies then that’s my concern. No, my problem is that the bites are itching and itching and itching and itching.

I don’t seem to be able to do anything to stop the sensation of my flesh wanting to crawl away from my body. It’s really unpleasant. What’s worse even than that is that bits of me which haven’t been bitten are itching too and it’s driving me up the wall, across the ceiling and back down the other wall on the opposite site of the room. Think Lionel Ritchie in Dancing on the Ceiling but with a middle-aged man swearing at his legs.

Itchy bits really should not be scratched. It only prolongs the agony. There is also the possibility of having one of the bites carry an infection so that you end up with bits of you turning green and dropping off. Thank God I’m not a naturist runner. Oddly enough, I get no relief at all when my itchy bits or the hands and nails I use to scratch them are wet. No idea why that should be the case. Maybe there’s a tame scientist out there who will be able to tell me.

I never used to have this problem. I only started to get a reaction to insect bites a few years ago. I was out running around Coldham’s Common and picked up six or seven bites close together on my ankle. My ankle in turn swelled up so much it looked like I’d sprained it badly. Ever since, I’ve had a strong histamine reaction to the bites I get each summer. There is another possible explanation. I never used to spend much time outdoors with flesh exposed to atmosphere, sun and biting bastards. It’s possible I would always have had this reaction, it’s just that until I started running I never gave the sodding things the chance to give me the welts.

So, just one more thing I can justifiably blame on running when I’m feeling shit about it.

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Hot, Hilly and Slightly Horrible

I haven’t been blogging much recently because I haven’t had much to say for myself. I know that I’m a loud, sweary, sweaty man but sometimes it’s good to stay still, sit down and shut up when you have nothing much to say. The product of swearing and sweating is seldom worth reading on their own.

I had to write off Manchester Marathon in early April because I was really poorly the week before. I passed out on the sofa at home. That was a novel experience. Normally when I collapse it’s done with some spectacle, most notably on the altar at Mass one Sunday morning when I conked out just after the consecration of the host and sent the altar bell skittering and ringing across the floor. More recently, I managed to lock myself in the loo, throw up, pass out and cack myself all in the space of about thirty seconds. On neither occasion had drink been taken.

I’ve had a really enjoyable weekend of racing this weekend though. It’s made me think about fun: what it is, where it comes from and why running around like lunatics on a hot day can be considered a fun thing to do. The first round of Hot, Hilly and Horrible was the BMAF Road Relays in Sutton Park yesterday. I had an early start made tolerable by the company of a carload of attractive women. There’s nothing quite like the prospect of pulchritude to get one out of the door before seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. I picked up a coffee first because I’m an idiot and I ran out of coffee on Friday, then Maria, Nicky and Lynn before heading off along the A14 listening to the ladies make connections. It’s fascinating. They talked about children and work and each of them had different people in common. They wove a web of acquaintance in a way that men just don’t do.

The ladies’ race was at 11:00am and we arrived at 9:30am. Bitter experience has left me as mistrustful of the A14 as I am of an unfamiliar dog. You never really know whether you’re going to run past it unscathed or not. Yesterday was fine. We had plenty of time to settle in, have more of a chat, a bite to eat and something to drink before they set off on their warm up. It wasn’t a long one because the day was already heating up. Nicky took the first leg and stormed round the 3 mile course. I sorted myself out while she was running, getting changed into my race kit and shoes, taping up my sore Achilles tendons and all that palaver.

The rest of the men’s team arrived just as Maria set off on the second leg. She ran strongly too and Lynn was gone before I really had time to think about things. Each leg has an uphill finish and I waited towards the bottom of the hill to see Maria and Lynn in. They both flew up that hill looking strong and fresh. In the end, they had a great race finishing 9th out of 23 teams.

The boys didn’t quite fare so well. We set off at 1:00pm and Simon ran his leg much more quickly than I thought he would. I was next to go and wasn’t quite ready for him. A bit like the handover from Christof in the Round Norfolk Relay last year, I looked up and there was Simon powering over the line. I had to barge my way out of the holding pen and set off. My deep apologies to anyone I stood on or elbowed getting away. There is a brief, blissful downslope to begin the lap, just enough to get your legs turning over, before the major climb on the course. I was being overtaken by younger men which was fair enough, men in my own age category which hurt a bit because I was really trying and finally by much older men and that was painful.

The standard in this race was much higher than in any of the local races I’ve done recently. I must be getting complacent. I’ve become used to running hard and finishing in the top third or even the top quarter of the field. I ran my heart, lungs and legs to overheated, bloody pulp yesterday only to serve as the next target for some speeding, strong, freak of nature behind me to come screaming past. If I hadn’t been suffering so much I would have found it very impressive. I lost sixteen places in my own race, and countless others to the other categories. I didn’t overtake a soul. At one point, a runner from Trentham came past on a downhill stretch and I tried to stay with him. I managed for about 100 yards. It felt like a 100 years.

