A SAD TALE FROM SABDEN TRAIL
SABDEN 6 TRAIL RACE
Going in to this race I was unsure what was in store. The only preconceived guarantee was that I would finish it at least. But even that proved not to be the case as I haunted myself with a DNF about two miles in to proceedings. I've had two Did Not Finish experiences in the past - a bust knee after a rocky tumble at the Three Shires race couldn't be helped and I maintain it was entirely sensible when I pulled up quite early on in the Sedburgh Hills race. Breaking in a pair of Walsh fell runners that I had won went all wrong. After stupidly straying off course on the first descent, the Walshes proved no good for me. I was literally running on the sides of the shoes when cambering and strained something in the lower leg.
This DNF at Sabden though, this was just a sudden compulsion. It just happened. A mental and physical recognition that a competitive edge had been left behind on the starting line. I was struggling, just like I've struggled before on many occasions, but here I simply stopped, literally said, "sod this", and turned to trot back the opposite way. I wasn't where I wanted to be, challenging where I felt I ought to be challenging. I'm sure if anyone gave a hoot they might criticise my actions. It was a weak thing to do, the easiest thing to do. But I didn't feel relief when I stopped and began to retrace my steps, far from it, and if it was an easy option then I would have done it before in recent times.
As I hit the main track back to the village, ironically I naturally picked up a bit of speed again and embarrassingly received the plaudits of some onlookers who mistakenly thought I was the race leader coming back in! It just wasn't the race to pull out of as there was no stealthy way back to report my resignation to a race official and instead faced the ignominy of a watching crowd back at the start and finish line. There was a bit of good banter, but the iconic presence of Blackburn Harriers club secretary George Davies looked bemused at my lame excuse for pulling the plug. It's a good job race organiser Shaun Livesey missed this inglorious act because he would have sent me back out there to do the full course.
So as I latched on to the familiar journey home down the A59, I searched for excuses why I was rubbish and dropped out... I've not had chance to do the long runs in recent weeks, I can't do track sessions, I felt like crap most of that day, I had a meal at 4:30pm, Richard Taylor (and George) gave me one last lobbying on the EU Referendum when I should have been warming up, our new dog Connie hasn't slept through yet... but essentially, I think it's just a lack of real quality training and ability to sustain it that is letting me down.
From here I either go with the flow that iksn't flowing very well or I just don't race any more. Well, at least not until after next week's Tebay fell race. Those lush green lumps that are the Howgills have the pulling power to make me race again next Wednesday, but the lush greens at the Leyland Fox Lane Club upon which to roll some woods is also a power that pulls ever closer.
Wed. 22nd June 2016
SABDEN 6 TRAIL RACE (6m) Sabden, Lancs.
Ist Man - Tom Cornthwaite (Salford) 35:44
1st Lady - Louisa Powell Smith (Clayton) 41:53
My Stats - DNF
Thursday, 23 June 2016
Tuesday, 21 June 2016
SEVEN SINS
I've been on the running scene for just over ten years now and generally speaking, what a fine breed of peculiar people I have had the pleasure of meeting. But, as in any walk (or run) of life, there is always annoyance, nuisance and bug bares to bare. As somebody who can get easily irritated at times, here are seven random running things that particularly get on my nerves...
1) OVERTAKING AND BRAKING...
So it's a fell race and it's pretty much a section of single file trod unless you want to go through some really rough stuff. Then clever clogs comes alongside surging in the heather and tussocks to not only cut right in front, put then put the breaks on and proceed at a slower pace than I was running in the first place. It's even worse on a climb when all you have is their backside parked in your face.
2) BOUNDARY HOPPERS...
"In the interests of the future of this race, please use stiles and gates and do not climb walls and fences. Thank you". It said so in the race info, the race organiser even gave a verbal reminder at the start. But early on in the race amongst us also-rans there is a small queue forming at the next field boundary. That's the cue for one numpty to think their need is far greater and rather than wait a few seconds, go for the illegal clamber and brazenly jog on ignoring the rightful protests of fellow competitors and basically behaving like a dick.
3) STILE BUT NO SUBSTANCE...
Another example of nonsensical nuisance behaviour at land boundaries is when a runner surges to nip in front of you just before the next stile or gate. Now if the finish is in sight, then I totally get it. But then if that was the case I'd make a counter-surge to guard my place!
But when there are still ten miles to go, they're probably no better than me and then have the audacity to faff about getting over or through the said obstacle, said sinners ought to take a hindsight moment to question the bizarre and unnecessary nature of this behaviour.
4) LITTER BUGGERS...
Buggers they are too, but thankfully few and far between. I've witnessed only a few instances of deliberate littering by runners. At Keswick, Mick Green, who then ran for Lostock AC, thought nothing of chucking his plastic cup in to the bottom of a hedge on Fitz Park whilst we cooled down after the Skiddaw race. I can only hope that was a one off from Mick who I otherwise knew to be a decent enough chap. On the way to a ladies victory in the Three Peaks race of 2011, New Zealander Anna Frost tossed her plastic cup to ground 100 yards beyond the High Birkwith checkpoint like it was some City road marathon. It certainly didn't look accidental. The plastic cup sped off down the valley, tumbling in to the wind. There are some sinners out there no careful enough with their gel wrappers or who even think it's fine to spit out the bit they rip off with their teeth to open them. It's not.
5) NOT SO PERFECT PARTNERS...
Relay races and more specifically, fell relays when running in a pair... there really isn't anything worse than a partner who is quicker than you that doesn't grasp the concept of teamwork and getting the best out of you. Although we used to do the odd training run together, Dominic Raby wasn't an ideal companion to race in a pair with when I was at Chorley Harriers. Dom had a ten yard rule - he liked to be ten yards ahead if he was on his game. But the worst case scenario for me was after joining Blackburn and being partnered with Lee Passco a few times. Lee was running well at the time, a bit quicker than me and he seemed to have to prove this point when we were paired up in relays. Nightmare.
Best case scenario was Matt Nuttall. In a different class to myself, but got the best out of me at the British Fell Relays on the Lomonds of Fife. Certainly the odd time since, when I have perhaps been the stronger runner, I would never put my partner through the mire or get fifty yards ahead. I've seen examples of this at most team relays I've done. Last year at the Bradford Millenium Way Relay there was a clearly experienced chap paired up with a young lass who was really struggling. The sight of him fifty yards ahead and gaining wasn't doing much for her confidence or well being and he should of known better. As we passsed him I debated whether to say owt. Wished I had done now. Nowt worse in a team than a complete lack of teamwork!
6) PARKRUN SNOBBERY...
What on earth is all this about? You turn up at a Parkrun but don't scan your card at the finish because you don't want your time going up on the all important Power of Ten site?! I've only done four Parkruns, all at the far from flat Cuerden Valley course which is not conducive to fast times and this has happened twice when names to faces I recognise mysteriously don't appear on the results. Hijacking an event like this which people volunteer time and effort to put on really is the height of bad manners. These folk are also taking themselves way too seriously.
7) DISSENTING THE RACE ORGANISER.
Now this one really drives me nuts. I hate it when a race organiser gets criticism of ANY sort, even if they did get something wrong. It's a thankless task and without these fantastic individuals pulling their tripe out and giving something back to the sport, there are no races on the calendar for the rest of us to pick and choose from.
All of the above are purely isolated incidents and occasional bug bares. The antidotal write-up to the 'Seven Sins' would read 'The Magnificent Million' for all the good things to say about the sport and fell running in particular.
I've been on the running scene for just over ten years now and generally speaking, what a fine breed of peculiar people I have had the pleasure of meeting. But, as in any walk (or run) of life, there is always annoyance, nuisance and bug bares to bare. As somebody who can get easily irritated at times, here are seven random running things that particularly get on my nerves...
1) OVERTAKING AND BRAKING...
So it's a fell race and it's pretty much a section of single file trod unless you want to go through some really rough stuff. Then clever clogs comes alongside surging in the heather and tussocks to not only cut right in front, put then put the breaks on and proceed at a slower pace than I was running in the first place. It's even worse on a climb when all you have is their backside parked in your face.
2) BOUNDARY HOPPERS...
"In the interests of the future of this race, please use stiles and gates and do not climb walls and fences. Thank you". It said so in the race info, the race organiser even gave a verbal reminder at the start. But early on in the race amongst us also-rans there is a small queue forming at the next field boundary. That's the cue for one numpty to think their need is far greater and rather than wait a few seconds, go for the illegal clamber and brazenly jog on ignoring the rightful protests of fellow competitors and basically behaving like a dick.
3) STILE BUT NO SUBSTANCE...
Another example of nonsensical nuisance behaviour at land boundaries is when a runner surges to nip in front of you just before the next stile or gate. Now if the finish is in sight, then I totally get it. But then if that was the case I'd make a counter-surge to guard my place!
But when there are still ten miles to go, they're probably no better than me and then have the audacity to faff about getting over or through the said obstacle, said sinners ought to take a hindsight moment to question the bizarre and unnecessary nature of this behaviour.
4) LITTER BUGGERS...
Buggers they are too, but thankfully few and far between. I've witnessed only a few instances of deliberate littering by runners. At Keswick, Mick Green, who then ran for Lostock AC, thought nothing of chucking his plastic cup in to the bottom of a hedge on Fitz Park whilst we cooled down after the Skiddaw race. I can only hope that was a one off from Mick who I otherwise knew to be a decent enough chap. On the way to a ladies victory in the Three Peaks race of 2011, New Zealander Anna Frost tossed her plastic cup to ground 100 yards beyond the High Birkwith checkpoint like it was some City road marathon. It certainly didn't look accidental. The plastic cup sped off down the valley, tumbling in to the wind. There are some sinners out there no careful enough with their gel wrappers or who even think it's fine to spit out the bit they rip off with their teeth to open them. It's not.
5) NOT SO PERFECT PARTNERS...
Relay races and more specifically, fell relays when running in a pair... there really isn't anything worse than a partner who is quicker than you that doesn't grasp the concept of teamwork and getting the best out of you. Although we used to do the odd training run together, Dominic Raby wasn't an ideal companion to race in a pair with when I was at Chorley Harriers. Dom had a ten yard rule - he liked to be ten yards ahead if he was on his game. But the worst case scenario for me was after joining Blackburn and being partnered with Lee Passco a few times. Lee was running well at the time, a bit quicker than me and he seemed to have to prove this point when we were paired up in relays. Nightmare.
Best case scenario was Matt Nuttall. In a different class to myself, but got the best out of me at the British Fell Relays on the Lomonds of Fife. Certainly the odd time since, when I have perhaps been the stronger runner, I would never put my partner through the mire or get fifty yards ahead. I've seen examples of this at most team relays I've done. Last year at the Bradford Millenium Way Relay there was a clearly experienced chap paired up with a young lass who was really struggling. The sight of him fifty yards ahead and gaining wasn't doing much for her confidence or well being and he should of known better. As we passsed him I debated whether to say owt. Wished I had done now. Nowt worse in a team than a complete lack of teamwork!
6) PARKRUN SNOBBERY...
What on earth is all this about? You turn up at a Parkrun but don't scan your card at the finish because you don't want your time going up on the all important Power of Ten site?! I've only done four Parkruns, all at the far from flat Cuerden Valley course which is not conducive to fast times and this has happened twice when names to faces I recognise mysteriously don't appear on the results. Hijacking an event like this which people volunteer time and effort to put on really is the height of bad manners. These folk are also taking themselves way too seriously.
7) DISSENTING THE RACE ORGANISER.
Now this one really drives me nuts. I hate it when a race organiser gets criticism of ANY sort, even if they did get something wrong. It's a thankless task and without these fantastic individuals pulling their tripe out and giving something back to the sport, there are no races on the calendar for the rest of us to pick and choose from.
All of the above are purely isolated incidents and occasional bug bares. The antidotal write-up to the 'Seven Sins' would read 'The Magnificent Million' for all the good things to say about the sport and fell running in particular.
