GOOD ENOUGH TO CARRY ON
RODDLESWORTH ROLLER
As the main title to these pages of ramblings suggest, I am indeed a nobody in particular. But that does not exempt me from heaping self induced pressure upon myself as if I was actually a somebody. I was certainly getting a bit twitchy leading up to Roddlesworth. Despite easing the training volume a little, a feeling of freshness was in slow supply and I never felt spritely all week. This culminated in to the very real underlying fear that this weekend could produce another poor race and with it a complete pointlessness to the whole notion of running to compete.
A performance anything less than reasonable would not only indicate a cold front frosting those green shoots of the forecasted Indian Summer, but in fact the beginning of an Ice Age as far as racing is concerned. As such, this year's Roddlesworth Roller had become a race of ridiculous self importance. I suppose this could be perceived as a bit dramatic, the dummy ready to be spat from the pram, the towel dangling in to the ring. But as far as competing goes, I need to feel like I am actually competing or what's the point? It's black and white when it comes to racing. Sometimes I wish I could relax and just turn up at races for pure pleasure, but that's never really going to happen!
In addition to being billed as this do or don't race, I was to be joined at the line by my Thursday night run chum Johnny Horrocks. I don't think either of us knew how it was going to pan out and I think both of us were a little nervous at going head to head. Moons ago I challenged John to beat me in a race before I turned forty, this never happened and, all be it having rarely raced against each other for years, I retained these bragging rights.
At the perfect age of 26, with natural running ability and the genetic advantages from his father Mark Horrocks who was a top class fell runner in his time, Johnners has it all to come. At the athletically degenerative age of 43, of little pedigree and having bashed my body with football, drink and smoke until eleven years ago, I knew the tide was to turn eventually.
Although clubbed with Chorley, John has been consistently joining our track sessions at Blackburn over the Winter and has been gaining yardage on me since the turn of the year, getting himself in really good nick. He races most weekends and I knew I was going to have to rely on, or hope for a one-off day of feeling great to keep him behind me. Once the race was underway, tension elapsed and I got myself off to a sensibly paced first couple of miles. Johnners had nipped ahead of me, which was something of a relief after feeling much of the first half mile with him on my left shoulder. I held back on an early descent to let him by where I could see him and just concentrate on my own pace, meanwhile his young club mate George Norris passed the pair of us with a full-on surge of descending skills. As far as the Horrocks was concerned, the rest of the race simulated a Tuesday night track session as all I could see was his backside five to ten yards ahead of me and it was a view I couldn't alter. On the brow of the main climb to just past the half way mark, Horwich veteran Rob Jackson puffed by to stake a claim for a higher position, but I was comfortable doing what I was doing and recovered well on the following road section to pass George and get tucked in just a few strides behind John again. Jackson was also close at the top of the final uphill section, these two were well within the realms of catchabilty but I felt restricted to biding my time, I certainly didn't have the confidence in my legs to attack with over a mile to go. In any case, the pair of them got away from me with an extra gear once we hit the road to the finish. Less than ten seconds separated us in the end and importantly, the time clocked was reasonable. A minute quicker than last year, a minute shy of my course best. A fair to middling run and good enough to carry on and fight another day.
So the day after, I set out for a seven miler from work and was surprised to feel great, stronger than I had felt for a few weeks and really enjoyed running hard. Maybe I needed that race in my legs. Running really can be a funny old game.

Sunday 12th March 2017
RODDLESWORTH ROLLER   5.5m    Abbey Village, Lancs.
1st Man - Tommy Harrison 32:23 (Bolton Utd Harriers)
1st Lady - Lindsey Brindle 38:08 (Horwich)
My Stats - 35:36   9/218       

PENDLE ROUND GOES PEAR SHAPED
STAN BRADSHAW PENDLE ROUND
There have probably been a few too many race post mortems scrolled on here searching rhyme, reason and excuse for why things have gone wrong. But in this instance I am genuinely at a loss as to what happened and why. I felt immediately compelled to let George Davies know of my stinker to somehow validate my excuse, or the actual lack of one, to the public domain of our club's website news. In hindsight, this was an act of narcissistic spin doctored desperation which I regret, but brought about by the magnitude of shock and disappointment I felt with myself. I've dreaded being asked how I got on since Saturday, enduring that sceptical look from quite a few people this week... the look that says, "bull shit, Johnny boy". But I sleep tight knowing I told it as it was; fine after four and a half miles and then the wheels fell off without much warning. That's what happened.
I certainly didn't go off too hard, I recovered quickly from the early slog up to the Pendle Hill trig and had settled down to a decent enough pace heading West to the Scout Cairn checkpoint and then South towards Churn Clough reservoir. These sections of the route are boggy and rough but not enough to stifle momentum. The engines were now firing fully after that sticky first climb and I was cruising along nicely. I distinctly remember thinking to myself that there was plenty in the tank for later in the race when the jostle for positions heats up. Consolidation at this point was no bad thing as I was inside the top thirty, breathing and running easily with big ideas of gaining places. But down at Churn Clough, something went wrong. I suddenly drained. If this had been mile fourteen or something similar I could have at least half expected and dealt with it. But this was less than mile five. My daily average this year is over six miles so this wasn't exactly outside the comfort zone.
I tried to run through it on the short flat section along the reservoir, unable to accept what was happening, but as Accy's Graham Morris slipped by casually, asking me if I was OK. Graham always seems to be around when I've having a rough time these days! I slurp up all own drink as we hit a short scramble back up on to the moorland, but it wasn't enough to revive me and in fact I got a mouthful of plastic shards from one of those mod collapsable flasks. In desperation I bit the end trying to get some juice of it. Then I totally lost it here on steep little embankment back on to the fell. My hamstrings and calves clenched up, momentum completely lost and conceding more than half a dozen places. It got worse from there, on a side of the Pendle mass I'm not familiar with, I could see the arduous climb out from the penultimate checkpoint and I knew this was going to be an ungraceful shuffle to the finish. Now the head had totally gone too. More and more runners came by as I dropped through the field faster than I was going forwards. Club mate Shaun Livesey was out and about on the course spectating. He must have wondered if I really have done any training lately as I walked up the climb to Spence Moor effing and jeffing to him about my plight. It was walkies again up the final sting in the tail to Buttock Gate. Barely capable of even that in the cut up cross country pasture on those lower slopes. Then oddly, at the Gate, a chap spectating who I don't know or have even seen before says to me with a wry smile, ''Your always walkin' at t'end o'races you. Every time.'' He got a glare in return. A very quick a, b and c sprung to mind... a) It's easy being a fell running expert when you're leaning on a fence scratching your genitals from within your pocket. b) When do I race much these days for you to see me 'walk'? And more to the point... c) Who the bloody hell are you anyway?
Realising I wasn't particularly amused as I negotiate the gating system, the chap reveals to me ''I'm a mate of Matt's, we go out on't bike Friday's''. Bizarre. I think I know which Matt, but we aren't exactly bezzies or owt, so even a secondary license to banter me when in this fragile state of low sporting ebb was neither warranted or appreciated!
There was at least still time for one last incident to put a smile back on my face and reiterate why one should never follow a Clayton Harrier on their own turf. Tucked in behind Dominic Carr through the finishing fields, I follow him over an awkward ladder stile only for him to then point out aghast that the gate just beside it was actually left open to run through! Comical. Dominic then tried encouraging me with a challenge to the finishing line with extra discount at the shop at stake if he beats me. But I couldn't get going again.
No idea where I finished and not really interested in looking just yet. This week I'm going to drop the mileage a little, be careful not to slap the track session too hard, stretch the hamstrings out and put it right at the Roddlesworth Roller this Sunday. If it's another clanger again this weekend though, then it's hello www.secondhandbowls.co.uk for sure.
Logic says that should not be the case, but logic said I should have been fit enough to see the job out properly at Pendle.

