Now, I do like to run in the winter; dressed up cosily and pushing up some hill against the wind. But, it is so nice to experience an early British summer after a long period of poor weather.
My desk at work has best view, ever. There is no doubt that sitting at the computer while admiring the expanse of the Bristol Channel enhances my working day - yards from the beach, and six floors up so I have an uninterrupted view of the sea, the Welsh hills and the Quantocks. Go to the other side of the building and I get the Mendips. I can see the weather as it changes; the colour and choppiness of the waves sending messages about how my ride home is going to be, and I can often see rain storms as they travel across the estuary like mobile showers.
I went out with Alex on Saturday - 30 miles through some unspoiled countryside. We left pretty early but it was worth it as the air had that bell-like clarity; our only company was a good amount of birds and some deer leaving it a bit late to disappear for the rest of the day. I felt a release of pleasure as we cruised down fields of buttercups from Dundry, the sun gently warming us and the wind still reluctant to make its presence known.
Through villages I did know and little hamlets and areas unknown to me; sometimes startling the residents of isolated cottages who were having an outdoor breakfast or getting ready to cut the hedge. Quite a culture shock to reach the turn point at West Harptree - cars pulling in to buy the Daily Mail, and a lady buying eggs presumably for the family breakfast. We lingered just long enough to top up with water and handfuls of dried fruit and nuts and then curved round Chew Valley lake to return. It was quite warm by now but not unpleasantly so.
In the depths of winter when I am pining for a bit of heat I forget that running in hot weather is actually quite unpleasant; you get thirsty and sticky and sometimes get a headache from the heat. I also forget that the summer brings stinging nettles that cluster round stiles and gates and push at you as you try to pick through without getting stung. Sunglasses become useful, not to keep sun out of your eyes but insects, as they unerringly crash into the only soft moist part of your outside skin. But it didn't matter on this run - bugs and nettles were overwhelmed by the pleasure of travelling through the pillowy countryside with every rise coyly showing a view of the lake. The hedgerows - surely no other country can offer a habitat so extraordinary as an ancient British hedgerow - were soft and shaded with a green that seemed to glow in its verdure. The soil hasn't baked hard yet and provided a perfect firm running surface.
As we walked (yes, it is allowed on long runs...) up the hill to East Dundry we entered a farmyard which, much to my great pleasure, had a galvanised trough full of water in which lived a healthy population of goldfish. They too were lazily drifting around in comfortable appreciation. It is my regret that I am struggling to work my new phone otherwise there would be a picture at this point. Next time...
A long lollop down to the A38 to do battle with the traffic and through Colliter's Brook to finally part company at the bottom of Ashton Court. I pride myself on my knowledge of the local area, and how curious to find someone who has built up a similar repertoire - some parts we both knew, others just one of us. It was definitely a superb route that Alex had designed and I have recorded it for future runs.
With such an early start the rest of the day was still to come and we sat in the garden and basked. It wasn't long before the cider came out and shamefully I undid all of the good of the run by drinking rather too much. A friend came round later in the evening and it was only then that I realised all my exposed skin was crimson and my hair was standing on end - a result of sitting in a windy garden. Combined with my new bright red thermal running top, style was clearly having the day off.
A legacy the following day of a surprisingly clear head but some sore leg joints reminded me to tell everyone I met of my excellent run. Smug.
Monday 27 May 2013
Tuesday 14 May 2013
Running with the Devil
I went to the Watershed the day after the Welsh Ultra to see Mark Rowlands, the philosopher who runs and keeps wolves as pets.
Here's a thing - if you know you are going somewhere you know will be full of runners, don't wear a running shirt and poncy barefoot trainers. I looked like a geeky groupie.
In the same way, when attending a cycling film in a bike shop (as Malin and I did the other week), don't wear old-skool wool cycling tops as if they are fashionable cardigans. No, on second thoughts, do: when else can you get away with it?
Anyway, an interesting man - I enjoyed his first book 'The Philosopher and the Wolf', and so look forward to reading his new one; 'Running with the Pack'.
I would run if I had that monster coming along behind me. Very fast.
Here's a thing - if you know you are going somewhere you know will be full of runners, don't wear a running shirt and poncy barefoot trainers. I looked like a geeky groupie.