Sunday, 19 June 2016
NOT BOWLED OVER BUT STILL NOT BOWLING
PODIUM 5K
Was it Winston Churchill who said, "Some of us were born to do Podium, some of us become Podium runners and some of us have Podium thrust upon us"? Not quite, I think he was referring to greatness, actually. Podium - certainly not greatness - was thrust upon me this Friday evening as I was tempted by the obligation of my presence for the Up & Running shop which was represented on site. I could have given it a miss this time around, but of equal obligation, I was there and fit to run so quite simply my conscience would not accept anything other than pinning on a number and having a bash. Unlike the last Podium 5K in March, I haven't been doing significant mileage and the only speedy sessions of late are a couple which I dutifully crashed in the week leading up to the race, once I had acknowledged to myself that I wasn't going to live with myself if I didn't actually to run it.
So this blog, diary, whatever it is, hasn't converted focus to crown green bowling just yet then. It's still about running as I feel a small corner has been turned. Not as much cycling as I planned, probably not as much running either, but at least the hamstrung state of affairs has eased and maybe it's time to just get out there and do some races, regardless of where I finish. Having spluttered enough pace in my emergency speed sessions to be confident of just about sub-6 minute miling, there was absolutely no doubt whatsoever about entering the 'A' race. Sub-18 is the organiser's guideline entry and I've ranted previously about this... if you're sub-18 and you know it, then you've got to stick yourself in there with the big boys and girls. Because many of my similarly timed competitors opted for the 'B' race, it was another lonely affair during the five laps of the Barrowford cycle track. More lonely than last time because I just didn't quite have the race in me for this one. Accy's Chris Walton and another fella were always in reaching distance, but there just wasn't that smooth control of decent pace that I enjoyed back in March. Each of the three miles got slightly slower and with a lap and a half to go I could feel that sustaining the pace and effort I was already giving was a challenge in itself. A lack of miles in the bank recently meant I didn't have the endurance to fall back on, but 17:46 was by no means a disaster.
At least being slower than last time out I got a great view of Ben Fish crossing the line in first place at the opposite side of the track. I was pleased for my clubmate and store boss. He's been knocking on the door for a Podium victory since it's inauguration and went sub-15 on it as well. For hindsight thoughts of my own performance, I can only stand by my comments made to the great George Davies for the club's news round-up - "My tendency to chase the shadows of times gone by generally leaves me rather disappointed with myself when I show up for a race these days. But the reality is that in a few more years time I will probably look back and say that wasn't a bad time off a sketchy last month of training at the age of 42. There's still a sub-17 in me on this course if I can get some consistent speed sessions in I reckon, but the clock is ticking." - that sums things up I suppose. Credit to the Barnes again for a cracking race. He had his hands full with over two hours of racing in constant flow from juniors through to seniors. Now for the Sabden 6 Trail Race this week and onwards, if not entirely upwards.
Fri. 17th June 2016
PODIUM 5K Barrowford, Lancs.
1st Man - Ben Fish (Blackburn H) 14:59
1st Lady - Lauren Howarth (Leigh) 15:58
My Stats - 17:46 34/37
PODIUM 5K
Was it Winston Churchill who said, "Some of us were born to do Podium, some of us become Podium runners and some of us have Podium thrust upon us"? Not quite, I think he was referring to greatness, actually. Podium - certainly not greatness - was thrust upon me this Friday evening as I was tempted by the obligation of my presence for the Up & Running shop which was represented on site. I could have given it a miss this time around, but of equal obligation, I was there and fit to run so quite simply my conscience would not accept anything other than pinning on a number and having a bash. Unlike the last Podium 5K in March, I haven't been doing significant mileage and the only speedy sessions of late are a couple which I dutifully crashed in the week leading up to the race, once I had acknowledged to myself that I wasn't going to live with myself if I didn't actually to run it.
So this blog, diary, whatever it is, hasn't converted focus to crown green bowling just yet then. It's still about running as I feel a small corner has been turned. Not as much cycling as I planned, probably not as much running either, but at least the hamstrung state of affairs has eased and maybe it's time to just get out there and do some races, regardless of where I finish. Having spluttered enough pace in my emergency speed sessions to be confident of just about sub-6 minute miling, there was absolutely no doubt whatsoever about entering the 'A' race. Sub-18 is the organiser's guideline entry and I've ranted previously about this... if you're sub-18 and you know it, then you've got to stick yourself in there with the big boys and girls. Because many of my similarly timed competitors opted for the 'B' race, it was another lonely affair during the five laps of the Barrowford cycle track. More lonely than last time because I just didn't quite have the race in me for this one. Accy's Chris Walton and another fella were always in reaching distance, but there just wasn't that smooth control of decent pace that I enjoyed back in March. Each of the three miles got slightly slower and with a lap and a half to go I could feel that sustaining the pace and effort I was already giving was a challenge in itself. A lack of miles in the bank recently meant I didn't have the endurance to fall back on, but 17:46 was by no means a disaster.
At least being slower than last time out I got a great view of Ben Fish crossing the line in first place at the opposite side of the track. I was pleased for my clubmate and store boss. He's been knocking on the door for a Podium victory since it's inauguration and went sub-15 on it as well. For hindsight thoughts of my own performance, I can only stand by my comments made to the great George Davies for the club's news round-up - "My tendency to chase the shadows of times gone by generally leaves me rather disappointed with myself when I show up for a race these days. But the reality is that in a few more years time I will probably look back and say that wasn't a bad time off a sketchy last month of training at the age of 42. There's still a sub-17 in me on this course if I can get some consistent speed sessions in I reckon, but the clock is ticking." - that sums things up I suppose. Credit to the Barnes again for a cracking race. He had his hands full with over two hours of racing in constant flow from juniors through to seniors. Now for the Sabden 6 Trail Race this week and onwards, if not entirely upwards.
Fri. 17th June 2016
PODIUM 5K Barrowford, Lancs.
1st Man - Ben Fish (Blackburn H) 14:59
1st Lady - Lauren Howarth (Leigh) 15:58
My Stats - 17:46 34/37
Wednesday, 1 June 2016
A NEW TRAINING CYCLE?
So statistics from May were not very encouraging. Slack mileage, just one race which didn't go well and barely feeling strong or even comfortable during any run for well over two weeks. It's not all gloom, gloom, gloom though. As the month drew to a close, the hamstring niggle began to fade and a decent day of sessions on the bike has restored some faith in my endurance levels at least. The 21.3 mile commute from Leyland to Clitheroe was completed in 1hr 17mins with an average speed of 16.5mph. Pedalling in to an annoyingly constant head wind, this required a fairly decent work rate to sustain. With the Ribble Valley jetstream on my tail on the return journey home, I was determined to knock a bit of time off and pedalled home in 1hr 8mins at an 18.7mph average. I'm not too clear as to how that rates in the cycling world, but aside from a steady eight mile ride with Sara, I have no cycling in the system since last Summer so I am quite pleased with those stats. I managed to throw a four mile run in as well, so a good day's training was had on the 30th of the month.
Running yesterday on the 31st in the heat of mid-afternoon, I had lofty ambitions of running in to double figures but the effects of the previous day's effort on wheels made for some awkwardness in getting a decent stride pattern together. Not sure about this biking lark now! It certainly wasn't a good day to get a running feelgood factor back and so for the sake of damage limitation, I returned home after forty minutes.
June is here and I'm going to give the cycling the benefit of the doubt. I've noted that a more pedalling than running routine hasn't done any harm to the fortunes of effervescent fellow Blackburn Harrier Andy Buttery these last few years. It's got to be worth a shot. I do find it a bit of a ball ache though to get the bike out, there seems a lot more faffing involved like checking stuff, pumping tyres up... with running it's just shoes on and off you pop. Either way, the purchase of a set of second hand woods is still on hold for the moment.
So statistics from May were not very encouraging. Slack mileage, just one race which didn't go well and barely feeling strong or even comfortable during any run for well over two weeks. It's not all gloom, gloom, gloom though. As the month drew to a close, the hamstring niggle began to fade and a decent day of sessions on the bike has restored some faith in my endurance levels at least. The 21.3 mile commute from Leyland to Clitheroe was completed in 1hr 17mins with an average speed of 16.5mph. Pedalling in to an annoyingly constant head wind, this required a fairly decent work rate to sustain. With the Ribble Valley jetstream on my tail on the return journey home, I was determined to knock a bit of time off and pedalled home in 1hr 8mins at an 18.7mph average. I'm not too clear as to how that rates in the cycling world, but aside from a steady eight mile ride with Sara, I have no cycling in the system since last Summer so I am quite pleased with those stats. I managed to throw a four mile run in as well, so a good day's training was had on the 30th of the month.
Running yesterday on the 31st in the heat of mid-afternoon, I had lofty ambitions of running in to double figures but the effects of the previous day's effort on wheels made for some awkwardness in getting a decent stride pattern together. Not sure about this biking lark now! It certainly wasn't a good day to get a running feelgood factor back and so for the sake of damage limitation, I returned home after forty minutes.
June is here and I'm going to give the cycling the benefit of the doubt. I've noted that a more pedalling than running routine hasn't done any harm to the fortunes of effervescent fellow Blackburn Harrier Andy Buttery these last few years. It's got to be worth a shot. I do find it a bit of a ball ache though to get the bike out, there seems a lot more faffing involved like checking stuff, pumping tyres up... with running it's just shoes on and off you pop. Either way, the purchase of a set of second hand woods is still on hold for the moment.
Thursday, 26 May 2016
IN MAY THE FORCE ISN'T WITH ME
Rolling up to the end of May now and my running has strayed from the ultimate objective of race fitness. I've been here before in previous years when the Summer and all it's glorious evening races drift away from my grasp when never quite sustaining the level to compete. A left hamstring nag is the culprit right now, picked up I believe when playing silly buggers during that daft run a week after the Three Peaks. I still see that foolish digression of unnecessary hard running as the catalyst for subsequent demise. It's not quite game over though. I'm still out there doing a bit, but tentatively and almost for the sake of it really like some kind of duty to my own conscience. I am however, pleased to report that the bike has finally found it's way out of the garage. But all the while conscious that the fruits of decent labour put in this year are decomposing and that I could quite easily end up at square one again. I've only one race to show for May and it was poor. Harrock Hill never happened last night and I'd say this next week or two is crucial really with regards to a racing Summer and whether or not it's going to happen. Whilst I have this seemingly uncontrollable psychological commitment to the Three Peaks again next year, I need some proper sport before then, some exhilaration of competing and improving. Perhaps delusion is already here and this is the process of letting go? The bowling green certainly feels nearer than it did.
Rolling up to the end of May now and my running has strayed from the ultimate objective of race fitness. I've been here before in previous years when the Summer and all it's glorious evening races drift away from my grasp when never quite sustaining the level to compete. A left hamstring nag is the culprit right now, picked up I believe when playing silly buggers during that daft run a week after the Three Peaks. I still see that foolish digression of unnecessary hard running as the catalyst for subsequent demise. It's not quite game over though. I'm still out there doing a bit, but tentatively and almost for the sake of it really like some kind of duty to my own conscience. I am however, pleased to report that the bike has finally found it's way out of the garage. But all the while conscious that the fruits of decent labour put in this year are decomposing and that I could quite easily end up at square one again. I've only one race to show for May and it was poor. Harrock Hill never happened last night and I'd say this next week or two is crucial really with regards to a racing Summer and whether or not it's going to happen. Whilst I have this seemingly uncontrollable psychological commitment to the Three Peaks again next year, I need some proper sport before then, some exhilaration of competing and improving. Perhaps delusion is already here and this is the process of letting go? The bowling green certainly feels nearer than it did.
Thursday, 19 May 2016
NOT MEARLEY GOOD ENOUGH
MEARLEY CLOUGH
Almost three weeks have whizzed by since the Three Peaks. All seemed well with a sub-hour eight miler at what felt easy pace just four days after the race and I soon got back in to the swing with a 34 mile week on the board. But silly behaviour during the last run out on the Sunday of that week has put me out of sorts ever since. I discovered a route in to the long ago disused Test Track of Leyland Motors, or British Leyland as that once world famous industry was latterly known. I hadn't been on there for well over thirty years since dossing around as a kid so it was fascinating exploring and running around the outer and inner laps of what used to be the testing site mecca for some of the world's best commercial vehicles.
Add to the nostalgia the strong rays of a high Springtime sun, this seemed to inflict a solar drunkenness upon me as I bashed the test track tarmac quite hard and without much consciousness of my actions. Finally I departed the test track through the same gap in the concrete walls and suddenly took an overwhelming hit of exhaustion. The plan of eight or nine miles steady had gone to the dogs. After chucking in these extra two or three on the test track, I just crashed. The following two and a half mile shuffle homewards was indeed nothing much more than that. If I'd had 20 pence on me, I'd have phoned home to be picked up. Do phone boxes still take coins anyway?