The weather was hot, the course was hillier than we usually get round the Fens and I’m a wimp so it was never going to end well. Had I been racing for myself, there were times I would have walked. Knowing that Ian was waiting to set off kept me running even as the next bloke blew my doors off. That last climb couldn’t come soon enough, it really couldn’t. I bustled over the line in 21:26 feeling very ill indeed. I couldn’t breathe, could barely walk, the sun was relentless and a big Brummie was trying to keep me moving through the funnel. I really hope I didn’t swear at him. The marshals and other volunteers were brilliant if a little thin on the ground.

Ian was back before I had finished stretching and Andrew smashed the course and himself. We finished in 1:20:00 after Ian had made up four places and Andrew a simply magnificent 23 places. Andrew was running on a dodgy ankle too so his truly was the Glory Leg. So, the course was horrible, the weather was disgusting, I was humiliated by some sprightly but elderly men and yet I had fun. I had lots and lots of fun. I was out running with and for my mates and when I got back and had stopped wanting to throw up, I had sausage rolls and very nice cake and the company of some remarkably generous and supportive friends and I loved the entire experience.

Today’s Wimpole 10k Hoohaah was even harder than yesterday’s race and I wasn’t even racing it. It became Hot, Hilly and Horrible Part 2, The Wrath of Cramp. I love the Wimpole Estate, love it to bits. I spend a big chunk of most Saturdays there for parkrun and sometimes I go back on Sundays for a long run. It’s hilly for Cambridgeshire and the trails can be ankle-deep in mud during the winter. The 10k course starts on the flat and then you’re climbing from about 1.5k to about 4k on narrow, rutted farm tracks and field margins. It’s not easy underfoot but the views when you look up from the ground six feet in front of you are lovely. The rest of the course undulates through woodland where the tracks are wider and drier. There is a final climb from 6 to 6.5k when you just want to find a kindly forester to take his axe to the back of your neck and put you out of your, his and everyone else’s misery in a 20 mile radius. I stopped at the water station to get a drink inside me and again at the Top of the Hill at 7k to help a BRJ clubmate who was having hamstring problems. Richard and I jogged in once he’d stretched out his hammie. I crossed the line high-fiving Alison from Hoohah in a near PW of 51:56. There is something about racing at Wimpole and about the Hoohaah atmosphere, I just feel at home there. I suppose it is my second home.

This was still fun. The run was hard work over challenging terrain on another hot day. The course rose and fell like a soap star’s reputation and the weather was more suitable for a garden party than a race but I had an absolute ball. This race was similar to last autumn’s Half Marathon Hoohaah there. I had a shocker there because of an injury but the race was still one of my favourites of the year because I saw so many mates running around. Friends make for fun times and that’s what I had this weekend.

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I’m Not A Nazi, I’m Temporarily Disabled

It’s been a sod of a week. I’ve done a lot less running than I should have done. I’ve done a lot more swearing than is strictly necessary, even for me. I’ve accidentally done a Nazi salute. Tony Benn and Bob Crow died. Not a good week at all.

On the other hand, I’ve spent time with lovely people, had the best heart attack on a plate I’d had in ages on Thursday morning only to have it beaten this afternoon, spent quality time with my beautiful wife, run on the Roman Road for the first time this year and made a start on clearing out the jungle in my back garden. Gytha the Chicken is pleased with me, at least.

This was supposed to be my peak week of mileage on my marathon plan. Rest on Monday, 9 miles on Tuesday with some strides slipped in, 13 miles on Wednesday, 5 miles recovery on Thursday, 14 on Friday, 6 on Saturday and 22 today.

I had a problem nearly all week with limited mobility in my right shoulder. I must have slept awkwardly on it on Sunday night because it was sore on Monday morning. There wasn’t a problem with my arms but moving the shoulder led to stabbing pains down the front or the back of the arm depending on whether I wanted to move it backwards or forwards. It became worse each day. Typing on Tuesday was particularly comedic. I couldn’t reach the Y key on the keyboard without moving my right arm with my left hand.

I was coaching on Monday. Mile reps. I still had Sunday’s half marathon PB in my legs so I wasn’t going to be nailing every rep myself. Instead, I ran with the quickest group and paced them round. My Monday group isn’t as quick as Tuesday’s club sessions so I can keep up easily with all of them nearly all the time. What was a brisk pace for me was quite a hard rep for them. It was a really good recovery session for me.

Tuesday was 4 x 6:00 with 3:00 recoveries. Go out in one direction for the first rep and back the way you’ve come on the second. Try to push a little faster so you go beyond your start point. Same again on each successive rep. I found running hard quite difficult because I couldn’t swing both arms freely. I was well off the pace of the quickest group. Only on the final rep did I give it a proper go. I paid for it afterwards.