In the same way, when attending a cycling film in a bike shop (as Malin and I did the other week), don't wear old-skool wool cycling tops as if they are fashionable cardigans. No, on second thoughts, do: when else can you get away with it?
Anyway, an interesting man - I enjoyed his first book 'The Philosopher and the Wolf', and so look forward to reading his new one; 'Running with the Pack'.
I would run if I had that monster coming along behind me. Very fast.
Welsh Ultra, 40miles
I dedicate this entry to Karin. It is a lucky person who receives encouraging texts in the middle of a race, and I feel privileged to be supported in the ridiculous hobbies I engage with. Whatever the future brings for us, it will be good.
Photos courtesy of Gary Doherty, Kris Duffy, who also ran; I have shamelessly plundered their photo contributions.
I have spent the last three weeks fretting about this race - not prepared effectively; confusion over food choices; what shoes to wear; am I going to be exhausted by the preceding week and so on. I have never made such a big deal over a race before, ever. And quite frankly, I don't know why, as my target was only to finish anyway. Possibly, as we have had a horrible two weeks, the race become something to distract me.
Anyway, I drove over to Talybont on Friday, found a bunk in the outward bound centre that would be my base for the weekend.
Endless faffing on the morning with a last minute change of shorts into tights - a good move as it turned out. You can see me on the far right of this picture - looking as if another trip to the toilet might be a good idea.
Off along the canal in calm pleasant weather - in no way a forecast of the conditions to come. We then headed for the hills with some vague attempt at controlling my pace. As the race spread out we moved through forestry, layering up as we gained enough height to enter the clouds; this was the end of any dryness to the day and my jacket stayed on until the finish.
This was one of my favourite bits - we ran along a rocky path that cut through some misty woods. it wasn't long after that (I think) that a whole bunch of us headed down the wrong track and lost possibly 30 mins. Mental note for another race - check the route carefully beforehand, and concentrate rather than just chatting. Retracing our steps we were literally back on track, picking off the runners that had been behind us.
Through the first checkpoint and onto the bit I knew from two weeks ago - see my previous blog. The conditions really started to get serious here.
This was a grind - leaping from tussock to tussock in the vague hope that one might provide some sort of firm pathway. I remembered that there was a path that hugged the fence so headed for that and saved quite a bit of futile sploshing around. Up onto the plateau and then the ridge that leads up to Pen y Fan - oh my God it was windy up there! Driving rain felt like it was exfoliating my face, but that was nothing compared to the hailstones that followed on.
This isn't me, but it gives you some sense of the 'technical running' we endured. Mountain bikers would call this 'a bit squirrelly'.
Teeth gritted we shuffled - no way was it running - until the drop down to Storey Arms followed by a sadistic climb right the way back up.
This is me at Storey Arms - unbelievably given the climate I felt quite dehydrated. Luckily there was plenty of water at all stations.
At this point sadly my source of photographs dries up, and so therefore I will have to fall back on my memory.
Over and around Pen y Fan with a long excellent swoop off, only to curve around and start the feared climb of Cribyn. I love hills and was relishing this one but the steep grassy slope that led up to the peak itself coincided with a general crap-ness and I plodded along, never really making contact with the people ahead. However, this changed when we hit Cribyn itself, as with some strength restored I clambered up and past four runners.
I, like most other people, figured that after the last check point, with 'only' eight miles to go and most of it downhill, the race was all but finished. However, there were about four miles along a ridge that was barely runnable and I struggled to get past a group of walkers. One last peak after this, and then a long swoop down to Talybont reservoir. A female runner had been quietly approaching me, and as we began the descent she took off the handbrake in a way that suggested her legs sensed home. I have been struggling with descending recently due to the old hamstrings pulling up, but remarkably I relaxed into the run and cruised past. A tiny flash of my old ability was visible as I dropped off the hill, not only leaving her behind but also catching two others.
On the reservoir, down the track, I was really motoring now (bit late I know), onto the canal towpath, and then onto one of those awful dog legs they put in races where you can see the finish but it never gets any closer. One last clamber into the grounds of the centre, and home!
I had run out of water with about four miles to go, so that was my first need followed by tinned peaches and a cup of tea. I was starving but my stomach was so shrunken I couldn't eat. A shower and an unplanned kip on the bed, I then creaked down to the kitchen for some quite fantastic chick pea and sweet potato curry.