The hamstrings were cramping, my knees had lost shock absorbency and generally I was feeling hungry, dehydrated and absolutely shot at. What a clown. I've run sensibly and consistently all year, listening to the body, then post-Three Peaks I drop my guard and inadvertently stick an unfavourable spanner in to the works. It's definitely hampered preparations for the Mearley Clough fell race this Tuesday - a week and a half later and I'm still not right.
Mearley Clough is without doubt one of the finest short fell races that at least Lancashire has to offer at this time of year and evokes fond memories of a truly decent performance here back in 2007 when I finished fourth in a very decent time. The race begins from the Calf's Head at Worston, through a few rolling fields, a farm yard, up a woodland trail and then the main event upon the hillside itself. Aside from the elite class who barely break stride, this is a hands on knees climbing assault up to Pendle's Scout Cairn.
The cairn itself looked to have been vandalised by mindless thugs for whom I wish slow death. If only we could round up such pathetic imbeciles that lack the respect or intelligence for anything other than their own twisted ideals of entertainment, thus terminating the genetic septic pool from which they spawned. Wishful thinking.
So back to the course then! From the cairn, a miniature horseshoe route leads to hurtling down the opposite steep side of the Clough before retracing steps back towards the woods and the fields. A pasta supper in the pub after and all this for a fiver. Alternatively it was a whopping £17 to enter a local 10K road race recently. That's the world we live in today.
Come race night and upper hamstrings were feeling like guitar strings ready to twang from an overly twisted tuner, particularly on the left side. I could tell this race was going to be tougher tonight. I didn't feel fresh at all, even the slightest incline during warm up punished my legs which felt trashed. Whether it was very delayed onset fatigue from the Peaks, that Sunday morning silliness or more likely a combination of both that's left me this jaded, all I know is that excuses are futile. I took a race number and must have thought I could pull a rabbit out of the hat.
The first half mile felt like a truly ferocious pace and one that caught up with me as the incline starts to intensify in the woods. I thought if I could just hold on before the main climb... then I noticed a course diversion and not one that whet my already losing appetite. A dip down to the brook, a sticky ascent out and then a traverse back and losing height again before starting the main climb from the very base of the Clough. Well that just did my head in a bit and I was absolutely blowing out of my rear whilst losing a good few places in the process. Never a nice place to be in a fell race. Meanwhile ahead, way ahead and up high was a most impressive race leader, young local lad Josh Boyle. With the not to be sniffed at likes of Darren Kay and Sam Watson in his wake, Josh was running the unrunable on sections of Mearley's steepest offerings and held out to take a most impressive victory indeed at the age of just 15. As for myself, I frittered away to finish eighteenth and was unable to stave off or then kick back at the challenge of Accrington's Graham Morris. It was Graham to whom I spat some dummy and spilled my beans at the end about my racing days being numbered and looking up the price of a set of decent second hand woods for the Crown Green season. But here was I, whining to a guy almost ten years older than myself who is enjoying something of a renaissance during the last year or so. Graham's a good guy and tried to give me encouragement and suggested that breaking up the running with cycling could be a solution. It's certainly worked for Mr Morris with a Great Britain vest for veteran duathalon now in his possession. I enjoy cycling, but I don't love it enough. It's a relationship I would definitely need to work on but it is the right time of year to try and embrace it.
Over pasta supper and a pint I shared some thoughts old and new with my old Chorley clubmate Mark Ellithorn - the Benjamin Button of fell running - 'The Thorn' seems to look younger every time I see him and of course he must enjoy me keep reminding him of that.
Very little running at all followed that week. I felt like a crumpled mess for most of it. This week has seen a moderate return to normal operations but still tender in places. Next race up that ticks my box of possibility is the first of the Harrock Hill summer series next Wednesday. But I'm going to have to feel far more finely tuned than this if I am to risk competing again. The big question for me and my running is indeed a big question and has been asked before. Whilst I still have the belief, the willingness to compete, am I but a deluded soul whose best running performances are really long since gone?
Tue. 10th May 2016
MEARLEY CLOUGH (3.9m/1Tu200ft) Worston, Lancs.
1st Man - Josh Boyle (Barlick) 30:55
1st Lady - Caitlin Rice (Glossopdale) 36:00
My Stats - 36:22 18/153
MEARLEY CLOUGH
Almost three weeks have whizzed by since the Three Peaks. All seemed well with a sub-hour eight miler at what felt easy pace just four days after the race and I soon got back in to the swing with a 34 mile week on the board. But silly behaviour during the last run out on the Sunday of that week has put me out of sorts ever since. I discovered a route in to the long ago disused Test Track of Leyland Motors, or British Leyland as that once world famous industry was latterly known. I hadn't been on there for well over thirty years since dossing around as a kid so it was fascinating exploring and running around the outer and inner laps of what used to be the testing site mecca for some of the world's best commercial vehicles.
Add to the nostalgia the strong rays of a high Springtime sun, this seemed to inflict a solar drunkenness upon me as I bashed the test track tarmac quite hard and without much consciousness of my actions. Finally I departed the test track through the same gap in the concrete walls and suddenly took an overwhelming hit of exhaustion. The plan of eight or nine miles steady had gone to the dogs. After chucking in these extra two or three on the test track, I just crashed. The following two and a half mile shuffle homewards was indeed nothing much more than that. If I'd had 20 pence on me, I'd have phoned home to be picked up. Do phone boxes still take coins anyway?
The hamstrings were cramping, my knees had lost shock absorbency and generally I was feeling hungry, dehydrated and absolutely shot at. What a clown. I've run sensibly and consistently all year, listening to the body, then post-Three Peaks I drop my guard and inadvertently stick an unfavourable spanner in to the works. It's definitely hampered preparations for the Mearley Clough fell race this Tuesday - a week and a half later and I'm still not right.
Mearley Clough is without doubt one of the finest short fell races that at least Lancashire has to offer at this time of year and evokes fond memories of a truly decent performance here back in 2007 when I finished fourth in a very decent time. The race begins from the Calf's Head at Worston, through a few rolling fields, a farm yard, up a woodland trail and then the main event upon the hillside itself. Aside from the elite class who barely break stride, this is a hands on knees climbing assault up to Pendle's Scout Cairn.
The cairn itself looked to have been vandalised by mindless thugs for whom I wish slow death. If only we could round up such pathetic imbeciles that lack the respect or intelligence for anything other than their own twisted ideals of entertainment, thus terminating the genetic septic pool from which they spawned. Wishful thinking.
So back to the course then! From the cairn, a miniature horseshoe route leads to hurtling down the opposite steep side of the Clough before retracing steps back towards the woods and the fields. A pasta supper in the pub after and all this for a fiver. Alternatively it was a whopping £17 to enter a local 10K road race recently. That's the world we live in today.
Come race night and upper hamstrings were feeling like guitar strings ready to twang from an overly twisted tuner, particularly on the left side. I could tell this race was going to be tougher tonight. I didn't feel fresh at all, even the slightest incline during warm up punished my legs which felt trashed. Whether it was very delayed onset fatigue from the Peaks, that Sunday morning silliness or more likely a combination of both that's left me this jaded, all I know is that excuses are futile. I took a race number and must have thought I could pull a rabbit out of the hat.
The first half mile felt like a truly ferocious pace and one that caught up with me as the incline starts to intensify in the woods. I thought if I could just hold on before the main climb... then I noticed a course diversion and not one that whet my already losing appetite. A dip down to the brook, a sticky ascent out and then a traverse back and losing height again before starting the main climb from the very base of the Clough. Well that just did my head in a bit and I was absolutely blowing out of my rear whilst losing a good few places in the process. Never a nice place to be in a fell race. Meanwhile ahead, way ahead and up high was a most impressive race leader, young local lad Josh Boyle. With the not to be sniffed at likes of Darren Kay and Sam Watson in his wake, Josh was running the unrunable on sections of Mearley's steepest offerings and held out to take a most impressive victory indeed at the age of just 15. As for myself, I frittered away to finish eighteenth and was unable to stave off or then kick back at the challenge of Accrington's Graham Morris. It was Graham to whom I spat some dummy and spilled my beans at the end about my racing days being numbered and looking up the price of a set of decent second hand woods for the Crown Green season. But here was I, whining to a guy almost ten years older than myself who is enjoying something of a renaissance during the last year or so. Graham's a good guy and tried to give me encouragement and suggested that breaking up the running with cycling could be a solution. It's certainly worked for Mr Morris with a Great Britain vest for veteran duathalon now in his possession. I enjoy cycling, but I don't love it enough. It's a relationship I would definitely need to work on but it is the right time of year to try and embrace it.
Over pasta supper and a pint I shared some thoughts old and new with my old Chorley clubmate Mark Ellithorn - the Benjamin Button of fell running - 'The Thorn' seems to look younger every time I see him and of course he must enjoy me keep reminding him of that.
Very little running at all followed that week. I felt like a crumpled mess for most of it. This week has seen a moderate return to normal operations but still tender in places. Next race up that ticks my box of possibility is the first of the Harrock Hill summer series next Wednesday. But I'm going to have to feel far more finely tuned than this if I am to risk competing again. The big question for me and my running is indeed a big question and has been asked before. Whilst I still have the belief, the willingness to compete, am I but a deluded soul whose best running performances are really long since gone?
Tue. 10th May 2016
MEARLEY CLOUGH (3.9m/1Tu200ft) Worston, Lancs.
1st Man - Josh Boyle (Barlick) 30:55
1st Lady - Caitlin Rice (Glossopdale) 36:00
My Stats - 36:22 18/153
Thursday, 5 May 2016
SATISFACTORY DISAPPOINTMENT!
THREE PEAKS RACE
I kept running right up until race day with a pacey two and a half miles to waken the lungs up on the penultimate day but one. On the penultimate day itself I jogged what I thought was a tootle of three miles or so back home from the garage after dropping my car off for MOT and servicing. The 'or so' turned out to be a good bit more than I had loosely estimated. Coupled with a headwind and squally showers, it ended up a bit of a slog but I kept it as steady as I could.
Race day arrived and by my own normally zombified standards of morningness I felt pretty good. It takes me a few hours to come round in to the land of the officially conscious, so I got up early enough to allow for that process to kick in. Whether it was excitement, adrenaline, or even fear, I was in the zone from the moment I awoke which was a rarity indeed. Another rarity was Yorkshire's highest peaks heavily awash with snow on the last day of April. It was also a fabulous and inspiring sight to see.
As the masses flowed through the marquis for kit check I found myself in the familiar company of ex-Blackburn clubmate Chris Barnes. ''I've not trained for this Sutts, I'm running round with Andy Heys'' (That's Andy Heys of Blackburn Harriers, a Peaks first timer and with respect most likely a little further along the estimated finishing time than Barnes and I) The runner that turns up for a race saying they feel great and are going to frigging smash it are a very rare breed indeed, so obviously Barnesy's pre-race self assessment got the heavy pinch of salt it deserved. ''Aye Chris, whatever. Just have a drink ready for me at the finish''.
Cometh that half way mark past the tenth hour and the trip-hazardous surge from the starting field begins and we were off. My main plan was to hold back from temptation to push on in the first half of the race and have something left in the latter half. Although with a time in mind, I wasn't actually going to be very time conscious and essentially just run my own race. Pen-y-Ghent is the first peak to tick off which I pitter-pattered up without much energy expended.
Coming off the top I was in familiar company again, ''I thought you were running with Andy?'', said I. ''I can't find him. I'm just going to jog round now sub-4.15, I'll be happy with that'', said Mr Barnes. ''Like I said, have a drink ready for me''. The Barnes cracks me up. I couldn't help thinking he'll still be changing his race plan with half a mile to go. We ran together for a few miles as our steady pace certainly suited myself but started to realise I was in danger of losing concentration of my own job. In fact in the nicest possible way, Chris was becoming a complete pain in the arse. Should I try and push on from him or hold back? I went for the latter as he gained some considerable yardage on me during a short uphill section beyond High Birkwith. I was able to get back in to the solitary mental zone again and just keep myself to myself for a bit, but with Chris toing and froing ahead, he was a like a loose cannon and one that I was trying hard to ignore as having any baring whatsoever to my own performance.