I had to drive to Lancaster on Wednesday morning after two nights of very poor sleep. I had meetings all day with academics in the Management School. I had to suppress a little yelp of pain very time I shook someone’s hand. I didn’t always succeed. “Hi! I’m Richard from Compass. It’s nice to meet you. Thaaaaaaaaaaarghaaank you for seeing me.”

The drive from Lancaster to Leeds that evening was properly miserable. I couldn’t reach the top of the steering wheel with my right hand until I adjusted the steering column downwards. The wheel was almost between my knees. I still couldn’t use my right arm to turn the wheel but at least I could rest my hand easily on it. Occasionally, I’d forget and drop my right hand from the wheel and whimper or yell or call Christ a cunt.

The thing about an injury like this is that it’s easy to forget you have it. It was seldom painful when I kept the shoulder still or moved it gently so when I was just walking around it was fine. More or less. The problems came when I moved it quickly or further than it wanted to go. When a cheery wave to a friend across the street turns into a Nazi salute and a yell of “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” problems can arise. That’s all I’m saying.

Wednesday night was quite unpleasant. I struggled to eat dinner. I couldn’t quite raise my fork to my mouth. It got to just below my chin before I’d have to dip my head towards the delicious morsel of red snapper with a zesty lemon risotto. My glass of lime and soda was too heavy to lift. I had to leave it on the table and use a long straw.

Bob Crow died. I’m a supporter of strong trades unions playing a part in the running of successful enterprises. I’m really a 70s socialist. I remember learning about mixed economies and free collective bargaining. I don’t much like the class war but I have a soft spot for some class warriors. Bob Crow was one.

I don’t think Tony Benn would ever have taken part in anything so ungentle as class war. He was still an effective and passionate advocate for Labour without ever mounting a personal attack. I heard him speak on several occasions and had a taxi ride with him once. He spent almost the entire journey asking questions about me and what I did and who I was and where I came from and my parents and my family. I said at one point how moved I was by what he’d written when his wife had died and how much it had helped me when I was having some trouble with grieving. I wanted to hear him talk about challenging Roy Hattersley for the deputy leadership or about life in the Cabinet or Shadow Cabinet but he just wanted to hear about my life and interests. I’ll miss him but his family and his friends will miss him much, much more.

Good things started to happen on Thursday. Breakfast in the hotel was exceptional. Poached egg, bacon, sausage, black pudding, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, all very tasty. Piss-poor coffee as usual. I have yet to have a good cup of coffee in a hotel in Britain. Slightly odd orange juice. It made getting going after another night of poor sleep that much easier. I’d spent chunks of the awkward hours of Thursday morning really, really wanting to be at home in my own bed with my wife. My heart ached as much as my shoulder. I was using ibuprofen gel to relieve the pain and it didn’t really work. I was hoping for codeine gel. Or heroin gel. Fuck it, I’d have mugged a junkie for a fix at one point shortly after two on Thursday morning.

Thursday’s meetings passed with barely a whimper. “Hi, I’m Richard from Compass. Thank you for see – aargh – seeing me.” The drive home from Leeds took too long and I couldn’t go for my run when I got back but I had an early night without the ibuprofen gel smearing itself onto the bedsheets and pillow cases. I woke on Friday having slept for six uninterrupted hours. I had too much work to do to get out for a run that day.

Saturday marked Heidi and John’s leaving do from Cambridge parkrun. Not that they’re leaving. Heidi is stepping down as event director after four years. There were red wigs for her and fake mohicans and tattoos for John and it was fun. There was running and cake and a visit from PSH and the whole thing was simply marvellous. I had a nice run on heavy legs to log 22:36 for my first parkrun of the year.

In the afternoon, I did the Cambridge University Hare & Hounds’ Roman Road Run. Nine and a half miles from Horseheath to the Beechwoods at the end of Wort’s Causeway in Cambridge. I took it fairly steadily and logged 1:14:46. I was aiming for 1:16:30 so I was pleased. I was 8th home. It’s a handicap run. I was only overtaken by one guy who started 10 minutes behind me and he was flying. He came past on the final downhill stretch on the road once we left the Roman Road itself. I was beaten home by him, two people from my group and four from the group who set off five minutes ahead of me.

Saturday evening was spent at La Mimosa with Andy for his birthday. I’m not usually very sociable. I’m becoming a little more deaf and find it stressful to hear what people are saying in a crowded, noisy room. However, the company was lovely and nobody seemed to mind having to repeat what they were saying when we were trying to have a conversation. It was a late night though and I was very tired this morning. I haven’t run today but I have made a start on clearing out the back garden.