Sat. 4th March 2017
STAN BRADSHAW PENDLE ROUND   (9.3m/1900ft)   Barley, Lancs.
1st Man - Rob Hope 1.07:15 (Pudsey & Bramley)
1st Lady - Rebecca Patrick 1.30:17 (Todmorden)
My stats - Not good, haven't looked yet    

COURSE REVIEW
The last and only time I did this race was in it's former guise of the Half Tour of Pendle in 2009. That year it was an English champs race and I ran well to finish 61st in 1.14:06. I'd say the Stanley Bradshaw Round version is tougher, certainly the terrain is choppier across the moor to Churn Clough than it was when formerly following decent trods to a checkpoint at the Nick. I think the back end is tougher too, the climb up Spence Moor is significant and in soggy ground, the final little drag up to Buttock Gate is nastier than the gradual and more easily runable route from Ogden Clough.

AIMING FOR AN INDIAN SUMMER
Quietly going about my running business this month, maintaining the mileage, stepping up a notch at track sessions and clipping another sixteen seconds off the four miler time trial from work - these are all micro-signs of improvement which collectively breed a quiet confidence going in to March with some races now firmly on the agenda. Just the basic liberty of going out running is something I am enjoying right now and savouring the moment rather than looking too far ahead and worrying about things like... the Three Peaks. I'm not sure if I'm doing enough long stuff to give myself a chance of running something near a decent Peaks time anyway, but these last couple of weeks I seem to have genuinely switched off about it and concentrated on the present. On recent form, I ought be in decent condition by the end of April anyway. Average weekly mileage this year has been just over forty so far which is quite high for me, but not really substantial enough for Peaks training. If I do force myself to look ahead to the rest of the year then this quadragenearian is aiming for an Indian Summer of racing. To turn back the clock and start achieving a satisfactory level of competition. The Three Peaks and it's unique profile of long distance and climbs is a one-off and actually not really what I am training for, even though I actually am! Possibly a flawed experiment, time will tell.
So to the races I have now committed myself to and officially penned in rather than just faintly pencilled; The Stan Bradshaw Round on Pendle, the Roddlesworth Roller and the Darwen Half Marathon. Fell, trail and tarmac in that order. I take a dim view of the well used expression 'using a race as a training run', nothing but poorly veiled camouflage to make an excuse for projected physical deficiencies in my opinion. But what I will say about the Stan Bradshaw race and my own albeit insignificant participation is that it will tell me where I am up to outside my own little training bubble. With little running on the actual fells in recent times and just one race under the belt this year, a number will nonetheless be pinned upon me and if I don't run well, then that's where I am and I will have to accept I've been immersed in my own misleading little mindset, patting myself on the back too much.
These races booked in will of course be hinged on the fortune of barring injury. Aches and pains have been managed quite well of late, but it's accidents which one needs to look out for sometimes, striking when you least expect them. I consider myself a very lucky boy not to be sidelined last week when visiting friends in West Wales. Stubbing my toes on the slight step up to their kitchen sink was excruciating! I feared the worst and like a life before me, I saw this year's miles and sessions flash by and the devastation of invested time and effort being shattered in that split second of clumsy misfortune. Luckily just a bit of blood and a black middle toenail to report, then fit enough to crack a seven mile beach to coastal path run from New Quay along the Ceredigion shores the following day. That really was one of those thankful runs when you are not only enjoying the bliss of beautiful country and unknown routes, but pondering that I might well have fractured a toe and not even been capable of joining the rest of the gang to walk the dogs on the beach.