By Ribblehead Viaduct, just shy of the half way mark, I was still feeling fairly fresh but I took a curious peep at my watch which made grim reading as far as my timekeeping ambitions were concerned. Having reached this point in 1.27 back in the PB year of 2013, this time I trotted down to the iconic twenty four limestone arches in 1.39. No wonder I felt fresh! There's no denying I was a little despondent about that. Although I was feeling fine, equally there was no point showing a lack of respect to the next section and trying to play catch up on the long and arduous slog up Whernside. I decided to lunch on the lower reaches of this largest of the Three Peaks and whilst that sounds like some idyllic picnic sat on a Burberry blanket, the reality was a seed bar and some chocolate coated coffee beans with nothing but your nearest competitor's backside in view as the incline steepens. I just thought take it easy here, fuel up and then give it a bit more energy further up the hillside. Occasional running bud Johnny Horrocks is up there with his stepdad Simon spectating and they give it a bit of ''Come on Sutty'', which was an unexpected welcome boost.
Upon the brow of Whernside's long plateau, a prolonged hail shower blew horizontally which was enough a reason to get off there as quickly as possible. The descent was a little precarious in places, slushy snow made life interesting but at one point where the path becomes a zig-zag of foot holes on one of the steeper sections, walkers and runners alike were tottering about all over the place trying to stay on their feet. It was chaotic. If I hang about too much on steep descents it aches my knees so I spotted a clear, direct line through this mayhem and went for it. Faintly - and I mean so in the most minimal sense - I brushed the rucksack of a walker who, in fairness to myself, had suddenly frozen to a halt right in front of me, forcing my body shape to contort accordingly to avoid a crash. The young lady in question shrieked in an entirely over-exaggerated way as if I'd actually knocked her off her feet. Despite her overwhelming lack of traffic sense, I nevertheless raised an arm and sounded an apology for my own incidental part in this minor skirmish. But the apology was snubbed. All I could hear was South of England accentuated chunnerings of disgruntlement which continued until finally fading out of my earshot.
I suppose walkers and particularly inexperienced ones don't take kindly to scantily clad nut jobs hurtling through their personal space and I can relate to that, but here was somebody with a very low threshold of what one might consider to be trauma. It's not as if I had taken her by surprise. More than 200 runners had already passed her at this point. There really is nowt queerer than some folk.
As the gradient off Whernside began to shallow, that man Barnes came in to sight again, pulling away a little on the road and bridleway section to the Hill Inn. Again, at the Hill Inn I didn't feel bad at all. I could tell I'd done some miles, but I wasn't dreading the final climb up Ingleborough and was in fact looking forward to it as I felt there was going to be plenty left to put in a decent effort from that final checkpoint at the summit. I'd given up on the stopwatch. I was starting to realise that regardless of the time, I was actually starting to learn how to run this race and actually what I do need to do next time to not only run it sensibly, but get the time I aspire to. More than anything, it's about being in good enough shape to have the confidence to run that first half with more aggression than conservatism and have it in the bank to hold it together after that. That said, my own conservatism did pay off once at the sunny summit of Ingleborough where the gloves literally came off along with my racing cag. I risked a sly glance at my watch again and winced. About twenty minutes outside where I wanted to be! More importantly though, I had something left at this point which couldn't be said of many competitors around me.
Beginning the initially tentative rock hopping descent off Ingleborough's jagged brow, I wasn't surprised to see Barnesy again. But it did raise an eyebrow that he was way over to the left, slipping around on a bank of snow having told me earlier about a quicker route over to the right that Three Peaks legend Rob Jebb uses! The race route is briefly taped in this area so I just followed the tape and seemed to get a decent line. Once I hit the main path I opened up my stride and started to build up a strong pace which I maintained pretty solidly for the final five miles back to Horton. I pulled back forty-five places on this closing section, only for my final victim to surprise me with an avenging late counter-surge in the finishing field. It was the sprint of a younger man that these slightly older legs sadly had no answer to.
I clocked 4.00:27 and was it not for messing about at food stations with my electrolyte tablets, would have sneaked under the four hour mark. Chris 'I've not trained for this' Barnes was only four minutes behind me so not bad for a 'jog out' or whatever it was in the end. Up at the front, the elites of the elite came very close indeed to the course record which Andy Peace has held since 1996. Lauenstein and Lightfoot had probably warmed down, dunked their legs in the chilly Ribble, dined and had forty winks by the time I returned to Horton, but I really enjoyed it this year and more so maybe than my previous five appearances at this great race. As for the much documented Achilles trouble, not once did I even think about it during those four hours. Perhaps that is testament indeed to not running hard enough! Walking in a normal fashion the following day though was obviously a bridge too far, but no running hangover since and normal service resuming. I suppose underlying disappointment could never quite be so strangely satisfying as in last Saturday's race.
Sat. 30th April 2016
62nd THREE PEAKS RACE 23.5m/5276ft Horton-in-Ribblesdale, North Yorks.
Ist Man - Marc Lauenstein (Team Salomon) 2.48:58
1st Lady - Victoria Wilkinson (Bingley) 3.26:47
My Stats - 4.00:27 177/703
THREE PEAKS RACE
I kept running right up until race day with a pacey two and a half miles to waken the lungs up on the penultimate day but one. On the penultimate day itself I jogged what I thought was a tootle of three miles or so back home from the garage after dropping my car off for MOT and servicing. The 'or so' turned out to be a good bit more than I had loosely estimated. Coupled with a headwind and squally showers, it ended up a bit of a slog but I kept it as steady as I could.
Race day arrived and by my own normally zombified standards of morningness I felt pretty good. It takes me a few hours to come round in to the land of the officially conscious, so I got up early enough to allow for that process to kick in. Whether it was excitement, adrenaline, or even fear, I was in the zone from the moment I awoke which was a rarity indeed. Another rarity was Yorkshire's highest peaks heavily awash with snow on the last day of April. It was also a fabulous and inspiring sight to see.
As the masses flowed through the marquis for kit check I found myself in the familiar company of ex-Blackburn clubmate Chris Barnes. ''I've not trained for this Sutts, I'm running round with Andy Heys'' (That's Andy Heys of Blackburn Harriers, a Peaks first timer and with respect most likely a little further along the estimated finishing time than Barnes and I) The runner that turns up for a race saying they feel great and are going to frigging smash it are a very rare breed indeed, so obviously Barnesy's pre-race self assessment got the heavy pinch of salt it deserved. ''Aye Chris, whatever. Just have a drink ready for me at the finish''.
Cometh that half way mark past the tenth hour and the trip-hazardous surge from the starting field begins and we were off. My main plan was to hold back from temptation to push on in the first half of the race and have something left in the latter half. Although with a time in mind, I wasn't actually going to be very time conscious and essentially just run my own race. Pen-y-Ghent is the first peak to tick off which I pitter-pattered up without much energy expended.
Coming off the top I was in familiar company again, ''I thought you were running with Andy?'', said I. ''I can't find him. I'm just going to jog round now sub-4.15, I'll be happy with that'', said Mr Barnes. ''Like I said, have a drink ready for me''. The Barnes cracks me up. I couldn't help thinking he'll still be changing his race plan with half a mile to go. We ran together for a few miles as our steady pace certainly suited myself but started to realise I was in danger of losing concentration of my own job. In fact in the nicest possible way, Chris was becoming a complete pain in the arse. Should I try and push on from him or hold back? I went for the latter as he gained some considerable yardage on me during a short uphill section beyond High Birkwith. I was able to get back in to the solitary mental zone again and just keep myself to myself for a bit, but with Chris toing and froing ahead, he was a like a loose cannon and one that I was trying hard to ignore as having any baring whatsoever to my own performance.
By Ribblehead Viaduct, just shy of the half way mark, I was still feeling fairly fresh but I took a curious peep at my watch which made grim reading as far as my timekeeping ambitions were concerned. Having reached this point in 1.27 back in the PB year of 2013, this time I trotted down to the iconic twenty four limestone arches in 1.39. No wonder I felt fresh! There's no denying I was a little despondent about that. Although I was feeling fine, equally there was no point showing a lack of respect to the next section and trying to play catch up on the long and arduous slog up Whernside. I decided to lunch on the lower reaches of this largest of the Three Peaks and whilst that sounds like some idyllic picnic sat on a Burberry blanket, the reality was a seed bar and some chocolate coated coffee beans with nothing but your nearest competitor's backside in view as the incline steepens. I just thought take it easy here, fuel up and then give it a bit more energy further up the hillside. Occasional running bud Johnny Horrocks is up there with his stepdad Simon spectating and they give it a bit of ''Come on Sutty'', which was an unexpected welcome boost.
Upon the brow of Whernside's long plateau, a prolonged hail shower blew horizontally which was enough a reason to get off there as quickly as possible. The descent was a little precarious in places, slushy snow made life interesting but at one point where the path becomes a zig-zag of foot holes on one of the steeper sections, walkers and runners alike were tottering about all over the place trying to stay on their feet. It was chaotic. If I hang about too much on steep descents it aches my knees so I spotted a clear, direct line through this mayhem and went for it. Faintly - and I mean so in the most minimal sense - I brushed the rucksack of a walker who, in fairness to myself, had suddenly frozen to a halt right in front of me, forcing my body shape to contort accordingly to avoid a crash. The young lady in question shrieked in an entirely over-exaggerated way as if I'd actually knocked her off her feet. Despite her overwhelming lack of traffic sense, I nevertheless raised an arm and sounded an apology for my own incidental part in this minor skirmish. But the apology was snubbed. All I could hear was South of England accentuated chunnerings of disgruntlement which continued until finally fading out of my earshot.
I suppose walkers and particularly inexperienced ones don't take kindly to scantily clad nut jobs hurtling through their personal space and I can relate to that, but here was somebody with a very low threshold of what one might consider to be trauma. It's not as if I had taken her by surprise. More than 200 runners had already passed her at this point. There really is nowt queerer than some folk.
As the gradient off Whernside began to shallow, that man Barnes came in to sight again, pulling away a little on the road and bridleway section to the Hill Inn. Again, at the Hill Inn I didn't feel bad at all. I could tell I'd done some miles, but I wasn't dreading the final climb up Ingleborough and was in fact looking forward to it as I felt there was going to be plenty left to put in a decent effort from that final checkpoint at the summit. I'd given up on the stopwatch. I was starting to realise that regardless of the time, I was actually starting to learn how to run this race and actually what I do need to do next time to not only run it sensibly, but get the time I aspire to. More than anything, it's about being in good enough shape to have the confidence to run that first half with more aggression than conservatism and have it in the bank to hold it together after that. That said, my own conservatism did pay off once at the sunny summit of Ingleborough where the gloves literally came off along with my racing cag. I risked a sly glance at my watch again and winced. About twenty minutes outside where I wanted to be! More importantly though, I had something left at this point which couldn't be said of many competitors around me.
Beginning the initially tentative rock hopping descent off Ingleborough's jagged brow, I wasn't surprised to see Barnesy again. But it did raise an eyebrow that he was way over to the left, slipping around on a bank of snow having told me earlier about a quicker route over to the right that Three Peaks legend Rob Jebb uses! The race route is briefly taped in this area so I just followed the tape and seemed to get a decent line. Once I hit the main path I opened up my stride and started to build up a strong pace which I maintained pretty solidly for the final five miles back to Horton. I pulled back forty-five places on this closing section, only for my final victim to surprise me with an avenging late counter-surge in the finishing field. It was the sprint of a younger man that these slightly older legs sadly had no answer to.
I clocked 4.00:27 and was it not for messing about at food stations with my electrolyte tablets, would have sneaked under the four hour mark. Chris 'I've not trained for this' Barnes was only four minutes behind me so not bad for a 'jog out' or whatever it was in the end. Up at the front, the elites of the elite came very close indeed to the course record which Andy Peace has held since 1996. Lauenstein and Lightfoot had probably warmed down, dunked their legs in the chilly Ribble, dined and had forty winks by the time I returned to Horton, but I really enjoyed it this year and more so maybe than my previous five appearances at this great race. As for the much documented Achilles trouble, not once did I even think about it during those four hours. Perhaps that is testament indeed to not running hard enough! Walking in a normal fashion the following day though was obviously a bridge too far, but no running hangover since and normal service resuming. I suppose underlying disappointment could never quite be so strangely satisfying as in last Saturday's race.