Good stuff and bad this week. It’ll all be over three weeks today. I just want to get it done now. I’m running well when I run. I don’t think missing my long run today is going to matter in the overall scheme of things. I’ve entered the Oakley 20 next Sunday. I’m not going to race it, especially as Becca says it’s a lumpy one which ruined her London Marathon a couple of years ago. I have some clubmates running and I can run around with them chatting all the way and pick up my hoodie to take to Manchester. Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it?

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What I Did At The Weekend

Regular readers of this blog will want to know where the digusting bit is, either to brace themselves for it, skip it or head straight there and miss all the boring, inspirational stuff about mates doing really well in races. Nasal lavage gets a mention later. More than that, I’m not willing to say.

I had an utter stonker of a weekend. I spent Saturday morning at the ashmei headquarters in darkest Buckinghamshire. I have been selected for assessment as an ashmei ambassador. Now, I’m a fan of the kit. It’s all about performance, quality and style. Stuart who founded the company explained that everything they do hinges on those three words.

He said that a new product begins with the fibre. They decide how they want the garment to perform and then select a fibre to deliver that performance. They specify the fabric using the fibre and only then begin to design the it. Price isn’t an issue for them as much as quality is so while a pair of shorts or a jacket is expensive, it will still provide value for money because you will be using it for years. They use top quality zips and fittings because they are already using top quality fabrics. He was very convincing except when he was talking about darts. I didn’t believe a word about them doing darts-wear next.

We had a run with Stuart and Rob around the Ashridge Estate. It was a little less boggy than it was the last time I was there on the ashmei run a couple of months ago. There were still a few stretches where the mud was ankle deep. I did my usual thing and ploughed straight through the middle and trusted my inov-8 Baregrips would keep me upright. Lift the knees and make sure you keep your centre of gravity directly under you and you’ll be all right. I was. I splashed and dipped and trotted through the muddy and messy stretches and chatted to the other aspirant ambassadors.

There are some incredible athletes among them. Gemma is off to the European Duathlon championships soon. Benjamin is training for Marathon des Sables. Wanda is running the Ocean Floor Race in a couple of weeks. I’m just a bloke who runs a bit. I know how to swear pretty fluently in three languages – and can manage casual abuse in two more. I’m willing to risk drowning in a lake and crashing off my bike in front of a bus because I love triathlons now too. I will push myself harder than is strictly sensible just to see when I break. Pain is temporary but a foot injury can put you out of action for three weeks and all that jazz. I enjoy coaching because I want to see my friends excel. I’m not exceptional but I am willing to push my limits. I am everybloke, really.

I chatted with Rob from ashmei for a few minutes. He talked me into doing their trail ultra in Ullswater at the beginning of July. It’s only 40 miles… Actually, I’ve done some Rich Sums and discovered that it’s not that far, really. I’ve done 55k in a Thunder Run weekend and it’s not that much further than that. Walk uphills and jog the rest. I just have to keep going for two laps of Ullswater. How hard can it be?

All the others were every bit as nice as you’d expect runners to be. I had a great time in their company. Whatever happens, I think ashmei will have fine people to help them promote their brand.

When I got home, I changed out of the running gear and put on some cycling tights. I pulled my bike out of the conservatory and headed out onto the course for the Cambridge Half on Sunday. It’s become what I do the day before the race. I don’t like the word visualisation but that’s what I was doing. I was familiarising myself with the layout of the course and where the twists and turns were. Some of the course is quite tight and narrow and the surface along the side of the river on Jesus Green is heavily rutted and very uneven. I cycled it because running it would be too hard on my legs the day before the race. I pictured myself running the second lap. I knew it would be hard going from Silver Street to Fen Causeway on the second lap because that’s where it hurt most last year.

The race itself was brilliant again. I ran around the streets of my adopted home and savoured every second. It was a warm day – I have sunburn on my shoulders – and I probably lost time to the heat. I certainly lost time at the water stations. I slowed a little to pick up the a bag of water at each one. The little bags are easier to handle than cups or bottles but you have to squeeze the water out of them. Squeeze too hard and water goes up straight up your nose. Nasal lavage, remember? That happened on Bridge Street on the second lap. It was really unpleasant. I had my slowest km split there and the highest spike in my heart rate.

I loved having the support. There were crowds most of the way round the course. All the way down King’s Parade, round the Market Square and off along Sydney Street the noise was wonderful. I high fived kids who had their hands out and my coach Alan at the end of Trinity Street and then rocketed off round the Market on the first lap. The second lap was harder but I was going for home by then. I pushed hard from the end of Fen Causeway over the last couple of miles. I had places to make and I was tiring but determined. I picked off people one at a time. I don’t think more than two or three people overtook me but the ones who did were motoring. The last man did that going onto Midsummer Common with about 800m to go. I wasn’t going to let anyone else past.