JANUARY GRIND PUTS A SOLID BASE IN PLACE
That was a tough month of running on the quiet. So no record distances notched and only one race under the belt which didn't go too great, but certainly the art of running tired was tried and tested if nowt else. I've set my stall out for running a minimum forty mile week this year - at least until going in to the Three Peaks race at the end of April - it's not been pretty so far, but the month ended feeling more conditioned to the mileage stipulation and with a bit of poke back in the legs.
The roughly run routine in January has been a steady ten miler off road, sometimes with Connie the dog as pacer, a couple of eight milers on the road, track session Tuesday and some other bits around that. 180 miles in all and much of it has been a bloody grind to be quite honest. Hip to knee down my right hand side has started giving me bother, although some foam rolling has managed to suppress further infringement. Track sessions have been run on empty... in fact I barely recall a single day when I actually felt really up for a run! I perceive to myself and others that I do all this for pleasure, but the real reasons can only lie much deeper, requiring a separate and more soul searching thesis on the subject if I was to go in to more detail. Thankfully, I will refrain from that for now.
As I get older, more and more I find the effects of training a bit of a paradox. I'm having to work much harder to get where I want to be again (and I've definitely still not got there!) meanwhile recovery doesn't come around quick enough, if at all and it's difficult to balance everything when my mileage is uncontrollably preoccupied by hardening up for the Peaks race.
Some shorter distance effort runs on the hills seemed to push me through a barrier and back on song though. The last track session of the month on the last day of January also revealed cause for encouragement, running a tough pyramid session well within recent pace and finishing strong. It must be said that Blackburn Harriers have a really good group down at Witton Park track on Tuesday evenings, in fact two good groups. But the smaller endurance group which I run with is growing in quality and depth which is pushing every one of us on.

UPHILL STRUGGLE
SOREEN STANBURY SPLASH
Yesterday's Stanbury Splash on the Bronte Moors completed 84 miles for the year so far and the first weeks of back-to-back forty milers since the tail end of last Winter. Not bad mileage for me. That was the good news. The bad news was that it surmounted to nothing in my first race of 2017. I seek only small increments of improvement, enough to satisfy my appetite which in turn justifies the commitment made. But this performance has done nothing but cast doubt and insecurity, reminding me that there is still time to step aside and practice for the forthcoming Crown Green season instead. The big problem at Stanbury was my lack of speed and strength on the hills. Upon virtually every incline, I might as well have had that highway code sign attached to my backside of two white arrows in a blue circle stating 'pass either side'. Sticking to highway analogies, I felt like a chugging heavy goods vehicle hogging the middle lane every time I hit a gradient of note. I can easily suspect reasons for this weakness; I don't knuckle down to hill rep sessions and for all the miles ticked off in recent times, there has been a substantial lack of proper tough ascent. So it's about incorporating more climbing now and trying to race with more regularity. This will hopefully squeeze out that much sought after positive increment and toughen up the competitive edge. Compared with my last visit to the home of Woodentops back in October at Withins Skyline, this was a step backwards and a bit of a dampener in one of my favourite Winter fell races. Crawling out of Ponden Valley from the last climb, I was a spent force over the final mile or so back to Penistone Hill and couldn't pick up any leg speed. Nothing there at all apart from an outpouring of ludicrous breathing noises. At least from that point I did enough to lose only one more place to a young pup from Skipton. But the harsh reality was that a minute or more ahead were a cluster of guys, including the usual suspects like Fishwick and Barnes, whom I felt I ought to have been mixing it with. It's clear that to go onwards in 2017, things must go upwards, literally.

Sunday 15th January 2017
SOREEN STANBURY SPLASH (7.5m/1300ft)  Penistone Hill, Haworth, West Yorks.  
1st Man - Tom Adams 43:52 (Ilkley)
1st Lady - Louisa Powell-Smith 52:40 (Clayton)
My Stats - 55:27   32/330

END OF YEAR HIGH
I thought my self indulgent ramblings were done for this year until yesterday's training run shaped itself in to an unexpected course best. A cynical overview would point to me being rather easily pleased by my own exploits here, but when there's been nowt much to shout about for a long period of time, getting a little giddy about a decent run cannot be harmful when it's warranted. After a couple of weeks feeling flat, a bit of zing has been slowly returning this last week. But the speed and strength felt in this particular little outing took me by a very satisfying surprise.
Running from the workplace, a four mile time trial has evolved which Lord Fish and I like to have a pop at when we feel the need for a blowout. From the shop near Clitheroe Castle, this route follows the drag up to Whalley Road's highest point, then left across the quiet country lane leading to Pendle Road before dropping back in to Clitheroe. It's fast going at times, but not altogether flat with about 250 feet of rolling inclination. My previous best times were within a couple of seconds of each other, dipping just above or below the 25:30 mark. A commitment to running this route in an anti-clockwise direction is basically drawing a sword upon myself to run hard. I thought about turning left from the shop door instead and just running steady and spontaneous elsewhere around the town, but then I thought let's just see how I get on with the four miler and make it a progressive run at the very least. A mile in though and I was feeling good. Quick time check and I thought I might as well press on and see what gives. By the two mile mark I had given myself a challenge to keep my next mile split on the progressive side, but I was well up again and so it dawned on me with a mainly downhill mile to go that I could just cruise the descent now and still beat my time. This was a nice feeling and gave me the psychological boost to then attack that last mile and aim for a sub-25. It was like every speed session I've done since returning to track work was finally kicking in. After a time penalty of fiddle-faddling trying to stop my watch, I still clocked in at 24:49 which was well worth the clenched fist and a little ''yessssss'' to myself. Forty seconds knocked off and I think big Ben's best time is currently 21:09, so relatively speaking this was definitely training run of the year if nothing else.
Easily pleased perhaps, but the year ends on a bit of a high.

