END OF YEAR HIGH
I thought my self indulgent ramblings were done for this year until yesterday's training run shaped itself in to an unexpected course best. A cynical overview would point to me being rather easily pleased by my own exploits here, but when there's been nowt much to shout about for a long period of time, getting a little giddy about a decent run cannot be harmful when it's warranted. After a couple of weeks feeling flat, a bit of zing has been slowly returning this last week. But the speed and strength felt in this particular little outing took me by a very satisfying surprise.
Running from the workplace, a four mile time trial has evolved which Lord Fish and I like to have a pop at when we feel the need for a blowout. From the shop near Clitheroe Castle, this route follows the drag up to Whalley Road's highest point, then left across the quiet country lane leading to Pendle Road before dropping back in to Clitheroe. It's fast going at times, but not altogether flat with about 250 feet of rolling inclination. My previous best times were within a couple of seconds of each other, dipping just above or below the 25:30 mark. A commitment to running this route in an anti-clockwise direction is basically drawing a sword upon myself to run hard. I thought about turning left from the shop door instead and just running steady and spontaneous elsewhere around the town, but then I thought let's just see how I get on with the four miler and make it a progressive run at the very least. A mile in though and I was feeling good. Quick time check and I thought I might as well press on and see what gives. By the two mile mark I had given myself a challenge to keep my next mile split on the progressive side, but I was well up again and so it dawned on me with a mainly downhill mile to go that I could just cruise the descent now and still beat my time. This was a nice feeling and gave me the psychological boost to then attack that last mile and aim for a sub-25. It was like every speed session I've done since returning to track work was finally kicking in. After a time penalty of fiddle-faddling trying to stop my watch, I still clocked in at 24:49 which was well worth the clenched fist and a little ''yessssss'' to myself. Forty seconds knocked off and I think big Ben's best time is currently 21:09, so relatively speaking this was definitely training run of the year if nothing else.
Easily pleased perhaps, but the year ends on a bit of a high.
2016 mileage total: 1627
Saturday, 31 December 2016
Thursday, 22 December 2016
NO MORE TALKING BOWLS
These are possibly the final running ramblings of 2016 from this particular nobody in particular. Reflecting on the year that was, if there was such a thing as a 'Johnny Progress Graph', it would
display a steady rise from the run every day mentality up until early May when the Summer slump then kicked in. From September however, with injury on the mend, form and fortune was quickly on the rise again until this recent December plateau. Plateau apart, the year ends on a positive running note, for just being able to return to the format of running normality again has been the biggest joy in recent times. Track sessions and hard runs back on the agenda, even a couple of races in the bag without the nag of achilles trouble stalling progress. It's a liberating feeling after eighteen months or so of stuttering malfunction.
Compared to this time last year, the running is in a far better place and the outlook a little more ambitious. It was all about the beckoning bowling green back then and whether or not a set of woods were destined to replace the running shoes going in to 2016. The idea of crossing over to Crown Green bowling is, for now, on a very dimly lit backburner. But there are underlying fears as always. Fear that for all the wonderment of normal running service resuming, the shifts put in could amount to nothing. Currently lodging on that aforementioned plateau, is this as good as it will be able to get again? Or is it just an adjustment period after finally getting a spell of more intensive training in?
Time will tell, although time isn't particularly on my side in this game. Yet with that decent platform of progressive training now stretching out over the last three months, hope still overrides the fear. The search goes on for that satisfactory level of consistency in training to go out and race more regularly, but it feels closer than it has been for a few years. Key word there is consistency which is the main focus for 2017. In the end, it turns out a good thing that I'm not committed to the Ribble Valley 10K next week. I'd just lost that bit of spring in my stride the last week or two and it's culminated in another bloody cold of sorts. Thankfully though, this one is just of sniffly nuisance value and shouldn't knock me on to the sidelines altogether.