I crossed the line in 1:37:16 (chip time). Not bad for an old bloke who had been doing hill reps for the camera the day before. I had a celebratory burger and chips in The Old Spring after the race and a piece of carrot cake and a coffee in Afternoon Tease after that. It was a good day and a great weekend. I’m very happy now and quite tired still. I’ll find out whether I’ve been selected as an ashmei ambassador soon. I’ll let you know.

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Cholmondeley-Featherstoneshaw

My race day didn’t start particularly well and I didn’t even notice. It wasn’t until I got to the race HQ for the Wymondonham 20 and tried to load up my gels into my pocket that I found out I’d put my short on back to front. And inside out. Go me. Idiocy is at its very finest when the idiot in question doesn’t even know he’s been an idiot.

The race itself went quite well for the most part. There were a couple of horrible drags up insidious slopes into a headwind and gutting those out were hard work. There were lots of supportive marshals and water stops every three miles or so.

This is where there is there is some of the lesser part again. I had a bit of a moment after the second water station. Now, you need to know that I don’t usually bother with water stations mostly because I can’t drink and run. It’s messy. Water in cups goes everywhere. Water in bottles goes everywhere. I haven’t tried water in little water bags, but it probably would go everywhere. I have a Camelbak for taking out on long runs and bike rides which is like an enormous bladder and a big, bendy straw. Water doesn’t go everywhere but I can’t really wear it for a race. I’d look like a plank.

So, I can’t get water down me during my race because I’m afraid I won’t look good. What I do instead is gulp down huge quantities of air along with tiny amounts of water and end up having to have a tactical chunder to clear out the air in my gullet. That looks great, doesn’t it? I managed to hurl this morning after the second water stop, quite a long way after the second water stop in fact, having had to slow down because I felt so uncomfortable. My puke skills are now so advanced I can run along and avoid all the emesis while reverse peristalsis is doing its thing.

I felt much better after that just in time to suffer the first of the uphill, into the wind, drags. The rest of the race was an exercise in trying to keep the pace up in the face of tiring legs. I missed my 2:40 target by just under three minutes clocking up 2:42:55 in 115th overall and 16th in the MV45 category.

I haven’t the least idea how I’m going to keep up that pace for another 10k and 50 minutes in Manchester but it’s got to be worth a go. If the weather is calm then it ought to be on. The Manchester course is flatter and there will be pacers available to help us achieve our targets. Go hard, or go home. If it works for Mo…

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Up and down like the Assyrian empire…

I think we’re at the end of week seven. It’s hard to tell. I’ve lost count already. I certainly can’t count to six. I have committed to six runs a week for Jantastic and I’ve only made it on one of the three weeks of January. I was injured a couple of weeks ago and I just haven’t been arsed this week.

I did have a good run at the Folksworth 15 last Sunday. I ran the first 13 miles nice and steadily, digging in a little when I had to and ticking off eight-minute miles. I ran the last two miles at a quicker pace and finished in 1:58:48. Those last two miles really fucked my legs. They had that horrible jiggly feeling all night which kept me awake. The bloody things were still running.

The positives to come from the race were all about just how easy it felt until I got carried away with myself. I picked off some runners in those last two miles who had overtaken me early in the race and were fading. Mile 14 starts at the bottom of the last climb on the course. I ran past one man who was walking, slapped his arm saying “Come on, you can walk at the end.” He said that he would catch me up. He never did.

I know that if some bugger had done that to me, trying to get me to run when I was completely spent, I would be hugely pissed off. So, if that was you, I’m sorry. I’ll probably do it again but I’m sorry anyway.

Lack of sleep has been a feature of the week. It was jiggly legs on Sunday night but just stupidity the rest of the week which meant I didn’t get to bed terribly early on two or three occasions and my itinerary which had me swearing at the alarm most mornings. I need a lot of sleep and it’s something I always forget when there’s an old NCIS or Castle on the telly late at night.

I was out at a Burns’ Night ceilidh last night with Anne. We didn’t get back until gone one. I’d been running round the Ashridge Estate, out along the Ridgeway and up onto Ivinghoe Beacon in the afternoon. 10 hilly and claggy miles. I would probably much rather have gone to bed. We seldom have a night out and this one had been planned for a few weeks.

My tiredness has meant that my mood is all over the place. I was completely trashed this morning and couldn’t face going out with the others for a run after breakfast. I haven’t been able to summon up the energy all day so I’ve canned the run. I’ll be one run short again on Jantastic but I want to start next week properly.

Next week is a new week. Let’s view that as a positive. I can acknowledge the negatives of not hitting targets over the last few weeks and work on those too. That’s a positive too. In the meantime, I’ll have a reasonable dinner and an early night.