2016 mileage total: 1627

NO MORE TALKING BOWLS
These are possibly the final running ramblings of 2016 from this particular nobody in particular. Reflecting on the year that was, if there was such a thing as a 'Johnny Progress Graph', it would
display a steady rise from the run every day mentality up until early May when the Summer slump then kicked in. From September however, with injury on the mend, form and fortune was quickly on the rise again until this recent December plateau. Plateau apart, the year ends on a positive running note, for just being able to return to the format of running normality again has been the biggest joy in recent times. Track sessions and hard runs back on the agenda, even a couple of races in the bag without the nag of achilles trouble stalling progress. It's a liberating feeling after eighteen months or so of stuttering malfunction.
Compared to this time last year, the running is in a far better place and the outlook a little more ambitious. It was all about the beckoning bowling green back then and whether or not a set of woods were destined to replace the running shoes going in to 2016. The idea of crossing over to Crown Green bowling is, for now, on a very dimly lit backburner. But there are underlying fears as always. Fear that for all the wonderment of normal running service resuming, the shifts put in could amount to nothing. Currently lodging on that aforementioned plateau, is this as good as it will be able to get again? Or is it just an adjustment period after finally getting a spell of more intensive training in?
Time will tell, although time isn't particularly on my side in this game. Yet with that decent platform of progressive training now stretching out over the last three months, hope still overrides the fear. The search goes on for that satisfactory level of consistency in training to go out and race more regularly, but it feels closer than it has been for a few years. Key word there is consistency which is the main focus for 2017. In the end, it turns out a good thing that I'm not committed to the Ribble Valley 10K next week. I'd just lost that bit of spring in my stride the last week or two and it's culminated in another bloody cold of sorts. Thankfully though, this one is just of sniffly nuisance value and shouldn't knock me on to the sidelines altogether.

TTOTTALLY TTOP RACE WITTH A BITT OF EVERYTTHING
HURST GREEN TURKEY TROT
Following the first forty mile week for some time and much of that at a decent rate of effort, battered legs and aching knees have been the story this week. Tuesday's track session pretty much broke me as I called it quits after ten of a proposed fourteen 500 metre reps. It was one of those nights when the one minute recovery was offering absolutely no recovery whatsoever and so I opted out before I started going backwards. Since then it's been easier on the mileage between a couple of rest days to try and retain some sort of freshness for Saturday's race.
The Hurst Green Turkey Trot has a short but distinguished history, already engraining itself in to East Lancashire running folklore. The boundaries broken to win the fancy dress competition are stretched beyond reasonable imagination of what somebody can possibly run in, whilst the race also attracts some top end athletes with much more serious aspirations. As the brainchild of maverick Ribble Valley Harrier Chris Barnes, anything is possible at the Turkey Trot.
This was my TT debut and it's fair to say that I now wished I'd chanced racing previous ones. Sadly I didn't have time to stick around much before, or after the race when the presentation reputedly gives the Woodentops original version a run for it's money. But I got enough of a vibe to wish that I had. The only complaint I had was that the Barnes would not wait for my GPS signal to connect and rudely started the race regardless. The thick Ribble Valley clag may have been blocking out the satellite signal. I have a fraught relationship with technology at the best of times. I normally settle for the simplicity of the good old stopwatch on a Casio from Argos for racing in, but with rushing around I'd forgotten it. I don't even know if this fandangled Polar watch of mine has basic stopwatch facility, I don't know what I was thinking.
Despite that distraction, I settled down to a comfortable pace and was going along fine without busting myself. The legs were certainly feeling better than I had feared. However, the sight of Dave Motley's bum cheeks flashing through thin black tights from beneath his bespoke Trawden AC cape was enough to push me on a little harder than I wanted to. But the only reward for that little surge ahead was Craig Stansfield's tight buttocks for company in his gingerbread man outfit. There was only one thing for it - push on towards raceaholic Darren Fishwick who had standard black running shorts on that thankfully left much more to the imagination. I'd just got tucked in behind Darren as we approached the 'elephant trap' -  a refreshing deep water hole through which we wade - but a few yards on from there I tripped in a clumsy fashion and slid my right knee in to some shrubbery roots. Nowt major, but enough to put me out of my stride. The Stansfield immediately took advantage and cruised past whilst I was on the deck and it took a good few minutes to run my knocked knee back in to some sort of comfort. Unfortunately that happened to be over probably the most testing section of the race which leads up to the highest point and I started to lose a bit of ground. No excuse though for slouching here, there's still work to be done on my uphill game. Darren and Stanners had already lost me on this section before Mr Motley soared past and was looking strong. Next came the unmistakable toe sprung running action of Clayton's Matt Duckworth, but as the descent started, so did my second wind and I set about regaining some places. I caught and passed Matt just before exiting the woods and then it was another Matt who I was closing in on next, the Nuttall variety and my Blackburn Harrier club mate who himself had been passed by the battling trio of Fishwick, Stansfield and Motley. Those three were also getting a little closer once again, but pushing each other hard and I quickly realised that they were to remain uncatchable. So it was all about Mr Nuttall, looking his usual ten years younger and attired as a Roman soldier. He had threatened me with his sword before the race if I dared to pass him. 'Not much chance of that', said I, even though I knew he wasn't firing anywhere near his full cylinders at present. But it was a close call in the end. If I'd known where the finish was then I would have put in a challenge on the little gradient leading up to it. As Matt attacked it, I thought, 'I'll save a bit for the finish instead', only to realise at the brow of that little pull that essentially that was the finish!
Oh well. Not a bad day at the office and a much needed race under the belt. I certainly ran the latter half of the race strong. The TT is a cracking course with a bit of everything. Some quality ladies in this one with three inside the top nine whilst the quality right at the very front was ridiculous. The ever improving Chris Farrell of Horwich smashing under 27 minutes on this course is outstanding. Nothing less was ever going to beat Ilkley's man of the moment Tom Adams who had to settle for a rare second spot.