Sat. 30th April 2016
62nd THREE PEAKS RACE 23.5m/5276ft Horton-in-Ribblesdale, North Yorks.
Ist Man - Marc Lauenstein (Team Salomon) 2.48:58
1st Lady - Victoria Wilkinson (Bingley) 3.26:47
My Stats - 4.00:27 177/703
Thursday, 28 April 2016
THE TAPER CAPER
Eek. The day before the day before the Yorkshire Three Peaks Race 2016. Rightly or wrongly, probably wrongly, my last truly punishing run was a distant seventeen days ago when I decided to go out and bash a half marathon distance quite hard on the road before going away on hols. Whilst away in the welcome warmth of the Mediterranean I managed to get a few glorious coastal runs in and yesterday was still only the fourth day this year without slipping on a pair of running shoes. I've not done more than six or seven miles at a time though lately. A nuisance-value head cold has put the reins on things. This week I'm pottering with steady three or four milers. It feels wrong. I feel like I should be out there getting more miles in. Last Sunday I felt fresh and in pretty good shape and so once again, Warning: Boring stat attack... I ran five miles inside 35 minutes with such enjoyable ease that my recovery was pretty much instant. From the heady (for me) average weekly mileage of 46 I have slipped down to 28 and then 25. This week I will have run a paltry 13 miles or so going in to Saturday's race. It's difficult knowing what to do really. Have I dropped off too much? Should I really have been scrambling up and thundering down Mearley Clough as recently as Monday night? Have I done the miles but not done the sessions - only twice surpassing the twenty mile mark and nudging in to double figures on only nine other occasions? Should I have done more climbing? The endless if's and but's. It's not just about getting round around the course for me. I'm confident of that. It's the goal, two goals in fact that are making me tetchy on Three Peaks Eve-Eve. I want to beat my course best of 3.44 - I want to get in to 'first class' certification which requires a sub-3.40, frame that little scrap of paper that would say so to once and for all put this race to bed. But what I actually do need to do right now is just shut the bloody hell up and relax!
Eek. The day before the day before the Yorkshire Three Peaks Race 2016. Rightly or wrongly, probably wrongly, my last truly punishing run was a distant seventeen days ago when I decided to go out and bash a half marathon distance quite hard on the road before going away on hols. Whilst away in the welcome warmth of the Mediterranean I managed to get a few glorious coastal runs in and yesterday was still only the fourth day this year without slipping on a pair of running shoes. I've not done more than six or seven miles at a time though lately. A nuisance-value head cold has put the reins on things. This week I'm pottering with steady three or four milers. It feels wrong. I feel like I should be out there getting more miles in. Last Sunday I felt fresh and in pretty good shape and so once again, Warning: Boring stat attack... I ran five miles inside 35 minutes with such enjoyable ease that my recovery was pretty much instant. From the heady (for me) average weekly mileage of 46 I have slipped down to 28 and then 25. This week I will have run a paltry 13 miles or so going in to Saturday's race. It's difficult knowing what to do really. Have I dropped off too much? Should I really have been scrambling up and thundering down Mearley Clough as recently as Monday night? Have I done the miles but not done the sessions - only twice surpassing the twenty mile mark and nudging in to double figures on only nine other occasions? Should I have done more climbing? The endless if's and but's. It's not just about getting round around the course for me. I'm confident of that. It's the goal, two goals in fact that are making me tetchy on Three Peaks Eve-Eve. I want to beat my course best of 3.44 - I want to get in to 'first class' certification which requires a sub-3.40, frame that little scrap of paper that would say so to once and for all put this race to bed. But what I actually do need to do right now is just shut the bloody hell up and relax!
Saturday, 9 April 2016
MILESTONE
Warning: Stat boredom is about to commence... it was an innocuous, aimless, loopy three mile jaunt around Clitheroe with tired legs. Nothing inspiring, nothing much worthy of mention aside from the completion of 100 days of consecutive running in 2016. The great Ron Hill has gone over fifty years running every single day. But I'm not great and I'm no Ron Hill, so for me who had previously barely scratched more than a weeks worth of continuous running at a time, this was a noteworthy milestone. It was also a statement of intent to myself that unlike previous build ups to the Three Peaks race, I was putting in some groundwork this time around. Again, not in the class of the classier, but significant by own standards of typical mileage. 100 days has covered just shy of 657 miles and averaged out at a 46 mile week. Just a single 40 something week would have stood out as a heavy loaded one in previous preparations, whilst in ten years of running, only twice or three times have I surpassed the half century mark in a week's mileage and this year I have done that on five occasions (well, six if we can include a 49.4) There goes another stat attack. I'm getting a bit obsessed with this mileage logging, I freely admit.
With just over three weeks until race day I have, as previously noted, avoided the temptation of any other races and can't regret that because here I am, fit and still running every day. With a family week away booked on the Maltese island of Gozo, day 103 is going to be the first run-less one of the year - provided we are on time at the airport that is. Last time we ventured by air, to Italy, there was an intense 600 metre dash to the terminal and we only just made it on board.
Warning: Stat boredom is about to commence... it was an innocuous, aimless, loopy three mile jaunt around Clitheroe with tired legs. Nothing inspiring, nothing much worthy of mention aside from the completion of 100 days of consecutive running in 2016. The great Ron Hill has gone over fifty years running every single day. But I'm not great and I'm no Ron Hill, so for me who had previously barely scratched more than a weeks worth of continuous running at a time, this was a noteworthy milestone. It was also a statement of intent to myself that unlike previous build ups to the Three Peaks race, I was putting in some groundwork this time around. Again, not in the class of the classier, but significant by own standards of typical mileage. 100 days has covered just shy of 657 miles and averaged out at a 46 mile week. Just a single 40 something week would have stood out as a heavy loaded one in previous preparations, whilst in ten years of running, only twice or three times have I surpassed the half century mark in a week's mileage and this year I have done that on five occasions (well, six if we can include a 49.4) There goes another stat attack. I'm getting a bit obsessed with this mileage logging, I freely admit.
With just over three weeks until race day I have, as previously noted, avoided the temptation of any other races and can't regret that because here I am, fit and still running every day. With a family week away booked on the Maltese island of Gozo, day 103 is going to be the first run-less one of the year - provided we are on time at the airport that is. Last time we ventured by air, to Italy, there was an intense 600 metre dash to the terminal and we only just made it on board.
Tuesday, 15 March 2016
NO COASTING AT THE ROLLER
RODDLESWORTH ROLLER
No racing for six months and then two in six days. This was my fifth appearance at the Roddlesworth Roller which is a challenging five and a half mile trail affair and always a good test of combining speed and strength. I tapped in to last Saturday's 5K pace as far as the limited stretches of flat and downhill were concerned, but going uphill was quite so fluid. Struggling to maintain the same momentum on the ups, that is where I quickly lost ground on one or two runners ahead that I might've fancied my chances against had I been in finer fettle. At the foot of the long and cobbly climb that reaches the half way point I had splintered off to eighth and at least managed to consolidate that position to the finishing line. I couldn't help but be disappointed to register a personal worst time on the course which was over two minutes beyond my best from two years ago, but there's no point beating myself up about it. Pace has not been part of my training schedule and despite all the miles put in and even the encouraging time clocked at Podium last weekend, running a fast hilly course like this one beyond the speed of anything touched in training was never going to be a cocktail for something great.
Anthony Valentine won this race as he has done on many occasions by doing what I call a 'Valentino Special'. This is when he checks out the front line at the start, doesn't see a threat that he is aware of and then runs the first 300 metres in under 45 seconds just to make sure. My fellow Blackburn Harrier Chris Davies was only 39 seconds in his wake at the finish with a great performance - I wonder what would have happened if he'd gone with Valentino from the start?
So, back to me, nobody in particular. I could race more in an attempt to get back where I would like to be in races like these - but at the risk of flaring this pesky Achilles which is currently manageable by just doing what I am doing. Or, I could concentrate on the bigger picture at Horton-in Ribblesdale on April 30th. The latter is what it's all about. I almost entered the Darwen Half Marathon, but one of those infuriating password issues with my bank card meant my place didn't get processed and then I just lost patience with it. My partner Sara can testify to the rage and frustration that envelopes my normally fairly placid soul when things go wrong online. Maybe the password glitch was a blessing in disguise though. I've still not entered Darwen and probably won't do now. Road isn't my thing anyway. Fell races are always tempting and yet I just seem content in cautiously minding my own business just at present, running every day and keeping injuries at bay. Deep down I think I've probably run my last race until the big one, but at least this little double-header of competition was a reminder of what it feels like to pin a number on.
Sun. 13th March 2016
RODDLESWORTH ROLLER (5.5m) Abbey Village, Lancs.
1st Man - Anthony Valentine (Bolton) 33:26
1st Lady - Christina Singleton (Trawden) 38:25
My Stats - 36:34 8/236
RODDLESWORTH ROLLER
No racing for six months and then two in six days. This was my fifth appearance at the Roddlesworth Roller which is a challenging five and a half mile trail affair and always a good test of combining speed and strength. I tapped in to last Saturday's 5K pace as far as the limited stretches of flat and downhill were concerned, but going uphill was quite so fluid. Struggling to maintain the same momentum on the ups, that is where I quickly lost ground on one or two runners ahead that I might've fancied my chances against had I been in finer fettle. At the foot of the long and cobbly climb that reaches the half way point I had splintered off to eighth and at least managed to consolidate that position to the finishing line. I couldn't help but be disappointed to register a personal worst time on the course which was over two minutes beyond my best from two years ago, but there's no point beating myself up about it. Pace has not been part of my training schedule and despite all the miles put in and even the encouraging time clocked at Podium last weekend, running a fast hilly course like this one beyond the speed of anything touched in training was never going to be a cocktail for something great.
Anthony Valentine won this race as he has done on many occasions by doing what I call a 'Valentino Special'. This is when he checks out the front line at the start, doesn't see a threat that he is aware of and then runs the first 300 metres in under 45 seconds just to make sure. My fellow Blackburn Harrier Chris Davies was only 39 seconds in his wake at the finish with a great performance - I wonder what would have happened if he'd gone with Valentino from the start?
So, back to me, nobody in particular. I could race more in an attempt to get back where I would like to be in races like these - but at the risk of flaring this pesky Achilles which is currently manageable by just doing what I am doing. Or, I could concentrate on the bigger picture at Horton-in Ribblesdale on April 30th. The latter is what it's all about. I almost entered the Darwen Half Marathon, but one of those infuriating password issues with my bank card meant my place didn't get processed and then I just lost patience with it. My partner Sara can testify to the rage and frustration that envelopes my normally fairly placid soul when things go wrong online. Maybe the password glitch was a blessing in disguise though. I've still not entered Darwen and probably won't do now. Road isn't my thing anyway. Fell races are always tempting and yet I just seem content in cautiously minding my own business just at present, running every day and keeping injuries at bay. Deep down I think I've probably run my last race until the big one, but at least this little double-header of competition was a reminder of what it feels like to pin a number on.
Sun. 13th March 2016
RODDLESWORTH ROLLER (5.5m) Abbey Village, Lancs.
1st Man - Anthony Valentine (Bolton) 33:26
1st Lady - Christina Singleton (Trawden) 38:25
My Stats - 36:34 8/236
Thursday, 10 March 2016
JOB DONE
PODIUM 5K
The nerves had started to kick in for Podium. It's that strange jumbled up sensation of self-doubt and excitement which stimulates continuous trips to the loo. That Saturday I awoke as my usual lethargic self. I've never been a morning person. But I never really got out of morning mode all day and so worry about the evening's race intensified as the day went on. I travelled to Barrowford via the running shop in Clitheroe to give Ben a lift in. When I told him I'd spent all day yawning and had even taken an afternoon nap, Ben referred to the great David Moorcroft who apparently knew he was in good nick to race if he felt awful on the day. I tried to take a positive from that!