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Week 5 Already

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Photo credit,  Metropolitan Museum of Art

I was in the steam room at the gym this afternoon. I like stretching in there. The warmth helps relax tight muscles and I feel a lot better for a bit of an extra stretch before I leave the facilities. The steam room and sauna are both newly installed. I really like the sauna; it still smells more like a Norwegian timber yard than a Turkish wrestler’s jockstrap. The wooden benches and wall panels are pale birch or beech and have not yet absorbed the sweat of a hundred thousand hairy arses. It’s all very lovely in there.

The new steam room has little twinkly lights in the ceiling, two prodigiously powerful kettles producing steam enough to fill the long, narrow room and flood lights at ankle-level beneath the tiled seating. The shadows my feet and legs cast against the walls reminded me of images like the one above. I seem to have teeny-tiny feet and ankles below the calves and thighs of a Greek god.

Running form must have changed in the 2,500 years since the unknown artist painted the athletes on the vase in this picture. I don’t think I’d like to see any of my athletes allow their shoulders to counter-rotate quite as much as that and while I like to do a few barefoot drills on a kind surface on a summer’s evening, bare-arse drills would get me arrested.

Week five of marathon training has gone well. Shocker, I know. I had a rest day on Monday then raced on Tuesday in the Ely New Year’s Eve 10k, battling nasty winds to log 46:10 which is a minute and three quarters outside my PB and slightly slower than last year. I had a gentle 14 miles on New Year’s Day, 5 miles of recovery run on Thursday, a very tiring 18 miles on Friday after work and a blessedly regenerative 5 miles yesterday evening. The last few miles on Friday evening were hard but I couldn’t slow down to the comfortable shuffle I wanted because I was running through the city. Suppose someone I know had seen me? I wasn’t going to let that happen so I kept running at a nice even pace and tried to look good even if I wasn’t going very quickly. Runner’s pride is a terrible thing. I did nine of the eighteen miles in Julia DeCesare’s very welcome company. She kept me at a nice, even pace and helped me keep my head straight. I couldn’t quite bring myself to do the extra 6 miles on the plan for today after racing hard this morning but that’s still my biggest ever week of training.

I never enjoy racing in the County Cross-Country Champs. It always comes too soon. I haven’t done any really hard, fast running in what feels like weeks. Tuesday’s race was just a slog in the wind and couldn’t really be counted as a proper session. It was just survival. Christmas gets in the way and obsessing with logging marathon miles gets in the way and what should be an A race turns into an OMG, Already? race. It’s supposed to be 10k but I logged it at 10.7k this afternoon and while that last half mile or so is all downhill, it’s downhill when you’re dying on your arse because your fitness isn’t what it should be and the guys behind are getting closer and the only thing getting further away from you than the guys in front is the fucking finishing line. It just never seems to come until you need another 50m to take another place in which case it’s right there and you cross it in a confusion of relief and despair. Funny thing, racing.

I had someone called Paul from – I think – Riverside Runners up my chuff for the best part of half the race. We each had support on different parts of the course. The race is held in Priory Park in St Neots so it was home turf for Paul and a lot of the marshals come from his club. It’s a good, supportive club because he got a lot of “Go on, Paul, get after him!” or “You’ll catch him, Paul. Keep it going!” I yelled “No, he won’t!” at that one. I’m a lucky man. Because of parkrun, lots of people from different clubs know me so I had lots of support round the course too. It makes such a huge difference. I have friends in clubs and towns all over the county now and just like on Friday night, my runner’s pride wasn’t going to let me look bad.

I finally got away from Paul with about 600m to go. I kicked really hard down the final hill and gradually the sound of his footsteps faded behind me. There were two runners ahead and I was blowing bubbles in a last desperate attempt to close them down. Maybe if I’d pushed harder on the final climb and closed the gap more then, I would have stood a better chance. Whatever, they held me off finishing about five or six yards ahead. It’s hard to tell because I was having blurry vision at the end. There may have only been one runner ahead but I think there were two different colours of vest. The only other time I’ve had blurred vision at the end of a race was the 400m in the Fetch Summer Mile Meeting in Southend when I was chasing Chris Hurcomb down. It’s a bit scary but sometimes you just have to run and trust you won’t actually black out until you cross the line. Besides, the first aiders are at the finishing line, not 200m out so that’s where you have to collapse for the most urgent attention.

I didn’t collapse. I didn’t feel dizzy. I did very badly want to puke and had to find a quiet corner away from everyone until I felt better. That’s how I finish nearly every race. If I haven’t run so hard I want to vom, I haven’t given it everything. When I felt better, I was talking to Christof Schwiening and his daughter, George. He was very generous in his praise. I was grateful to him for his kind words because I look up to him as a runner. George was second overall in her race and won the U20 Girls’ category. I was 95th. I’m happy with that.