HURST GREEN TURKEY TROT (5m)   Hurst Green, Lancs.
1st Man - Chris Farrell 26:54 (Horwich RMI)
1st Lady - Julie Briscoe 32:59 (Wakefield & Dist. H.)
My Stats - 33:56   14/265        

FLAT OUT FLAT 5K FALLS A BIT FLAT!
So inside my head I had bigged myself up for this solo 5K time trial on the Witton Park track. Firstly let's deal with the actual physicality of my head. It's a fair sized cranium, only an inch short in circumference of the largest 'normal' head in the world and thus room aplenty for false confidence and misconception. I rocked up yesterday afternoon with the genuine belief I could knock out a standard 17:40 at worst and if I was running well on the day then edge much nearer the 16 minute zone. This was based on both an excellent eleven days of training performances since resuming normal service after 'Nigel' and also the marked improvements I had made before 'Nigel' came along to upset my apple cart of fitness. I've never run a 5K on the track before, least of all on my own, and in fact whilst nearing eleven years of running, 5K races could be counted on three hands and only one which I recall being particularly flat. My PB stands at a seemingly untouchable 16:35 at a far from flat road course in Littleborough back in 2007. I think the nearest I have come to that was 17:21 at the said flat one in Lancaster three years ago.
Seed firmly planted in my head, the scene was set at an eerily desolate Witton Park arena. It was just me and my ageing £10 Casio for company (I'm not one for that Strava palaver and obviously didn't need my GPS for this one) Conditions were perfect with little or no wind whatsoever. I shuffled out a mile warm up and didn't feel fantastic, but that's not unusual so I thought I might as well just get down to the main event of twelve and a half laps. I've been running various interval sessions at giddy paces so I thought I should at least hold down three successive 5:45ish miles without too much pain and have a surge in reserve for the remaining one tenth. We know what 'thought' did; 'followed a muck cart and thought it was a wedding', so Sara constantly reminds me.
I seemed to be blowing a quite bit leading up to my first mile split and the legs still felt heavy. Even so, I was expecting to be running faster than forecasted, so the sight of 5:53 on my watch at that point sent alarm bells ringing. It was pretty grim from there. The upper body contorted more and more, arms flapping around to compensate for the dragging legs. Counting down the last few laps was torturous. There was nothing else to give, even in the final 200 metres I couldn't find an extra stride and I clocked in at a very disappointing 18:44.
Negative thoughts as I tottered around the track for a cool down evolved around depressing comparisions with much better times in the not so distant past - over slower courses, during periods of lesser fitness levels - and even both. The way I felt during this run certainly belied and undermined some strong outings in training recently. I finished this time trial some 300 metres or more behind my projected virtual self out there. I couldn't understand it. If that had been an actual race, then without doubt my worst performance at that distance.
Inside that big cranium of mine during the fifteen minute drive home, the big inquest took place. As  a runner you can't be on the top of your game all the time, but the extent of that very lack of a performance there came as a bit of a shock. Lame excuses came to the fore; I just didn't feel light and springy that afternoon, perhaps the effects of some decent quality efforts in to training lately had left me feeling flat, maybe the track session from Tuesday night was still lingering in the legs, the previous evening I ran a fairly spritely seven and a half miler with the Horrocks... I'm 43...I used to be a pothead... the excuses went on and on. But a more considered conclusion was that it was just another training session. No need to beat myself up too hard.

NIGEL'S GONE SO NOW I CAN MAKE PLANS
The Met Office are naming 'storms' these days, or should I say they are naming seasonal Mid-Atlantic depressions which are quite typical for the time of year. With that in mind, if I was to name this recent cold, man flu or whatever it was, then trending towards current affairs and all this Brexit nonsense I would have to name it 'Nigel' with a certain Mr Farage in mind. The thing just wouldn't go away, hanging around for the sake of it despite having served it's purpose. Other comparable traits to Nigel Farage and my cold included making a brief comeback after threatening to step aside. Finally though, a persistent Nigel (the cold, that is) did fade away. I'm glad I didn't call it Boris or I suspect I would never have got rid of the bloody thing.
Last week I finally got back to some sort of training normality with 33 miles banked and much of that at a decent tempo. It was a bit disappointing to miss races such as the big one at Pendle and then another old favourite of mine, the David Staff Memorial race at Darwen which also passed me by. But now 'Nigel' has gone, I'm feeling ready and looking for a race.
Ribble Valley 10k is a possibility later in the month, although I've yet to commit - still not sure if I'll be quick enough to avoid disappointment and still unable to accept that it's a whopping £15 to enter - I'm sure it was under a tenner the last time I did it?! I've considered a Parkrun as a quick fix in the meantime, but two things have put me off Parkruns in the past; the 9am kick off is a bit of a bruiser for a slow morning person like me and secondly, two of my only four Parkruns at my local venue Cuerden Valley were marred by the discovery of the 'Parkrun snobbery' syndrome. Examples of this bizarre misuse of all things Parkrun were founded when Horwich runner Gareth Booth, along with a few other familiar faces that I couldn't put a name to, most definitely took part in the race and yet vanished without trace in the results listings. The Cuerden course is far from flat and certainly not the fastest. It seemed to me like these guys were avoiding the scanning of their number at the finish because it wouldn't look flattering on their 'Power of Ten' stats? If that was indeed the case, then certainly from my point of view they are taking themselves a little too seriously to say the least. Surely they have the sufficient self motivation to just go and smash a 5K out on their own, or even do a proper race somewhere without using and then snubbing the efforts of the Parkrun volunteers and it's registered patrons?
So speaking of which and with rant subsiding, although work blankets the whole of this weekend, the motivation to do a horrible run just won't go away and so I've set myself a solitary time trial this Friday. Against the clock on Witton Park track, twelve and a half laps, five kilometeres. Let's see what happens...

THIS BUG REALLY BUGS
Two full weeks have now passed being fit for nowt. This flippin' bug just won't bugger off. An attempt at some jogging earlier in the week seemed to be going fine until the cold symptoms worsened again. This slammed the brakes on hopes of even crawling to some sort of comeback.
In too much haste to get back to normal service, fuelled by the paranoia of fitness loss, I'd actually sent myself backwards. I never learn. As such, no venturing out to try and train again until this thing has properly gone away. The plug is now most definitely pulled on the Tour of Pendle race. Ambitions are primitive again, to slowly trying to get back to where I was just a fortnight ago.