Podium run two 5K races. An 'A' race for the sub-18 minuters down to the classy sub-16ers and beyond, whilst the 'B' race is for the 18 minutes and above class. There was no doubt I was going to enter the 'A' race even if I finished last. Despite pre-race twitchiness and tiredness I knew I could muster the bare minimum 17:59 - even if I collapsed at the line. So I was a little bemused to find the 'B' race won in 16:39 and indeed the first four all sub-17. I know the time categories are just a guideline, but those guys at the front must have realised that even on a bad day they would have smashed 18 minutes. I didn't quite understand why they didn't wait up for the 'A' race and test themselves against some of the North of England's finest. I still don't understand. Surely it might have pushed them to even better times? To me, that wasn't a win or a podium finish. If the 'B' race is run by somebody who cracked 18 minutes for the first time or, like myself coming back in to the game with a time in mind then that's a victory. It seemed half a dozen or more were seeking some sort of positional glory and in the end, what was the glory? I was about to line up with Gateshead's Chris Parr, most of the North West's regular race winning names and internationals such as Eilish McColgan, Dutch star Jamie van Lieshoot and Helen Clitheroe. How could they miss an opportunity like that?
Line up with those big boys and girls I did, although they didn't hang around for long! The pace was frantic. A couple of miles warm up had eradicated the tiredness and got me in the frame of mind to race and so I settled down to concentrate on my own job which I managed to do despite the distraction of checking my pace at about 400m thinking 'hmm, that's not bad', and then checking my shoulder to discover I was second to last!
It's a fabulously flat one kilometre track. A smooth surface with a couple of looping bends at either end and straights running parallel to each other in close proximity. This makes for a good atmosphere
as spectators get to see the runners flying through twice per lap. After a couple of laps I'd got a decent average pace of around 5:40 per mile and I was feeling pretty confident of sustaining it if I didn't do anything rash. Two runners ahead were possibly catchable but I concentrated on consistent pace than be drawn in too early. Having run nothing under a 6:20 average in recent times I was already punching above my current weight so to speak, but felt encouragingly comfortable. I was beginning to realise that the miles in the bank this year had given me enough strength to run faster, at least for a modest distance such as this. There was no chance of me blowing up if I kept my concentration. After three fairly lonely laps, it appeared on the fourth lap that the two catchables were starting to show signs of real catchability. Their running form was just starting to break up and after sitting behind one of them for half a minute to pressure some extra effort out of him, I took him on the outside of a bend for extra psychological advantage. It was around the same place on the final lap that I finally caught the next guy and then fairly powered to the line from 300 metres or so to clock in at a very satisfactory 17:28. My kilometre splits read 3:28/3:36/3:35/3:34/3:15 and whilst as harsh a critic of myself as much as anybody that hates my guts, I have to say that the way I ran that race, I wouldn't have done anything different if I could have run the Hindsight 5K straight after it. Job done.
What a great race to be part of. Well, I say 'race', I was never really going to be in the actual race in that field. Organiser Chris Barnes is on to something out there in a quiet corner of East Lancashire with just a little cycle track and a barely lit disused freight container to play with. More and more classy runners are coming from far and wide to take on the Podium challenge. Whilst Podium 5K attracts increasing numbers of elite runners, it also does great service to the comparatively more average club runners who also benefit from this super fast course. I can say without much doubt that fitness prevailing, I will definitely be back for another taste of Podium action.
Sat. 5th March 2016
PODIUM 5K Barrowford, Lancs.
1st Man - Chris Parr (Gateshead) 14:49
1st Lady - Eilish McColgan (Dundee Hawkhill) 15:57
My Stats - 17:28 37/40
PODIUM 5K
The nerves had started to kick in for Podium. It's that strange jumbled up sensation of self-doubt and excitement which stimulates continuous trips to the loo. That Saturday I awoke as my usual lethargic self. I've never been a morning person. But I never really got out of morning mode all day and so worry about the evening's race intensified as the day went on. I travelled to Barrowford via the running shop in Clitheroe to give Ben a lift in. When I told him I'd spent all day yawning and had even taken an afternoon nap, Ben referred to the great David Moorcroft who apparently knew he was in good nick to race if he felt awful on the day. I tried to take a positive from that!
Podium run two 5K races. An 'A' race for the sub-18 minuters down to the classy sub-16ers and beyond, whilst the 'B' race is for the 18 minutes and above class. There was no doubt I was going to enter the 'A' race even if I finished last. Despite pre-race twitchiness and tiredness I knew I could muster the bare minimum 17:59 - even if I collapsed at the line. So I was a little bemused to find the 'B' race won in 16:39 and indeed the first four all sub-17. I know the time categories are just a guideline, but those guys at the front must have realised that even on a bad day they would have smashed 18 minutes. I didn't quite understand why they didn't wait up for the 'A' race and test themselves against some of the North of England's finest. I still don't understand. Surely it might have pushed them to even better times? To me, that wasn't a win or a podium finish. If the 'B' race is run by somebody who cracked 18 minutes for the first time or, like myself coming back in to the game with a time in mind then that's a victory. It seemed half a dozen or more were seeking some sort of positional glory and in the end, what was the glory? I was about to line up with Gateshead's Chris Parr, most of the North West's regular race winning names and internationals such as Eilish McColgan, Dutch star Jamie van Lieshoot and Helen Clitheroe. How could they miss an opportunity like that?
Line up with those big boys and girls I did, although they didn't hang around for long! The pace was frantic. A couple of miles warm up had eradicated the tiredness and got me in the frame of mind to race and so I settled down to concentrate on my own job which I managed to do despite the distraction of checking my pace at about 400m thinking 'hmm, that's not bad', and then checking my shoulder to discover I was second to last!
It's a fabulously flat one kilometre track. A smooth surface with a couple of looping bends at either end and straights running parallel to each other in close proximity. This makes for a good atmosphere
as spectators get to see the runners flying through twice per lap. After a couple of laps I'd got a decent average pace of around 5:40 per mile and I was feeling pretty confident of sustaining it if I didn't do anything rash. Two runners ahead were possibly catchable but I concentrated on consistent pace than be drawn in too early. Having run nothing under a 6:20 average in recent times I was already punching above my current weight so to speak, but felt encouragingly comfortable. I was beginning to realise that the miles in the bank this year had given me enough strength to run faster, at least for a modest distance such as this. There was no chance of me blowing up if I kept my concentration. After three fairly lonely laps, it appeared on the fourth lap that the two catchables were starting to show signs of real catchability. Their running form was just starting to break up and after sitting behind one of them for half a minute to pressure some extra effort out of him, I took him on the outside of a bend for extra psychological advantage. It was around the same place on the final lap that I finally caught the next guy and then fairly powered to the line from 300 metres or so to clock in at a very satisfactory 17:28. My kilometre splits read 3:28/3:36/3:35/3:34/3:15 and whilst as harsh a critic of myself as much as anybody that hates my guts, I have to say that the way I ran that race, I wouldn't have done anything different if I could have run the Hindsight 5K straight after it. Job done.
What a great race to be part of. Well, I say 'race', I was never really going to be in the actual race in that field. Organiser Chris Barnes is on to something out there in a quiet corner of East Lancashire with just a little cycle track and a barely lit disused freight container to play with. More and more classy runners are coming from far and wide to take on the Podium challenge. Whilst Podium 5K attracts increasing numbers of elite runners, it also does great service to the comparatively more average club runners who also benefit from this super fast course. I can say without much doubt that fitness prevailing, I will definitely be back for another taste of Podium action.
Sat. 5th March 2016
PODIUM 5K Barrowford, Lancs.
1st Man - Chris Parr (Gateshead) 14:49
1st Lady - Eilish McColgan (Dundee Hawkhill) 15:57
My Stats - 17:28 37/40
Friday, 4 March 2016
SQUARE ONE
ENDING 2015...
Does the world really need another droning dialogue about the act of putting one foot in front of the other at something other than walking speed? Probably not.
I can entirely relate to the tuts, the sighs, the rolling of the eyes and even cursory vulgarities. Not just another bloody running blog to add to an already saturated pitch, but what of the author? Just who the hell am I in the world? And more to the point, who the hell am I in the running world?
Well, as the title would suggest, very much a nobody in particular. I've had a few good years of racing, I even won one. But I've got nowt to shout about. So I should apologise in advance that I'm going to allow these ramblings to seep in to the public domain, for should somebody actually read them - even just one person in the whole world get the tiniest microgram of interest from what is written - then I would be sufficiently flattered and humbled. In my defence to the rightful cynicism of those who may condemn this indulgence of mainstream run blog culture, I must declare previous engagement with one I completed back in 2010. So I'm not entirely jumping on the bandwagon with this latest offering.
But why again and why now? Well, regardless of how the narrative may appear to contort over these pages, how facts, figures, cliches and excuses may inevitably heap boredom upon a prospective reader - and I'm sure they will - essentially I am starting this for my own personal record, perhaps to read back upon when time thins the memory and I wish to recall in more detail these good old running days of the present. Much the same reason behind my Race Diary at the turn of the decade I suppose. But I am going to try and stick at it for more than a year this time around.
Still reading at this point? Then you must be the one, thanks for getting this far!
Another reason for reinvigorating the blogging habit is the fact that I am actually running regularly at the moment. Obviously this is an essential factor, or this running nobody in particular would not have any running content upon which to write about.
Summarising my form since writing that diary of 2010 isn't worth too much detail to be frank. In fairness, 2011 was actually a really good year, 2012 had it's moments... but since then however, generally my running and more specifically the competitive side of things has been slowly degenerating. Not for the want of trying it must be stated, but it's the usual runner's tiresome whinge fest... niggles and injuries, unable to get a couple of month's consistent training in without some other newly discovered body part becoming aggravated and sending fitness back to square one.
Square one is somewhere I have been on plenty of occasions over the last four years. During this period I have crept in to my early forties and let me tell you now my one loyal reader, if you happen be a teen, twenty or thirty something runner, savour it... recovery does not seem to embrace itself upon the body as generously once you enter the threshold of your fifth decade on this planet. Worse than that, square one seems a damn sight further away from square two than it used to be.
Put simply, for me the next year could be do or don't and it is that very journey that I intend to document. If I can't get back competing at a level from which I can at least be satisfied with, then the bowling green is calling me. It could be time for a change of sport.
Races have been few and far between these last few years. Never quite being able to reach what I consider to feel like race fitness. The last time I recall a decent spell was at the beginning of 2014 when I was back training on the track with my club, Blackburn Harriers, and getting some reasonable miles in ahead of my fifth consecutive Yorkshire Three Peaks Race. In preparation, I raced a confidence boosting course best at a local trail race, finishing fourth at the Roddleswort Roller and all looked good leading up to that last Saturday of April. But the Three Peaks Race can be a bruiser and unfortunately race day was a shocker that year. Cramp was the main issue.
But cards face up on the table so to speak, was this race always too long for me and was I now well beyond any chance of improving my time anyway? As well as taking crumpled and cramped hamstrings away from that race - which then proceeded to nag me all Summer - there was a significant mental blow to take on board. I also started thinking, 'What the bloody hell is the point?' - all that training and yet I'd done less mileage the previous year and ran my best Three Peaks time.
The thing is though, I am a runner, and as runners understand, there's only so long you can feel sorry for yourself before recharging the batteries to embark upon square one again. Belief remains intact, but if my body says 'no' and it's the body of a not-so-much-a-spring-chicken anymore, then it's a fine line between that stoic self belief and all out delusion. That's something to keep in check this year. The bowling green must beckon before delusion totally takes over. I think I will always run in some sort of capacity on the fells as long as my legs will let me. It's a love affair. But I need the feel of real competition for this to sustain itself as my number one sport.
Last year I decided to leave the Three Peaks alone with a view to concentrating on the shorter and middle distance races that had brought the modest best out of me in the past. But that plan never really got off the ground, barely leaving square one until the middle of summer when I built up a few races in the bag before a reasonable run at the Kentmere Horseshoe in July. I was only five or six minutes outside my previous best at Kentmere after a long battle throughout the second half of that race with an Ambleside guy. We dead heated at the line. Trying to get rid of him down the choppier part of the descent back to Kentmere Valley - where you can't see the rocks for the bracken - was most likely to blame for pulverising an already aggravated issue on my left Achilles tendon. As I type this today, I have yet to race since then with the exception of an obligatory - bordering on compulsory as fell team captain - appearance at the British Fell Relays in October. My far fitter Leg 2 partner Jason Harbour put in to practice the theory that I was indeed stranded in square one once again.