These are possibly the final running ramblings of 2016 from this particular nobody in particular. Reflecting on the year that was, if there was such a thing as a 'Johnny Progress Graph', it would
display a steady rise from the run every day mentality up until early May when the Summer slump then kicked in. From September however, with injury on the mend, form and fortune was quickly on the rise again until this recent December plateau. Plateau apart, the year ends on a positive running note, for just being able to return to the format of running normality again has been the biggest joy in recent times. Track sessions and hard runs back on the agenda, even a couple of races in the bag without the nag of achilles trouble stalling progress. It's a liberating feeling after eighteen months or so of stuttering malfunction.
Compared to this time last year, the running is in a far better place and the outlook a little more ambitious. It was all about the beckoning bowling green back then and whether or not a set of woods were destined to replace the running shoes going in to 2016. The idea of crossing over to Crown Green bowling is, for now, on a very dimly lit backburner. But there are underlying fears as always. Fear that for all the wonderment of normal running service resuming, the shifts put in could amount to nothing. Currently lodging on that aforementioned plateau, is this as good as it will be able to get again? Or is it just an adjustment period after finally getting a spell of more intensive training in?
Time will tell, although time isn't particularly on my side in this game. Yet with that decent platform of progressive training now stretching out over the last three months, hope still overrides the fear. The search goes on for that satisfactory level of consistency in training to go out and race more regularly, but it feels closer than it has been for a few years. Key word there is consistency which is the main focus for 2017. In the end, it turns out a good thing that I'm not committed to the Ribble Valley 10K next week. I'd just lost that bit of spring in my stride the last week or two and it's culminated in another bloody cold of sorts. Thankfully though, this one is just of sniffly nuisance value and shouldn't knock me on to the sidelines altogether.
Monday, 19 December 2016
TTOTTALLY TTOP RACE WITTH A BITT OF EVERYTTHING
HURST GREEN TURKEY TROT
Following the first forty mile week for some time and much of that at a decent rate of effort, battered legs and aching knees have been the story this week. Tuesday's track session pretty much broke me as I called it quits after ten of a proposed fourteen 500 metre reps. It was one of those nights when the one minute recovery was offering absolutely no recovery whatsoever and so I opted out before I started going backwards. Since then it's been easier on the mileage between a couple of rest days to try and retain some sort of freshness for Saturday's race.
The Hurst Green Turkey Trot has a short but distinguished history, already engraining itself in to East Lancashire running folklore. The boundaries broken to win the fancy dress competition are stretched beyond reasonable imagination of what somebody can possibly run in, whilst the race also attracts some top end athletes with much more serious aspirations. As the brainchild of maverick Ribble Valley Harrier Chris Barnes, anything is possible at the Turkey Trot.
This was my TT debut and it's fair to say that I now wished I'd chanced racing previous ones. Sadly I didn't have time to stick around much before, or after the race when the presentation reputedly gives the Woodentops original version a run for it's money. But I got enough of a vibe to wish that I had. The only complaint I had was that the Barnes would not wait for my GPS signal to connect and rudely started the race regardless. The thick Ribble Valley clag may have been blocking out the satellite signal. I have a fraught relationship with technology at the best of times. I normally settle for the simplicity of the good old stopwatch on a Casio from Argos for racing in, but with rushing around I'd forgotten it. I don't even know if this fandangled Polar watch of mine has basic stopwatch facility, I don't know what I was thinking.