MAN FLU SETS BACK TOUR HOPES
Another tasty track session under the belt was 6 x 1200m off two minute recoveries, run in an average time of 4:02 - all run solidly within four seconds of each other - only a few seconds shy of the halcyon track nights of 2009/10 when I could bang out sub four minute 1200's with time to spare. A steady seven miles on the Thursday was followed by eight cross country miles on the local park on the Friday. I felt great, running at a reasonable pace with ease. But sometimes you just know that feeling of an underlying tightness in the breathing tackle which, although not enough to hinder performance that afternoon by any means, nevertheless aroused suspicion that a cold was coming.
I could only hope it wasn't going to be enough to put me completely out of action, but the day after as I set off to East Devon on a family break, so the germicidal intruder began to inflict it's full wrath.
A croaky throat became a crackling chesty hollow. The sinuses were squeezed to absolute overflow and the nose has streamed continuously for two days. Combine this with a general feeling of total lacklustre and self diagnosis points to a well known affliction to the male of the species... man flu. Fortunately it didn't spiral in to proper flu and spoil my time away, but it did scrape icing off the holiday cake a little and probably more so for Sara who had to put up with me.
What was certain was that my running shoes were to be left redundant. This was frustrating indeed with a maze of quiet hilly roads to tackle near the village of Colyton and the chance of a session or two upon the coastal cliff paths. I have yet to run since that Friday on the park. As any male of the species can testify, man flu drags on and it's probably going to be another two or three days at a very optimistic best before I can gently start running again. This would leave me less than a fortnight until the seventeen mile toughie that is the Tour of Pendle. Not ideal, not even realistic. I've entered the race but there is no point speculating that I might be back and well enough to actually do it. Irritating as a bad cold may be, perspective prevails and I wouldn't swap it for an injury.

BACK ON TRACK
Last night completed a sixth week in succession down at the Witton Park track and I felt strong. 12 x 600m runs with a 90 second recovery was on this week's menu and another tough session was bashed out with consistency and more signs of improvement. Regular speed sessions of some description have always been an important factor in raising my racing game to somewhere that I feel is decent. The legs and the lungs seem to work better as a team and with the legacy of that Achilles trouble now seemingly under control, I feel as if I am the ascendancy. In fact training has gone brilliantly well lately, a tough fell run on Pendle thrown in with some decent tempo work of various distances on the road. The positive effects of these Tuesday night track sessions are starting to kick in and it's been two and a half years since I felt anything like this. Almost confident to race, enjoying training, a spring in my stride... where the hell is a Podium 5K on the calendar when you really need one?!
Wondering where I might be with another six weeks like this under my belt, there's even thoughts of a shot at a road race and the Ribble Valley 10K in December. First things first though and the small matter of the Tour of Pendle next month. Certainly being down at the club again each week has further inspired me to believe I can get some decent results again. The Blackburn Harriers lads are enjoying a successful time of it just now and I would quite like to muscle in on the party if I can.

FORM IS BACK WITHIN REACH   
WITHINS SKYLINE
It was great to be back at a Woodentops race last Sunday. Organisers Dave and Eileen Woodhead are living legends to the sport of fell running. I've rambled on enough about my endearment for this couple in previous scriptures, but it's always a pleasure to take part in their races. There is something unique, a special feeling from lining up with a few hundred Tykes and the odd fellow Lancastrian in the quarry at Penistone Hill. This was my sixth appearance at the Withins Skyline, but I really cannot believe that it has been six long years since my last showing back in 2010. A five race absence followed five years of solid Withins loyalty. Hopefully this can be the first of another five or more in succession.
The weather conditions were excellent and whilst obviously heavy going as always on the open moor, the rarely forgiving microclimate upon Penistone Hill and the surrounding Bronte country was  exceedingly generous for the time of year. Thanks to yet more improvement in the achilles department, I felt I could go fairly minimal again with my footwear. This in itself is a massive breakthrough and testimony to finally doing some effective exercises. Wearing in some new inov8 x-talons to race in for the first time in probably five years would be deemed a dubious source of great excitement to the many, but not for me. I was looking forward to giving them a run out.
Quite relaxed before the start, I'd come here to enjoy the race and I was confident that whilst I won't be raising eyebrows - not even my own - I wasn't going to have a complete howler. I felt pretty sharp for the first mile or so and seemed to be well up in the pecking order, but the messy climb up to the Stoop trig point took the wind from my sails. I was disappointed to lose ground on the pack ahead and more so to lose up to a dozen or so more places. It didn't get better over the rugged moorland skyline as the rarity of a stitch set in. There could be a case here for a lack of proper hard hill work on the fells recently, but in fairness I did also go a little overboard with the porridge at breakfast and perhaps that toasted bagel took me over the edge! Anyway, abdomen pain didn't so much stop me in my tracks but it wasn't comfortable, disrupted my breathing and certainly felt it cost me an opportunity to gain back ground on some of those ahead before it got too late. As the gradual descent begins from Withins Ruins, the stitch was subsiding and I was able to start building up a bit more speed. A couple of Calder Valley lads came surging past intent on showing their downhill skills and an Ilkley runner whom I recognise from these races of yesteryear had also nipped ahead. The tenacity of the Calder lads in descent wasn't matched when things began to plateau and undulate again and it was like I had yanked them straight back to me on a rope. With those two picked off, I set my sights on that Ilkley man Steve Turley and was pleased to reel him in back on Penistone Hill near the finish to take 24th place. I'd had that one man band of a Ribble Valley Harrier that is Chris Barnes in my sights after he started to drop back through the pack from his insanely fast start, but he seemed to equal if not better my efforts in the last couple of miles and maintain the distance. I finished strong though which is always a good sign and I feel some decent form is now back within reach. Comparative times are difficult to call in fell races, but at least this one was not my slowest. For the record, back in 2010 I was just over two minutes quicker which took 14th place and would have got me 12th today. Up at the front, Tom Adams was in a complete class of his own. His own course record eclipsed, four minutes clear of second place and over ten minutes ahead of myself. Some going.