Prior to those relays, I'd reached a stage where I felt I just couldn't physically run with this Achilles continuously stiff and sore, so I went for some treatment and advice from Garry Wilkinson at his GW Fitness & Rehab ranch. I was sent home with some tips for self treatment, massage and stretching and the good news was he suggested I could carefully run through the problem as it was similar trouble which he had experienced himself some years back.
By August I had taken a change of job and joined forces at Up & Running's new store in Clitheroe. A positive sideshow from this move was that it might also benefit my running fortunes. But before things got better, they got worse.
I was about to cycle in to work and did the fairly trivial bend down to grab one's shoes when the lower back took a strain. Disappointed at now being unable to comfortably arch my back for the bike ride, I went upstairs to take my cycling kit off and prepare for the drive instead. Reaching to peel off my socks, the back creased again and this time I ended up stuck down the side of the bed for thirty minutes until I was able to get upright. On the pain scale it was right up there and to be honest I was quite scared due to the initial disablement. I even rang Garry - what the bloody hell could Garry do on the end of the phone?! It really was panic stations and felt like I'd done something serious. Fortunately, t'uther 'alf Sara was off that day and helped me out. But it took a few days and some beefy prescription tablets to gingerly get back on my feet.
Typically, this happened with a week to go until the Ben Nevis race which I was really looking forward to tackling for the first time. I'd been attempting to play catch up with training in order to get reasonably 'fell fit', if only to just get this big race under my belt and be able to at least enjoy the experience. All booked and ready to roll for the big one then, but there was no way I was going to recover in time. I doubt I could have sat and travelled comfortably enough up to Fort William, let alone put my back in to a 4400 feet climb and descent.
This was a real disappointment, coupled with a hundred and odd quid down the pan and following this latest injury setback, my running had an uncertain future and certainly no bigger a foreseeable goal than just being able to go out and trot a few grateful miles again. My previous job had entailed a lot of heavy lifting and back trouble was nothing new - but strangely perhaps my back was missing the lifting since I switched jobs? Or maybe crash-training with repetitions on Pendle's Mearley Clough had tweaked something? Either way, it was another stride backwards.
From mid-October to date, alas some encouraging signs. Scratching up a couple of low voltage twenty five mile weeks together without much inconvenience from the offending back or Achilles tendon departments. I looked at November as a chance to build up the mileage further. No race goal as such, but with a Brooks running shoes seminar to attend in London on the 24th of the month, the only logistical travelling arrangement to do it in a single day was a car-train-run-run-train-car relay. I built up the miles preparing for this day. I didn't particularly want a stopover, so planned out this option which, to a runner was entirely logical, but to the non-runner would seem ever so slightly insane.
Driving to Preston for a very early doors train to London Euston, from where I ran to the seminar venue at Lee Valley Stadium and back, via Camden, Holloway and Tottenham. 18.7 miles in all, and certainly the biggest day's mileage I'd done for a while. During the seminar we were treated to a workout with one of Britain's top distance runners, Sonia Samuels. Now I shouldn't blame Sonia, but more my own ridiculous enthusiasm... with over nine miles already in my legs that day, I got a bit overzealous in the stretch routines which Sonia was running us through. Blissfully unaware at the time, later on I felt fairly shackled to say the least when setting off for the return run to Euston which was also dark, wet, windy and pretty damn grim. Sonia showed us only 'static' stretches of which there were 'dynamic' versions to move on to. I think if I'd tried anything 'dynamic' I wouldn't have made it back for the train!
The Sonia workout seemed to hamper my progress for a couple of weeks. Although getting some steady running in, every run felt like a recovery plod. Hamstrings jabbed with sciatic shots in to my backside and knees wobbled around as if bereft of ligament tissue. Whilst I would never say stretching is overrated, over-stretching might be a bigger threat than not stretching at all, especially to a lazy stretcher such as myself. This was a very practical reminder of such. That supple Sonia lass was in a different league and must be in very fine nick indeed bashing those routines out every day.
Despite a couple of weeks for the effects of that long day in London to wane, I'd managed a reasonable 165 miles in November and ploughed in to December with the objective of eclipsing that total. By the seventeenth of the twelfth month I'd clocked up almost 75 miles which included some decent runs on the fells upon Darwen Moor and beyond. A bit of pace was naturally building up again and I guess you could say I had departed from square one and was starting to get a bit of a buzz for running again.
True to form of 2015 though, the buzz didn't last long. I'd felt really jiggered for a good few days and this feeling of being a complete wreck then extended to best part of a week. A fell run on the West Pennine Moors was pulled short after I just completely ran out of steam. I found myself shuffling up a perfectly runable track towards Cartridge Hill with nothing in the tank and ended up walking. ''Summat's not reet 'ere'', I recall actually saying to myself out loud.
I took a few days rest from running and then tried again with a few low tempo short runs just before Christmas, but the mojo was once again a no-go. I wasn't so bad in a Christmas Day jog with Sara, but then Boxing Day seemed to be the culmination of a fortnight feeling like crap. Temperature, headache, stranded on the sofa with barely the energy to flick the remote. It felt like bad hangover symptoms, but I hadn't touched a drop of drink. I did feel better the following day but decided to write off running until the New Year and give myself a chance to recover. With that, the running year ended as it had started - stuck in square one.
NEW HOPE
BEGINNING 2016...
I'm not one for New Year's resolutions as such, but there's no denying I sometimes see this time of year as a clean slate. Tentatively I set out to build up at least a month's worth of decent training and if successful was going to enter myself for the Three Peaks again when entries opened at the end of January.
At the time it seemed like a mad idea, but if I wasn't to make progress then sanity would prevail and I would refrain from such a commitment. As it turned out, I was running routine and regularity like I'd rarely run before. Positive influences beamed from the new workplace, be it a closer relationship to the ultimate running kit essential - running shoes - and also working alongside a runner of Ben Fish's calibre. I can't do the 80-100 mile weeks that Ben does and nor would I dare to even try, but it would be denial that his attitude to training hasn't rubbed off on me to some degree and given me an extra spur to keep battling on and believing I can get race fit again. The Fish puts the shifts in and when you realise how much, you can't help but question your own commitment.
I've never been big on running heavy mileage. Some runners thrive on it, but I've never really needed to do it and often more mileage has had a negative impact for me. I could argue with myself that since running the Three Peaks from 2010, I should have taken mileage more seriously in the Winter months. But my legs can only do what they can do.
Back to present day mileage stats and by the end of January I had run every day of the month. 197 miles of which a healthy mix of road, trail and fell was trodden. This smashed my previous record of consecutive running days which I suspect barely broke double figures. January was also just about my heaviest mileage month in ten years of running. With a minimum mileage day of three miles - replacing the notion of something formerly known as a rest day - I felt good and it was working. It was all about miles, miles and more miles, managing the nuisance Achilles tendon by avoiding the temptation to up the speed too hard.
All in all I simply had to enter the Three Peaks now. The Ben Nevis race entries were also up for grabs at the month's end and oddly, in the days leading up to consideration to enter again this year, my back sustained a bit of a tweak. Not enough to put me out of action this time, but it seemed that anything to do with Ben Nevis was an omen for a bad back. I decided against entering The Ben. Not because I actually believed in that omen, but because I neither want nor can afford the botheration of another late withdrawal. OK, so I've got a great month under my belt, but that doesn't make me indestructible all of a sudden. I just didn't feel confident enough about my fitness. I could see where I might be next week, next month, but not in eight months time and so decided not to commit to it. Three Peaks, yes. Ben Nevis, no.
More yawnworthy mileage statistics to follow may be of modest figures indeed to the many, but of some significance to me... February kicked off with a 44 mile week, followed by a 50 and then a big 60. In fact that week I had the most unusual bragging rights at work of having doubled the mileage that the Fish ran that week - although in fairness, Ben had been floored by the effects of a wisdom tooth operation.
I'd never touched a sixty mile week before and this included my 50th consecutive day of running which was coincidentally celebrated with a 22 mile slog home to Leyland from Clitheroe. I didn't pick the flattest route and with a constant headwind accompanied by some long periods of icy rain it was a good old endurance battle which just tipped over the three hour mark. The following day certainly challenged the 'run every day' mentality that I seemed to have become obsessed with, yet I somehow plodded out a three miler and the following week ran just shy of 50 miles to complete a second successive month of daily running and another monthly mileage record of 207 in a 29 day month. Pardon the stat attack again, there's every chance I might now have tipped my one reader over the edge.
Clustering a couple of ten milers in midweek, one on the fell and one on road, a bit of a mix around it, perhaps a higher tempo four miler and the now set-in-stone eight or nine miler on a Thursday night with my former Chorley Harrier teammate John Horrocks – this is the current weekly routine.
Johnners is seventeen years my junior, so it can only be good for me. I'm expecting him to start giving me a run for my money when he stops whinging about his shin splints and does the sensible thing of handing those forefoot-slappy Asics GT2000's over to the nearest shoe recycler. John running in those things is like a gazelle in steel toecap boots.
Entering March and the show goes on. I have races booked. Yes, races. Starting with the Podium 5K this Saturday evening on a flat multi-lap cycle track in Barrowford. Organiser Chris Barnes always attracts a small but high quality field at the Podium race and this will be my first crack at it. To be fair, my own presence will merely add exceedingly subtle depth rather than actual quality to the field.
Ten days ago I would have said I'd smash this one. Now I'm not so sure, but I'm trying not to get hung up about it. I haven't done any speed work to protect myself from potential Achilles flare ups and I've no chance of remotely touching my personal best for the distance. In my mind's eye a sub-18 will be job done and the more sub-18 I get the bigger the bonus. Anything over 18 minutes and admittedly I will be heading back West along the M65 a little disgruntled.
The day before then, and my legs are in bits as usual on a Friday evening. A three mile potter tonight will hopefully shift some lactic and well, tomorrow is another day. But for the first time in a long time, tomorrow is race day.
ENDING 2015...
Does the world really need another droning dialogue about the act of putting one foot in front of the other at something other than walking speed? Probably not.
I can entirely relate to the tuts, the sighs, the rolling of the eyes and even cursory vulgarities. Not just another bloody running blog to add to an already saturated pitch, but what of the author? Just who the hell am I in the world? And more to the point, who the hell am I in the running world?
Well, as the title would suggest, very much a nobody in particular. I've had a few good years of racing, I even won one. But I've got nowt to shout about. So I should apologise in advance that I'm going to allow these ramblings to seep in to the public domain, for should somebody actually read them - even just one person in the whole world get the tiniest microgram of interest from what is written - then I would be sufficiently flattered and humbled. In my defence to the rightful cynicism of those who may condemn this indulgence of mainstream run blog culture, I must declare previous engagement with one I completed back in 2010. So I'm not entirely jumping on the bandwagon with this latest offering.
But why again and why now? Well, regardless of how the narrative may appear to contort over these pages, how facts, figures, cliches and excuses may inevitably heap boredom upon a prospective reader - and I'm sure they will - essentially I am starting this for my own personal record, perhaps to read back upon when time thins the memory and I wish to recall in more detail these good old running days of the present. Much the same reason behind my Race Diary at the turn of the decade I suppose. But I am going to try and stick at it for more than a year this time around.
Still reading at this point? Then you must be the one, thanks for getting this far!
Another reason for reinvigorating the blogging habit is the fact that I am actually running regularly at the moment. Obviously this is an essential factor, or this running nobody in particular would not have any running content upon which to write about.
Summarising my form since writing that diary of 2010 isn't worth too much detail to be frank. In fairness, 2011 was actually a really good year, 2012 had it's moments... but since then however, generally my running and more specifically the competitive side of things has been slowly degenerating. Not for the want of trying it must be stated, but it's the usual runner's tiresome whinge fest... niggles and injuries, unable to get a couple of month's consistent training in without some other newly discovered body part becoming aggravated and sending fitness back to square one.
Square one is somewhere I have been on plenty of occasions over the last four years. During this period I have crept in to my early forties and let me tell you now my one loyal reader, if you happen be a teen, twenty or thirty something runner, savour it... recovery does not seem to embrace itself upon the body as generously once you enter the threshold of your fifth decade on this planet. Worse than that, square one seems a damn sight further away from square two than it used to be.