Back to work and a normal routine next week. I need to move sessions around on the plan so tomorrow’s rest day becomes a session day, I’ll be coaching on Tuesday and Wednesday becomes a rest day, Thursday get a recovery run and I’ll do my long run on Friday again. I have another race on Sunday, you see. I feel much better today than I did last Sunday. I think I have 13 weeks to go. Bring it on. Bring. It. On.

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Jingle Mile II: The Christmas Wreath of Khan

Yesterday’s Jingle Mile meeting at Cambridge University’s athletics track was an enjoyable affair. It was for me, anyway. I wasn’t running in any of the events. I’m always too nervous about things going well to run when I’m involved with organizing one of these events. It’s the second running of what seems to have become an annual excuse to eat mince pies and cake while people hang around in the cold waiting for me to decide what to do next.

The gold ribbon at all Fetch Mile events, of which the Jingle Mile is but one, is of course the Mile itself. There were four rounds of the mile with the quickest runners in the first round, then the slowest in the second with each successive round getting quicker from there on. There were some storming performances here including Paul Makowski’s fastest time of the day to take Round 1 in a time of 5:05. Our fastest lady was Susie Tautz who ran 6:02 in Round 4. There were PBs for Paul Makowski, Paul Beastall (6:47, Round 4) and Martyn Brearley (5:57, Round 4) amongst others. I very much enjoyed Cameron Smith’s relentless progress round the track for his 8:10 in Round 2 and his sister’s 9:34 in the same round. Youngest runner of the day – not counting Evie Makowski in the 100m for obvious reasons when we get there – was Alexander Wood who logged a very impressive 9:14 for 1,200m.

The next event was the 4 x 100m Mince Pie Relay. The rules were simple; get your mince pie round intact as quickly as you possibly can. The winner team of Wood, Whittle, Pretlove and Makowski did better than the British men at this year’s World Championships in Moscow and got the baton mince pie round without getting disqualified along the way. Lucy Johnson gave us a glimpse of her sprint talent running a terrifyingly quick third leg.

That class became glaringly obvious when she stormed her round of the Hurtbox of Crackers 400m. She slipped right at the start but in spite of that had completely unwound the stagger by 250m and just kept accelerating, only fading in the final 100m. She managed to keep ahead of a fast-finishing Chris Hurcomb. The first round of the 400m was won by a completely exultant Lee Pretlove who charged across the line in 0:59 just ahead of that man again, Paul Makowski.

Makka also won the Where’s Grep? 200m Delusion in an impressive 0:27. He was followed over the line a few seconds back by a tightly-packed gaggle of determined runners none of whom were called Greg. Neil Tween took the tape in the Tinsel Insole Insanity 100m Take 2 just ahead of Evie Makowski in her buggy, pushed by her dad. Isobel Moir put in an impressive performance for a girl sprinting a 100m in walking boots.

The full results are laid out below. I’m sorry not to have mentioned everyone in this report. I thoroughly enjoyed watching all of your run. You were inspirational, awesome. Thank you for coming.

Full Results

Jingle Mile

Round 1

1 Paul Makowski 5:05
2 Iain Wood 5:10
3 Chris Gay 5:14
4 Wei-Ho 5:20
5 Lee Pretlove 5:22
6 Andrew Whittle 5:34
7 Neil Tween 5:43
8 Rob Moir 5:44

 

Round 2

1 John Wilderspin 7:33
2 Erminia Carillo 7:44
3 Vicky Judd 7:45
4 Chris Hurcomb (Pacer) 7:55
5 Cameron Smith 8:10
6 Louise Pryor 8:28
7 Claire Mitchell 8:29
8 Brian Judd 8:36
9 Pauline Blake 8:37
10 Linda Crook 8:54
11 Katrina Mitchell 9:09
12 Amie Smith 9:34
13 Alexander Wood 9:14* (1200m)

Round3

1 Kevin Stigwood 6:56
2 Dave Mail 7:00
3 Jen Richardson 7:06
4 Chris Gay (Pacer) 7:06
5 Andy O’Dowd 7:13
6 Jason Mundin 7:16
7 Katie Tween 7:18
8 Sarah Hall 7:20
9 Gianluca Savini 7:24
10 Gill Mundin 7:24
11 Jane O’Callaghan 7:26
12 Abigail Boswell 7:26
13 Diane Bunch 7:27
14 Rob Moir 7:28
15 Anne Adkins 8:09
16 Cheryl Boswell 8:16

 

Round 4

1 Chris Tautz 5:55
2 Ben Chamberlain 5:55
3 Martyn Brearley 5:57
4 Susie Tautz 6:02
5 Neil Coates 6:04
6 Cliff Weatherup 6:11
7 Julian Hardyman 6:12
8 Bernard Shannon 6:14
9 Chris Poole 6:17
10 Paul Jones 6:17
11 Neville Hawkins 6:18
12 Chris Hurcomb 6:28
13 Iain Rogers 6:29
14 Sam Johnson 6:28
15 Paul Beastall 6:47
16 Paula Kessler 6:58
17 Lynn Roberts 6:59
18 Alex Geoghegan 7:00
19 Julia DeCesare