WITHINS SKYLINE  7m/1000ft    Penistone Hill, Haworth. West Yorks.
Sun. 9th October 2016
1st Man: Tom Adams 38:32 (Ikley)  
1st Lady: Nichola Jackson 47:52 (Preston)
My Stats - 48:45   24/290

REHAB, REPS AND RELAYS
It's not that running has come to a halt over the past month or so, far from it, but more a case of having very few negatives to report for a change. A reminder that these pages can actually be an outlet for positive musings as well.
So I've just been getting my head down training and the great story behind that is that I have been able to. The Achilles continues to feel stronger. The swelling is reducing and is starting to look more like it's slender counterpart on the right heel. Last night was also the fourth week in succession down at the Witton Park track for a tough speed session under John Chaplin's watch. Around those rep sessions I am mixing it up, the only thing missing is a long run every week. I think if I could chuck that in to the agenda with some regularity then things might start to come together. Anyway, a really decent month of consistency has given me the confidence to go over to Haworth this Sunday for the Withins Skyline fell race. Dave Woodhead's races are fantastic and you can't beat a bit of Woodentops to get back in the groove. This will be the second time in a few weeks of pinning on a race number again after running for Blackburn Harriers at the Northern Road Relays...

NORTHERN SIX STAGE ROAD RELAYS
It was a proud day for Blackburn Harriers both in terms of quantity and quality with five teams out in force at Manchester's Sportcity and a top ten spot for the men's 'A' team. The club's big guns all turning out on the day has been long overdue and it was good to see the talent at the club finally registered with some sort of validation at a major team event. As for myself in team 'C', with a couple of track sessions under my belt at least a bit of race pace was not going to be such a leap in to the painful unknown - as was the case in my last appearance at Podium back in July. But I don't make things easy for myself even when they should be. Due to some kind of electrical fault in the brainwave department I decided I was running after, rather than before, Sean Proctor and as such kept checking to see where he was up to. This was after Sean had been in the shop where I work the previous day and I had even uttered the words myself that I was handing over to him. Back to the relays and as I was casually chatting away at trackside, suddenly our coach George Woodburn interrupts and asked me what I was doing? "Uh? I'm after Sean aren't I?", "No, you're on now!" says George urgently. Shiiiiit!!! Ffff....The airwaves turned blue. It was my own ridiculous fault of course. I had now denied myself a chance to warm up and there wasn't even room to stretch a limb in the waiting pen, besides it wasn't long before I was off and running. If preparation wasn't ideal, the course was the most contrived I have ever run, u-turning four times alongside the Etihad Stadium and at it's most ambitious, branching out to the far reaches of an empty car park twice.
Maybe Tuesday's track session was still tightening things up or maybe the lack of immediate preparation didn't help, but I was a bit deflated not to have had an extra kick in the last half mile and instead found myself hanging on in desperation. I averaged just under six minute miling though, so as far as my own modest expectations went it was a satisfactory outing.
It was unfortunate that in some sort of mix up our 'D' team was disqualified and were one of ten teams to experience the same fate as some runners pulled back in to the athletics track a lap short. Sportcity might have offered easy and ample parking as well as a great base for teams with legs starting and finishing in the impressive former Commonwealth Games warm-up arena, but as I touched on a few sentences earlier, I thought the course was contrived, disappointing and also poorly marked in places. As a venue for the relays, some boxes remained unticked in my opinion. Sara might have joined me to watch that afternoon had there been some evidence of greenery and doggy friendliness. But this was a bloody awful concrete jungle and I'm glad she and the Connie dog didn't risk it. For me, you can't beat a good old fashioned proper city park for these type of contests.

Sunday 25thg September 2016
NORTHERN SIX STAGE ROAD RELAY CHAMPIONSHIPS  Sportcity, Manchester.
My Stats - Blackburn Harriers 'C' Leg 4  (5.5K)  20:05

THROUGH THE FOG I SEE HOPE
A conversation with fellow Blackburn Harrier Brian Fogarty might prove to be the most poignant of my running year. Brian placed an incredible seventh at the Ironman UK contest last month, but it's not so much his awesome results and athletic stature of recent times that has had such a positive influence. He's had a bit of Achilles trouble himself at the turn of the year and recommended more weight bearing to my exercises. I've persevered with standing stretches and manipulation for a year and it has brought some relief, but it's not really addressed the problem long term and I've been plodding again this month without any foreseeable goal.
But the Fogarty's suggestion of cracking on with more aggressive exercises seems to be doing the trick for me. In his experience at least, the problem seemed to fade away quite quickly. I've always respected Brian's opinion, even when I was faster than him!
Well I have nothing to lose and will really try anything now. Despite some worrying discomfort at first, I can feel more flexibility and less aggravation after running as I now increase the exercises. This was a eureka moment, I feel foolish not to have clicked on to this long ago and that time has been wasted. Completely my own stupid fault. Simply bothering to read up on the subject for myself in more detail would have led me to this solution, but I'm lazy with stuff like that, even if it's self helping. I don't know what's wrong with me sometimes.
It was conversation time with myself again and although the Achilles job was looking up, I had lost the love a bit and decided to take a short break from running. I didn't know for how long, just until I really felt like I wanted to go out running again. During this time I spent five days away with Sara in the fine city of Budapest. A city that could teach any British government of modern times exactly how public transport ought to be. Their system is an impressive, slick, well oiled, efficient machine that puts the chaos in this country to shame.
I did take a pair of running shoes, but there was simply too much to do and see to be bothered chucking in some junk miles for the hell of it.
In all I had nine days off from running and have just got back on it with a fresh frame of mind. The Achilles problem is easing and I've completed a few off road speed sessions without a subsequent flare-up. Now there is real hope. Hope that I can get back down to the club's track sessions after an eighteen month absence, hope that on the back of those track sessions comes that turn of speed, that the speed combines with endurance and... of course I ought not to get ahead of myself. But there's nowt wrong with a bit of hope.