So, what did I learn? You can't swallow stale sandwiches so they make poor race food. My waterproof gloves are rubbish because if you try to put them on with damp hands you can't get your fingers in the holes. I need a rucksack with side pockets, I am stronger than I thought I was, especially up hills; and a well placed text from a lovely wife provides a 30 minute boost.
Photos courtesy of Gary Doherty, Kris Duffy, who also ran; I have shamelessly plundered their photo contributions.
I have spent the last three weeks fretting about this race - not prepared effectively; confusion over food choices; what shoes to wear; am I going to be exhausted by the preceding week and so on. I have never made such a big deal over a race before, ever. And quite frankly, I don't know why, as my target was only to finish anyway. Possibly, as we have had a horrible two weeks, the race become something to distract me.
Anyway, I drove over to Talybont on Friday, found a bunk in the outward bound centre that would be my base for the weekend.
Endless faffing on the morning with a last minute change of shorts into tights - a good move as it turned out. You can see me on the far right of this picture - looking as if another trip to the toilet might be a good idea.
Off along the canal in calm pleasant weather - in no way a forecast of the conditions to come. We then headed for the hills with some vague attempt at controlling my pace. As the race spread out we moved through forestry, layering up as we gained enough height to enter the clouds; this was the end of any dryness to the day and my jacket stayed on until the finish.
This was one of my favourite bits - we ran along a rocky path that cut through some misty woods. it wasn't long after that (I think) that a whole bunch of us headed down the wrong track and lost possibly 30 mins. Mental note for another race - check the route carefully beforehand, and concentrate rather than just chatting. Retracing our steps we were literally back on track, picking off the runners that had been behind us.
Through the first checkpoint and onto the bit I knew from two weeks ago - see my previous blog. The conditions really started to get serious here.
This was a grind - leaping from tussock to tussock in the vague hope that one might provide some sort of firm pathway. I remembered that there was a path that hugged the fence so headed for that and saved quite a bit of futile sploshing around. Up onto the plateau and then the ridge that leads up to Pen y Fan - oh my God it was windy up there! Driving rain felt like it was exfoliating my face, but that was nothing compared to the hailstones that followed on.
This isn't me, but it gives you some sense of the 'technical running' we endured. Mountain bikers would call this 'a bit squirrelly'.
Teeth gritted we shuffled - no way was it running - until the drop down to Storey Arms followed by a sadistic climb right the way back up.
This is me at Storey Arms - unbelievably given the climate I felt quite dehydrated. Luckily there was plenty of water at all stations.
At this point sadly my source of photographs dries up, and so therefore I will have to fall back on my memory.
Over and around Pen y Fan with a long excellent swoop off, only to curve around and start the feared climb of Cribyn. I love hills and was relishing this one but the steep grassy slope that led up to the peak itself coincided with a general crap-ness and I plodded along, never really making contact with the people ahead. However, this changed when we hit Cribyn itself, as with some strength restored I clambered up and past four runners.
I, like most other people, figured that after the last check point, with 'only' eight miles to go and most of it downhill, the race was all but finished. However, there were about four miles along a ridge that was barely runnable and I struggled to get past a group of walkers. One last peak after this, and then a long swoop down to Talybont reservoir. A female runner had been quietly approaching me, and as we began the descent she took off the handbrake in a way that suggested her legs sensed home. I have been struggling with descending recently due to the old hamstrings pulling up, but remarkably I relaxed into the run and cruised past. A tiny flash of my old ability was visible as I dropped off the hill, not only leaving her behind but also catching two others.
On the reservoir, down the track, I was really motoring now (bit late I know), onto the canal towpath, and then onto one of those awful dog legs they put in races where you can see the finish but it never gets any closer. One last clamber into the grounds of the centre, and home!
I had run out of water with about four miles to go, so that was my first need followed by tinned peaches and a cup of tea. I was starving but my stomach was so shrunken I couldn't eat. A shower and an unplanned kip on the bed, I then creaked down to the kitchen for some quite fantastic chick pea and sweet potato curry.
So, what did I learn? You can't swallow stale sandwiches so they make poor race food. My waterproof gloves are rubbish because if you try to put them on with damp hands you can't get your fingers in the holes. I need a rucksack with side pockets, I am stronger than I thought I was, especially up hills; and a well placed text from a lovely wife provides a 30 minute boost.
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