Despite that distraction, I settled down to a comfortable pace and was going along fine without busting myself. The legs were certainly feeling better than I had feared. However, the sight of Dave Motley's bum cheeks flashing through thin black tights from beneath his bespoke Trawden AC cape was enough to push me on a little harder than I wanted to. But the only reward for that little surge ahead was Craig Stansfield's tight buttocks for company in his gingerbread man outfit. There was only one thing for it - push on towards raceaholic Darren Fishwick who had standard black running shorts on that thankfully left much more to the imagination. I'd just got tucked in behind Darren as we approached the 'elephant trap' - a refreshing deep water hole through which we wade - but a few yards on from there I tripped in a clumsy fashion and slid my right knee in to some shrubbery roots. Nowt major, but enough to put me out of my stride. The Stansfield immediately took advantage and cruised past whilst I was on the deck and it took a good few minutes to run my knocked knee back in to some sort of comfort. Unfortunately that happened to be over probably the most testing section of the race which leads up to the highest point and I started to lose a bit of ground. No excuse though for slouching here, there's still work to be done on my uphill game. Darren and Stanners had already lost me on this section before Mr Motley soared past and was looking strong. Next came the unmistakable toe sprung running action of Clayton's Matt Duckworth, but as the descent started, so did my second wind and I set about regaining some places. I caught and passed Matt just before exiting the woods and then it was another Matt who I was closing in on next, the Nuttall variety and my Blackburn Harrier club mate who himself had been passed by the battling trio of Fishwick, Stansfield and Motley. Those three were also getting a little closer once again, but pushing each other hard and I quickly realised that they were to remain uncatchable. So it was all about Mr Nuttall, looking his usual ten years younger and attired as a Roman soldier. He had threatened me with his sword before the race if I dared to pass him. 'Not much chance of that', said I, even though I knew he wasn't firing anywhere near his full cylinders at present. But it was a close call in the end. If I'd known where the finish was then I would have put in a challenge on the little gradient leading up to it. As Matt attacked it, I thought, 'I'll save a bit for the finish instead', only to realise at the brow of that little pull that essentially that was the finish!
Oh well. Not a bad day at the office and a much needed race under the belt. I certainly ran the latter half of the race strong. The TT is a cracking course with a bit of everything. Some quality ladies in this one with three inside the top nine whilst the quality right at the very front was ridiculous. The ever improving Chris Farrell of Horwich smashing under 27 minutes on this course is outstanding. Nothing less was ever going to beat Ilkley's man of the moment Tom Adams who had to settle for a rare second spot.
HURST GREEN TURKEY TROT (5m) Hurst Green, Lancs.
1st Man - Chris Farrell 26:54 (Horwich RMI)
1st Lady - Julie Briscoe 32:59 (Wakefield & Dist. H.)
My Stats - 33:56 14/265
HURST GREEN TURKEY TROT
Following the first forty mile week for some time and much of that at a decent rate of effort, battered legs and aching knees have been the story this week. Tuesday's track session pretty much broke me as I called it quits after ten of a proposed fourteen 500 metre reps. It was one of those nights when the one minute recovery was offering absolutely no recovery whatsoever and so I opted out before I started going backwards. Since then it's been easier on the mileage between a couple of rest days to try and retain some sort of freshness for Saturday's race.
The Hurst Green Turkey Trot has a short but distinguished history, already engraining itself in to East Lancashire running folklore. The boundaries broken to win the fancy dress competition are stretched beyond reasonable imagination of what somebody can possibly run in, whilst the race also attracts some top end athletes with much more serious aspirations. As the brainchild of maverick Ribble Valley Harrier Chris Barnes, anything is possible at the Turkey Trot.
This was my TT debut and it's fair to say that I now wished I'd chanced racing previous ones. Sadly I didn't have time to stick around much before, or after the race when the presentation reputedly gives the Woodentops original version a run for it's money. But I got enough of a vibe to wish that I had. The only complaint I had was that the Barnes would not wait for my GPS signal to connect and rudely started the race regardless. The thick Ribble Valley clag may have been blocking out the satellite signal. I have a fraught relationship with technology at the best of times. I normally settle for the simplicity of the good old stopwatch on a Casio from Argos for racing in, but with rushing around I'd forgotten it. I don't even know if this fandangled Polar watch of mine has basic stopwatch facility, I don't know what I was thinking.