'A' RACE WINDOW GETTING SMALLER
PODIUM 5K
A couple of weeks of running were back in the legs when Up & Running were trading at the Podium 5K once again, so duty bound I stuck a vest on and gave it a go. I felt a bit of pressure for this one, having ranted to all and sundry about sub-18 minute runners glorifying themselves in the 'B' race than further challenging themselves in the 'A' race, here I was wondering if I should make the opposite adjustment to avoid doing the 'A' race a disservice. I was right to be worried. I found this one tough going. Physically because I just didn't have the endurance or speed in the bank and mentally because I was the definitive backmarker. If the 18 minute mark is indeed a window to some kind of moral qualification to run the Podium 'A' race, then I clambered some wobbly stepladders and forced entry through a tiny gap head first. 17:52 was too close for comfort and my regressively slowest of three Podium's this year. It wasn't pretty at all. In the end it seemed ungentlemanly conduct to pip the young Keighley lass Zara Knappy on the finishing straight, but a race is a race and her presence gave me something to hang on to on that last lap.
I've spouted plenty of negativity on these pages since deciding to engage in these running ramblings, but I do actually try and look for positives. On reflection, I can still latch on to a positive from last night's Podium... 42 years old and still able to blag a sub-18.

Friday 29th July 2016
PODIUM 5k   Barrowford, Lancs.   
1st Man: Jack Morris (Stockport) 14:45   
1st Lady: Alison Lavender (Oswestry Olympians) 16:55
My stats - 17:52   27th/28

COMPLETELY CYST OFF!
Post-Witton Trail Relays and a concerted effort to get one's arse back in to gear. Strictly off-road when absolutely possible, hills, hills and more hills. I also got to take out my new training partner for the first time, Connie the dog. She loves the hills. The mileage has been a bit patchy in recent times with the old Achilles tendon still stifling real progress, another biting hamstring and general aches, pains, stiffness and slow recovery to remind me that a bit more care and precaution is necessary as I tumble past the first quarter of my forties. But the running was starting to come together again until the untimely appearance of a Baker's cyst which resides behind my right knee. First popping out in to prominence when swimming around the age of ten, the breaststroke kick was the culprit and ever since, this innocuous little sack occasionally fills itself with fluid after a hard workout and pokes out of the back of my leg like the top of a hard ball. It's not painful, just a little uncomfortable, feeling restrictive and stiffening the area behind the knee. Over the years I have got to know my Baker's cyst well, like a grumpy old friend whose buttons you have to be careful not to press too hard. Generally it deflates within a day or two after any aggravation. I am normally fine to go out for steady runs until it pops back in to hiding. But on this occasion it wouldn't go away. Even a super-steady couple of miles only served to irritate it further. I tried the bike instead, which turned out to be even worse. After fifty minutes of cycling I couldn't even straighten my leg afterwards. Concerned at this, I proceeded to do a bit more research which basically consisted of reading horror stories about ruptured cysts. I didn't want to risk a rupture!
It was time to have one of those little conversations with myself. I couldn't run, I couldn't ride. It was time for a break. In the end it was the best part of a fortnight of training disruption before the cyst subsided. Hardly a catastrophe, but yet more nuisance value to temporarily derail the ultimate goal of getting back in to some sort of form to race.

UP AND RUNNING AGAIN
WITTON TRAIL RELAYS
So Tebay didn't happen on the Wednesday. I talked myself out of that race, feeling I lacked even the ability to just get around the course and enjoy it. There was no race in me, that's for sure. It was disappointing to feel so jiggered when I really wanted to go. But I also had to consider a
commitment the following evening as a member of the Up & Running line-up at the Witton Trail Relays. This consisted of a three-legged 2.4ish mile per leg affair with roughly a mile of ascent to the top of Billinge Woods and the downhill fruits of your labour for the return back to Witton Park. Organised by Richard Taylor and English Hill Runners, this is a brilliant event with a cracking little course and great atmosphere. Garry Wilkinson had brought together a men's veteran team and ladies team. The not long a runner, but already a legend, Bryan Searby got our men's team off on the first leg, former top end fell runner Wilkinson followed and then it was the humble I for the third and final leg. Our ladies team kicked off with esteemed local distance runner Sarah Ridehalgh returning to the scene from an injury lay-off, Jeanette Armitage from local club Running 4CF and then only Britain's best at duathlon, World Champion for her age group and fourth overall at the 2016 World Championships...  that would be Emma Taylor. She's not bad at Ironman either. All in all a spectacularly diverse line-up in the Up & Running squad! The conditions were excellent for running, if not spectating. Cool but by no means cold, light rain and ground that could take a stud. The girls took a splendid 3rd place in the ladies standings, whilst us boys were 6th in the veterans department.
When I rolled up for this race I was yawning incessantly. I tried trotting over to the start, but couldn't be bothered so I walked. It wasn't boding well for a decent run! Once I'd taken in a bit of the atmosphere and had a few natters, I thought I'd best make the effort. With plenty of time until I grabbed the baton, I warmed up by tottering around the course in reverse and managed to wake myself up a bit and loosen those stiff, lazy legs. Cometh the third leg then and after a conservative first half a mile I began to get a decent shift on up the woods and really enjoyed putting a bit of welly in to the descent back to the finish.

Thu. 30th June 2016
WITTON TRAIL RELAYS  2.3m/492ft  Witton Park, Blackburn
Fastest Men's Leg - Chris Holdsworth (Clayton) 14:38   Fastest Ladies Leg - Sarah Tipler (Barlick) 17:10
Men's Team Winners - Bunny Relay Champs (Barlick) 44:37   Ladies Team Winners - Barlick Ladies 'A' 56:13
My Stats - (Leg 3) 17:10   Team Stats - (Up & Running Vets) 56:42   33/110

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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