 

4 x 100m Mince Pie Relay

1 Iain Wood/Andrew Whittle/Lee Pretlove/Paul Makowski 0:58
2 Neville Hawkins/Paul Jones/Chris Tautz/Susie Tautz 1:05
3 Iain Rogers/Cliff Weatherup/Kevin Stigwood/Jane O’Callaghan 1:06
4 Laura Coates/Sam Johnson/Lucy JohnsonNeil Coates 1:06
5 Rob Moir/Katie Tween/Sarah Hall/Neil Tween 1:09
6 Andrew O’Dowd/Gill Mundin/Jason Mundin/Julia DeCesare 1:09
7 Alex Geoghegan/Erminia Carillo/Gianluca Savini/Ben Chamberlain 1:13

 

Hurtbox of Crackers 400m

Round 1

1 Lee Pretlove 0:59
2 Paul Makowski 1:00
3 Iain Wood 1:01
4 Andrew Whittle 1:03
5 Neil Tween 1:11
6 Chris Tautz 1:14
7 Ben Chamberlain 1:15
8 Susie Tautz 1:17

 

Round 2

1 Lucy Johnson 1:13
2 Chris Hurcomb 1:14
3 Paul Jones 1:15
4 Martyn Brearley 1:18
5 Neil Coates 1:23
6 Alex Geoghegan 1:23
7 Andy O’Dowd 1:24
8 Gianluca Savini 1:34

 

Round 3

1 Jason Mundin 1:24
2 Gill Mundin 1:27
3 Laura Coates 1:33
4 Sarah Hall 1:36
5 Cameron Smith 1:42
6 Bobby Makowski 1:50
7 Alexander Wood 2:42

 

Where’s Grep? 200m Delusion

1 Paul Makowski 0:27
2 Chris Tautz 0:32
3 Chris Hurcomb 0:33
4 Cliff Weatherup 0:33
5 Paul Jones 0:34
6 Lucy Johnson 0:34
7 Susie Tautz 0:35
8 Ben Chamberlain 0:36
910 Erminia CarilloAnne Adkins 0:450:47

 

The Tinsel Insole Insanity 100m Take 2

(No times recorded for this race.)

1 Neil Tween
2 Evie Makowski (powered by her Dad)
3 Kevin Stigwood
4 Paul Jones
5 Cliff Weatherup
6 Lucy Johnson
7 Ben Chamberlain
8 Sarah Hall
9 Anne Adkins
10 Isobel Moir
11 Amie Smith
12 Rob Moir

 

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The God of Small Joys

There must be one surely? I’m not talking about those major events in life like the birth of children or falling in love. I’m talking about the little things. Finding a fiver you didn’t know you had in a pocket when you really need a coffee and a cake. A smile from your beloved when you wake up. That sort of thing. They deserve to have a god. If love can have a god, then so can smiles from loved ones and children.

This came to mind because I had a really rubbish run yesterday. I had no energy, no vim or vigour and I worked really hard to post a 26 minute run around Wimpole Estate parkrun. It was a bit muddy and sticky but it shouldn’t have been so bloody hard. I’d spent the week on the road in Manchester and Yorkshire meaning lots of miles, hotel nights, unfamiliar beds and crappy food on my own. I hadn’t run since Sunday’s St Neot’s Half in spite of taking all my kit and shoes with me. My lack of energy and oomph has been hanging around for a while.

So I ran flat out and slowly round parkrun on Saturday morning and crossed the line feeling a little meh. However, it wasn’t a crap run. It was a beautiful morning – really, really cold. It took the best part of twenty minutes for the feeling to return to my fingers even though I was wearing my best winter running gloves. It’s definitely winter again and that makes me happy. I was running among friends. I saw familiar, smiling faces everywhere I looked. I know lots of them now but even more of them know me. There were runners of all ages out on the course yesterday and they were by and large giving the absolute berries. Afterwards I had a very nice mocha, one of Cambridgeshire’s better sausage rolls and a slice of Bakewell so sexy I wanted to call it Joan.

My parkrun is so much more than the run and that’s just as well. Running in general is like that. My St Neot’s Half was an hour and three quarters of socialising and partying. I ran the last mile quite hard and it took a good five minutes before I stopped wanting to throw up but apart from that I was chatting and laughing. My time wasn’t dreadful, less than three minutes slower than my 2011 PB on the same course and it was a happy, happy day.

Small joys are important. They keep us going and give us something to rely on when small sadnesses creep up on us and the god of small joys knows there are enough of those around.

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