Despite that distraction, I settled down to a comfortable pace and was going along fine without busting myself. The legs were certainly feeling better than I had feared. However, the sight of Dave Motley's bum cheeks flashing through thin black tights from beneath his bespoke Trawden AC cape was enough to push me on a little harder than I wanted to. But the only reward for that little surge ahead was Craig Stansfield's tight buttocks for company in his gingerbread man outfit. There was only one thing for it - push on towards raceaholic Darren Fishwick who had standard black running shorts on that thankfully left much more to the imagination. I'd just got tucked in behind Darren as we approached the 'elephant trap' - a refreshing deep water hole through which we wade - but a few yards on from there I tripped in a clumsy fashion and slid my right knee in to some shrubbery roots. Nowt major, but enough to put me out of my stride. The Stansfield immediately took advantage and cruised past whilst I was on the deck and it took a good few minutes to run my knocked knee back in to some sort of comfort. Unfortunately that happened to be over probably the most testing section of the race which leads up to the highest point and I started to lose a bit of ground. No excuse though for slouching here, there's still work to be done on my uphill game. Darren and Stanners had already lost me on this section before Mr Motley soared past and was looking strong. Next came the unmistakable toe sprung running action of Clayton's Matt Duckworth, but as the descent started, so did my second wind and I set about regaining some places. I caught and passed Matt just before exiting the woods and then it was another Matt who I was closing in on next, the Nuttall variety and my Blackburn Harrier club mate who himself had been passed by the battling trio of Fishwick, Stansfield and Motley. Those three were also getting a little closer once again, but pushing each other hard and I quickly realised that they were to remain uncatchable. So it was all about Mr Nuttall, looking his usual ten years younger and attired as a Roman soldier. He had threatened me with his sword before the race if I dared to pass him. 'Not much chance of that', said I, even though I knew he wasn't firing anywhere near his full cylinders at present. But it was a close call in the end. If I'd known where the finish was then I would have put in a challenge on the little gradient leading up to it. As Matt attacked it, I thought, 'I'll save a bit for the finish instead', only to realise at the brow of that little pull that essentially that was the finish!
Oh well. Not a bad day at the office and a much needed race under the belt. I certainly ran the latter half of the race strong. The TT is a cracking course with a bit of everything. Some quality ladies in this one with three inside the top nine whilst the quality right at the very front was ridiculous. The ever improving Chris Farrell of Horwich smashing under 27 minutes on this course is outstanding. Nothing less was ever going to beat Ilkley's man of the moment Tom Adams who had to settle for a rare second spot.
HURST GREEN TURKEY TROT (5m) Hurst Green, Lancs.
1st Man - Chris Farrell 26:54 (Horwich RMI)
1st Lady - Julie Briscoe 32:59 (Wakefield & Dist. H.)
My Stats - 33:56 14/265
Saturday, 3 December 2016
FLAT OUT FLAT 5K FALLS A BIT FLAT!
So inside my head I had bigged myself up for this solo 5K time trial on the Witton Park track. Firstly let's deal with the actual physicality of my head. It's a fair sized cranium, only an inch short in circumference of the largest 'normal' head in the world and thus room aplenty for false confidence and misconception. I rocked up yesterday afternoon with the genuine belief I could knock out a standard 17:40 at worst and if I was running well on the day then edge much nearer the 16 minute zone. This was based on both an excellent eleven days of training performances since resuming normal service after 'Nigel' and also the marked improvements I had made before 'Nigel' came along to upset my apple cart of fitness. I've never run a 5K on the track before, least of all on my own, and in fact whilst nearing eleven years of running, 5K races could be counted on three hands and only one which I recall being particularly flat. My PB stands at a seemingly untouchable 16:35 at a far from flat road course in Littleborough back in 2007. I think the nearest I have come to that was 17:21 at the said flat one in Lancaster three years ago.
Seed firmly planted in my head, the scene was set at an eerily desolate Witton Park arena. It was just me and my ageing £10 Casio for company (I'm not one for that Strava palaver and obviously didn't need my GPS for this one) Conditions were perfect with little or no wind whatsoever. I shuffled out a mile warm up and didn't feel fantastic, but that's not unusual so I thought I might as well just get down to the main event of twelve and a half laps. I've been running various interval sessions at giddy paces so I thought I should at least hold down three successive 5:45ish miles without too much pain and have a surge in reserve for the remaining one tenth. We know what 'thought' did; 'followed a muck cart and thought it was a wedding', so Sara constantly reminds me.
I seemed to be blowing a quite bit leading up to my first mile split and the legs still felt heavy. Even so, I was expecting to be running faster than forecasted, so the sight of 5:53 on my watch at that point sent alarm bells ringing. It was pretty grim from there. The upper body contorted more and more, arms flapping around to compensate for the dragging legs. Counting down the last few laps was torturous. There was nothing else to give, even in the final 200 metres I couldn't find an extra stride and I clocked in at a very disappointing 18:44.
