29th March 2013

Two rather creaky hours of running today, up over Dundry where the wind whistled up from Chew Valley Lake. I caught the early sun so the edge was taken off the chill of the early morning frost, but it was still cold.
It seemed each field was populated with families of sheep with ewes nervously watchful of me as well as the raggedy lambs wobbling and skipping around.  Surely it is a major bonus of running in the countryside at this time of the year: listening to their bleating and watching their tails twitching and flapping around.

This is number 62, and the lamb had 62 written on the other side.  There was another lamb, obscured by view here and as I inched closer all three  moved away.  I ran past a ewe trying to break the ice in the water trough, but no more photo opportunities as the herd drifted off over the hill.

27th March 2013

I went out for 2 hours this morning - legs still tired from the weekend's race but I plodded on through the ice.  What a pleasant surprise to see the sun having a go at shining through the bank of grey clouds that has sat on our weather for a few days now.  Not that it made any difference to the temperature; it was still gloves and hat weather.  Through Tyntesfield estate, across Watercress farm and over to Barrow Court; a complex Ghormenghast of a country pile that is almost visible from our house.  I reflected rather joyfully that most of the traffic I could hear from the main road was heading for work, whereas having the week off I could noodle around the countryside knowing that all I had to come home to was a cup of tea and some leisurely stretching.  And a wife with a hangover. (She had gone into town when I got back, to write more of our retirement plan - see the link to her blog, so I guess the hangover wasn't so bad.

 So, here is Barrow Court - well, a bit of it anyway.  Notice the blue sky - about time.

Now, this little chap has chased me on a number of occasions.  When he hears me running across the field opposite Barrow Court he rockets out of the farm barking furiously.  The field is really large and his legs are really small so I have a good while to get out of the field; I believe he is called Alfie and he often brings along a pal who lacks Alfie's aggression - perhaps he is the apprentice.  Notice the sharp teeth, whitened on the ankles of passing runners.

We all get chased by dogs, although it is rare that I get scared nowadays.  I feel that they are better controlled and usually accompanied by an apology, 'sorry, he doesn't normally do this...'.  Having said that 30 mins before meeting Alfie this morning I met a Sheltie, the owners of which were calling rather nervously 'don't bite, don't bite'.  Clearly this was a real possibility, although I am pleased to say he didn't.

Staggered back through the fields, rather appalled by two crows eating a dead lamb ( circle of life and all that), and home to the afore-mentioned cup of tea and a very nice hot cross bun.

Sometimes you just have to ask yourself...

I ran the Black Mountains Trail half today.  Well, I ran some of it.
Snow was knee deep in places, with a howling wind that prevented you from seeing where you were going; the runners clustered together for safety and I felt really sorry for the two marshals at the top standing in a blizzard shouting directions to the runners.  The mist was also down and the signs were mostly buried in snow so there was a very real chance of getting lost.  On top of that we had to run down an ice field - pick the wrong line and you found yourself surrounded by ice and the only way out was a careful hands and knees traverse.  I lost 5 minutes creeping back onto the route.
As we dropped down into the valley the snow was replaced by a slick of mud; I guess we all fell at some point.  One slip and you plummeted down the slope on your back.  Just to add more misery we ran down streams that were mostly melt water - running along in that freezing wind with soaking shoes was no joke, I can tell you.
I was overtaken by another runner at one point and I made a comment about the evil nature of the hill section - 'I loved it!' he said as he cut left to start a second lap.  I however ran on, starting to realise that everyone was going on to do the second lap, and that there were no half marathon runners around; I must be in the lead.  Indeed I was, and after a fretful two miles with me worrying whether someone would shoot up and overtake me, I rolled into the campsite finish and first place.  Of nine runners.  Who cares, big prizes!  A pair of running shoes, a trophy and a t shirt, as well as a medal and chocolate bunny!  I came home with a clear profit.
As I didn't push myself too hard and descended really slowly due to my hamstring injury I actually got the chance to enjoy the run - it was great.  I did feel a bit crap inching downhill while others slithered by - next time I will wear a t shirt that says something like 'injured, otherwise you wouldn't see my ass for dust!'.  The whole weekend - camping in the snow, enjoying a pint in the pub with the locals and pretending to like rugby, and being first in the shower - it was all good.  It was entertaining hanging around pretending to be an ultra runner and looking at the particular kit and clothes they use - very different from other running tribes.  Roll on May - I have entered the 40mile Brecon ultra.

      

At this time of the year it is worth dreaming about what will happen in the summer - this was us last year in the French Alps with Mont Blanc breathing down our neck.  Running that I will never forget.

I went to Ashton Court tonight to see the Night Terror race - 200 runners heading off into the dark; slippery mud and hills everywhere.  At the insistence of a marshal I joined the back of the race, and lolloped along behind three ladies dressed in bunny girl outfits.  I was interested to note that my competitive spirit is bigger than my libido as I ignored the obvious pleasures of running behind them and made a show of scuttling up the Parkrun hill.  I left the race and cantered home, pleased to have gone for a run instead of flumping in front of the telly.

Never trust a train...

I managed to get to Weston super Mare this morning without buying a ticket - the machine was busy, the booth was busy and the guard on the train took 20 mins to sell one ticket.  Feeling smug, I hadn't reckoned with the train's capacity to gain revenge: when I got to the station this evening the train was cancelled.  My plan had been to run from Nailsea to Tyntesfield estate; this wasn't going to happen now.  I blagged my way onto the service to Bristol, and completed an urban run instead.
Clifton is awesome for hill training; zig-zagging my way up and down in a line parallel to Hotwells - I must have looked like a sewing machine.  Over the suspension bridge into Leigh Woods, through to Abbots Leigh and home.  Fab.

Are we here to work, or are we here to run...

Don't listen to what the captains of industry tell you, we were not put on this planet to oil the wheels of industry.  On the way home last night I got off the train at Nailsea (apologies to non-Bristolians), and headed up towards the airport.  I had taken my running kit to work, and had a rucksack containing food and my headtorch; I also had to carry loads of clothing as the weather has finally changed and was a lot warmer than I thought.  As I climbed through the woods in Backwell toward the radio mast I very quickly forgot that I was still on my daily commute, and breathed in the newly-warm air.  What a superb evening!  Buds were apparent on the hawthorn, the birds were identifying territory, and I even got the very first insect of the season in my eye.  As the sun dropped it produced a hazy dusk that really brought the woods to life.
Two hours later, I arrived home having passed through one world into another.  It was dark, my new headtorch had behaved really well, I was hungry, but more importantly my brain had unravelled all of the nonsense that had tangled up throughout the day.  In the middle of the week I had carried out an activity that is normally saved for the weekend, and had stumbled upon one of those magic, glowing evenings.
So, why not find a way to let running act as the wardrobe in Narnia and lead you into another place midweek?  Don't listen to them when they say that the whole point of going home is to get a clean shirt to be back at work the next day - go find the life!

I went to the Green Man Ultra this morning to see off a few running buddies, but also to see if my legs would get excited enough to enter next year.  47 miles around Bristol - do-able if I can manage to remain injury free.  I jogged along at the back of the pack for the first 5 miles, and felt like I should be there, so who knows.  Looking forward to seeing how Rachel (obscured, first ultra) and Alex ( ultra veteran, blue visor in the middle of pic) get on.  Perfect running conditions, cool, little wind and dry-ish underfoot.