Put simply, for me the next year could be do or don't and it is that very journey that I intend to document. If I can't get back competing at a level from which I can at least be satisfied with, then the bowling green is calling me. It could be time for a change of sport.
Races have been few and far between these last few years. Never quite being able to reach what I consider to feel like race fitness. The last time I recall a decent spell was at the beginning of 2014 when I was back training on the track with my club, Blackburn Harriers, and getting some reasonable miles in ahead of my fifth consecutive Yorkshire Three Peaks Race. In preparation, I raced a confidence boosting course best at a local trail race, finishing fourth at the Roddleswort Roller and all looked good leading up to that last Saturday of April. But the Three Peaks Race can be a bruiser and unfortunately race day was a shocker that year. Cramp was the main issue.
But cards face up on the table so to speak, was this race always too long for me and was I now well beyond any chance of improving my time anyway? As well as taking crumpled and cramped hamstrings away from that race - which then proceeded to nag me all Summer - there was a significant mental blow to take on board. I also started thinking, 'What the bloody hell is the point?' - all that training and yet I'd done less mileage the previous year and ran my best Three Peaks time.
The thing is though, I am a runner, and as runners understand, there's only so long you can feel sorry for yourself before recharging the batteries to embark upon square one again. Belief remains intact, but if my body says 'no' and it's the body of a not-so-much-a-spring-chicken anymore, then it's a fine line between that stoic self belief and all out delusion. That's something to keep in check this year. The bowling green must beckon before delusion totally takes over. I think I will always run in some sort of capacity on the fells as long as my legs will let me. It's a love affair. But I need the feel of real competition for this to sustain itself as my number one sport.
Last year I decided to leave the Three Peaks alone with a view to concentrating on the shorter and middle distance races that had brought the modest best out of me in the past. But that plan never really got off the ground, barely leaving square one until the middle of summer when I built up a few races in the bag before a reasonable run at the Kentmere Horseshoe in July. I was only five or six minutes outside my previous best at Kentmere after a long battle throughout the second half of that race with an Ambleside guy. We dead heated at the line. Trying to get rid of him down the choppier part of the descent back to Kentmere Valley - where you can't see the rocks for the bracken - was most likely to blame for pulverising an already aggravated issue on my left Achilles tendon. As I type this today, I have yet to race since then with the exception of an obligatory - bordering on compulsory as fell team captain - appearance at the British Fell Relays in October. My far fitter Leg 2 partner Jason Harbour put in to practice the theory that I was indeed stranded in square one once again.
Prior to those relays, I'd reached a stage where I felt I just couldn't physically run with this Achilles continuously stiff and sore, so I went for some treatment and advice from Garry Wilkinson at his GW Fitness & Rehab ranch. I was sent home with some tips for self treatment, massage and stretching and the good news was he suggested I could carefully run through the problem as it was similar trouble which he had experienced himself some years back.
By August I had taken a change of job and joined forces at Up & Running's new store in Clitheroe. A positive sideshow from this move was that it might also benefit my running fortunes. But before things got better, they got worse.
I was about to cycle in to work and did the fairly trivial bend down to grab one's shoes when the lower back took a strain. Disappointed at now being unable to comfortably arch my back for the bike ride, I went upstairs to take my cycling kit off and prepare for the drive instead. Reaching to peel off my socks, the back creased again and this time I ended up stuck down the side of the bed for thirty minutes until I was able to get upright. On the pain scale it was right up there and to be honest I was quite scared due to the initial disablement. I even rang Garry - what the bloody hell could Garry do on the end of the phone?! It really was panic stations and felt like I'd done something serious. Fortunately, t'uther 'alf Sara was off that day and helped me out. But it took a few days and some beefy prescription tablets to gingerly get back on my feet.
Typically, this happened with a week to go until the Ben Nevis race which I was really looking forward to tackling for the first time. I'd been attempting to play catch up with training in order to get reasonably 'fell fit', if only to just get this big race under my belt and be able to at least enjoy the experience. All booked and ready to roll for the big one then, but there was no way I was going to recover in time. I doubt I could have sat and travelled comfortably enough up to Fort William, let alone put my back in to a 4400 feet climb and descent.
This was a real disappointment, coupled with a hundred and odd quid down the pan and following this latest injury setback, my running had an uncertain future and certainly no bigger a foreseeable goal than just being able to go out and trot a few grateful miles again. My previous job had entailed a lot of heavy lifting and back trouble was nothing new - but strangely perhaps my back was missing the lifting since I switched jobs? Or maybe crash-training with repetitions on Pendle's Mearley Clough had tweaked something? Either way, it was another stride backwards.
From mid-October to date, alas some encouraging signs. Scratching up a couple of low voltage twenty five mile weeks together without much inconvenience from the offending back or Achilles tendon departments. I looked at November as a chance to build up the mileage further. No race goal as such, but with a Brooks running shoes seminar to attend in London on the 24th of the month, the only logistical travelling arrangement to do it in a single day was a car-train-run-run-train-car relay. I built up the miles preparing for this day. I didn't particularly want a stopover, so planned out this option which, to a runner was entirely logical, but to the non-runner would seem ever so slightly insane.
Driving to Preston for a very early doors train to London Euston, from where I ran to the seminar venue at Lee Valley Stadium and back, via Camden, Holloway and Tottenham. 18.7 miles in all, and certainly the biggest day's mileage I'd done for a while. During the seminar we were treated to a workout with one of Britain's top distance runners, Sonia Samuels. Now I shouldn't blame Sonia, but more my own ridiculous enthusiasm... with over nine miles already in my legs that day, I got a bit overzealous in the stretch routines which Sonia was running us through. Blissfully unaware at the time, later on I felt fairly shackled to say the least when setting off for the return run to Euston which was also dark, wet, windy and pretty damn grim. Sonia showed us only 'static' stretches of which there were 'dynamic' versions to move on to. I think if I'd tried anything 'dynamic' I wouldn't have made it back for the train!
The Sonia workout seemed to hamper my progress for a couple of weeks. Although getting some steady running in, every run felt like a recovery plod. Hamstrings jabbed with sciatic shots in to my backside and knees wobbled around as if bereft of ligament tissue. Whilst I would never say stretching is overrated, over-stretching might be a bigger threat than not stretching at all, especially to a lazy stretcher such as myself. This was a very practical reminder of such. That supple Sonia lass was in a different league and must be in very fine nick indeed bashing those routines out every day.
Despite a couple of weeks for the effects of that long day in London to wane, I'd managed a reasonable 165 miles in November and ploughed in to December with the objective of eclipsing that total. By the seventeenth of the twelfth month I'd clocked up almost 75 miles which included some decent runs on the fells upon Darwen Moor and beyond. A bit of pace was naturally building up again and I guess you could say I had departed from square one and was starting to get a bit of a buzz for running again.
True to form of 2015 though, the buzz didn't last long. I'd felt really jiggered for a good few days and this feeling of being a complete wreck then extended to best part of a week. A fell run on the West Pennine Moors was pulled short after I just completely ran out of steam. I found myself shuffling up a perfectly runable track towards Cartridge Hill with nothing in the tank and ended up walking. ''Summat's not reet 'ere'', I recall actually saying to myself out loud.
I took a few days rest from running and then tried again with a few low tempo short runs just before Christmas, but the mojo was once again a no-go. I wasn't so bad in a Christmas Day jog with Sara, but then Boxing Day seemed to be the culmination of a fortnight feeling like crap. Temperature, headache, stranded on the sofa with barely the energy to flick the remote. It felt like bad hangover symptoms, but I hadn't touched a drop of drink. I did feel better the following day but decided to write off running until the New Year and give myself a chance to recover. With that, the running year ended as it had started - stuck in square one.
NEW HOPE
BEGINNING 2016...
I'm not one for New Year's resolutions as such, but there's no denying I sometimes see this time of year as a clean slate. Tentatively I set out to build up at least a month's worth of decent training and if successful was going to enter myself for the Three Peaks again when entries opened at the end of January.
At the time it seemed like a mad idea, but if I wasn't to make progress then sanity would prevail and I would refrain from such a commitment. As it turned out, I was running routine and regularity like I'd rarely run before. Positive influences beamed from the new workplace, be it a closer relationship to the ultimate running kit essential - running shoes - and also working alongside a runner of Ben Fish's calibre. I can't do the 80-100 mile weeks that Ben does and nor would I dare to even try, but it would be denial that his attitude to training hasn't rubbed off on me to some degree and given me an extra spur to keep battling on and believing I can get race fit again. The Fish puts the shifts in and when you realise how much, you can't help but question your own commitment.
I've never been big on running heavy mileage. Some runners thrive on it, but I've never really needed to do it and often more mileage has had a negative impact for me. I could argue with myself that since running the Three Peaks from 2010, I should have taken mileage more seriously in the Winter months. But my legs can only do what they can do.
Back to present day mileage stats and by the end of January I had run every day of the month. 197 miles of which a healthy mix of road, trail and fell was trodden. This smashed my previous record of consecutive running days which I suspect barely broke double figures. January was also just about my heaviest mileage month in ten years of running. With a minimum mileage day of three miles - replacing the notion of something formerly known as a rest day - I felt good and it was working. It was all about miles, miles and more miles, managing the nuisance Achilles tendon by avoiding the temptation to up the speed too hard.
All in all I simply had to enter the Three Peaks now. The Ben Nevis race entries were also up for grabs at the month's end and oddly, in the days leading up to consideration to enter again this year, my back sustained a bit of a tweak. Not enough to put me out of action this time, but it seemed that anything to do with Ben Nevis was an omen for a bad back. I decided against entering The Ben. Not because I actually believed in that omen, but because I neither want nor can afford the botheration of another late withdrawal. OK, so I've got a great month under my belt, but that doesn't make me indestructible all of a sudden. I just didn't feel confident enough about my fitness. I could see where I might be next week, next month, but not in eight months time and so decided not to commit to it. Three Peaks, yes. Ben Nevis, no.
More yawnworthy mileage statistics to follow may be of modest figures indeed to the many, but of some significance to me... February kicked off with a 44 mile week, followed by a 50 and then a big 60. In fact that week I had the most unusual bragging rights at work of having doubled the mileage that the Fish ran that week - although in fairness, Ben had been floored by the effects of a wisdom tooth operation.
I'd never touched a sixty mile week before and this included my 50th consecutive day of running which was coincidentally celebrated with a 22 mile slog home to Leyland from Clitheroe. I didn't pick the flattest route and with a constant headwind accompanied by some long periods of icy rain it was a good old endurance battle which just tipped over the three hour mark. The following day certainly challenged the 'run every day' mentality that I seemed to have become obsessed with, yet I somehow plodded out a three miler and the following week ran just shy of 50 miles to complete a second successive month of daily running and another monthly mileage record of 207 in a 29 day month. Pardon the stat attack again, there's every chance I might now have tipped my one reader over the edge.
Clustering a couple of ten milers in midweek, one on the fell and one on road, a bit of a mix around it, perhaps a higher tempo four miler and the now set-in-stone eight or nine miler on a Thursday night with my former Chorley Harrier teammate John Horrocks – this is the current weekly routine.
Johnners is seventeen years my junior, so it can only be good for me. I'm expecting him to start giving me a run for my money when he stops whinging about his shin splints and does the sensible thing of handing those forefoot-slappy Asics GT2000's over to the nearest shoe recycler. John running in those things is like a gazelle in steel toecap boots.
Entering March and the show goes on. I have races booked. Yes, races. Starting with the Podium 5K this Saturday evening on a flat multi-lap cycle track in Barrowford. Organiser Chris Barnes always attracts a small but high quality field at the Podium race and this will be my first crack at it. To be fair, my own presence will merely add exceedingly subtle depth rather than actual quality to the field.
Ten days ago I would have said I'd smash this one. Now I'm not so sure, but I'm trying not to get hung up about it. I haven't done any speed work to protect myself from potential Achilles flare ups and I've no chance of remotely touching my personal best for the distance. In my mind's eye a sub-18 will be job done and the more sub-18 I get the bigger the bonus. Anything over 18 minutes and admittedly I will be heading back West along the M65 a little disgruntled.
The day before then, and my legs are in bits as usual on a Friday evening. A three mile potter tonight will hopefully shift some lactic and well, tomorrow is another day. But for the first time in a long time, tomorrow is race day.
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