Negative thoughts as I tottered around the track for a cool down evolved around depressing comparisions with much better times in the not so distant past - over slower courses, during periods of lesser fitness levels - and even both. The way I felt during this run certainly belied and undermined some strong outings in training recently. I finished this time trial some 300 metres or more behind my projected virtual self out there. I couldn't understand it. If that had been an actual race, then without doubt my worst performance at that distance.
Inside that big cranium of mine during the fifteen minute drive home, the big inquest took place. As a runner you can't be on the top of your game all the time, but the extent of that very lack of a performance there came as a bit of a shock. Lame excuses came to the fore; I just didn't feel light and springy that afternoon, perhaps the effects of some decent quality efforts in to training lately had left me feeling flat, maybe the track session from Tuesday night was still lingering in the legs, the previous evening I ran a fairly spritely seven and a half miler with the Horrocks... I'm 43...I used to be a pothead... the excuses went on and on. But a more considered conclusion was that it was just another training session. No need to beat myself up too hard.
So inside my head I had bigged myself up for this solo 5K time trial on the Witton Park track. Firstly let's deal with the actual physicality of my head. It's a fair sized cranium, only an inch short in circumference of the largest 'normal' head in the world and thus room aplenty for false confidence and misconception. I rocked up yesterday afternoon with the genuine belief I could knock out a standard 17:40 at worst and if I was running well on the day then edge much nearer the 16 minute zone. This was based on both an excellent eleven days of training performances since resuming normal service after 'Nigel' and also the marked improvements I had made before 'Nigel' came along to upset my apple cart of fitness. I've never run a 5K on the track before, least of all on my own, and in fact whilst nearing eleven years of running, 5K races could be counted on three hands and only one which I recall being particularly flat. My PB stands at a seemingly untouchable 16:35 at a far from flat road course in Littleborough back in 2007. I think the nearest I have come to that was 17:21 at the said flat one in Lancaster three years ago.
Seed firmly planted in my head, the scene was set at an eerily desolate Witton Park arena. It was just me and my ageing £10 Casio for company (I'm not one for that Strava palaver and obviously didn't need my GPS for this one) Conditions were perfect with little or no wind whatsoever. I shuffled out a mile warm up and didn't feel fantastic, but that's not unusual so I thought I might as well just get down to the main event of twelve and a half laps. I've been running various interval sessions at giddy paces so I thought I should at least hold down three successive 5:45ish miles without too much pain and have a surge in reserve for the remaining one tenth. We know what 'thought' did; 'followed a muck cart and thought it was a wedding', so Sara constantly reminds me.
I seemed to be blowing a quite bit leading up to my first mile split and the legs still felt heavy. Even so, I was expecting to be running faster than forecasted, so the sight of 5:53 on my watch at that point sent alarm bells ringing. It was pretty grim from there. The upper body contorted more and more, arms flapping around to compensate for the dragging legs. Counting down the last few laps was torturous. There was nothing else to give, even in the final 200 metres I couldn't find an extra stride and I clocked in at a very disappointing 18:44.
Negative thoughts as I tottered around the track for a cool down evolved around depressing comparisions with much better times in the not so distant past - over slower courses, during periods of lesser fitness levels - and even both. The way I felt during this run certainly belied and undermined some strong outings in training recently. I finished this time trial some 300 metres or more behind my projected virtual self out there. I couldn't understand it. If that had been an actual race, then without doubt my worst performance at that distance.
Inside that big cranium of mine during the fifteen minute drive home, the big inquest took place. As a runner you can't be on the top of your game all the time, but the extent of that very lack of a performance there came as a bit of a shock. Lame excuses came to the fore; I just didn't feel light and springy that afternoon, perhaps the effects of some decent quality efforts in to training lately had left me feeling flat, maybe the track session from Tuesday night was still lingering in the legs, the previous evening I ran a fairly spritely seven and a half miler with the Horrocks... I'm 43...I used to be a pothead... the excuses went on and on. But a more considered conclusion was that it was just another training session. No need to beat myself up too hard.
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