More Citrus, less Patisserie

Its Christmas; and with it comes all things wintry. Pale shadows darting among the fir trees as I cut my way through the woods across a hardened frosty track. As I run, I see clouds of breath billow to the left and right across my face as I turn north and then south.  The recent storm has left the forest ravaged,  branches and ivy clad limbs scattered and strewn on the ground. Wind-Chill. I disturb a deer which trots off away from me.  Grey squirrels forage for pine seeds. I glance up to the grey translucent sky as I come to an opening. It gives nothing away. Still no sign of snow. As I break from the trees, I feel the wind carrying the frozen whisper of the Norse gods from the east.  I am ready for the Snowqueen’s hordes, for the onslaught of the night hag. Those Yule lads haven’t got near me this year. Spoon licker and Window knocker got close.  I have dug out my Christmas Jumper, knitted by Missus Mac and feel that annual pull northward.    

I have, at last, finished 'Lanark' by Alasdair Gray. If you asked me to summarise it, I would struggle to adequately describe the 581 page book and perhaps only to say that if they made a film of it, It would be one for David Lynch. I imagine Dante would be the scriptwriter, or at least have a hand with Hieronymus Bosch in the set direction.  There were long sections of the book that were highly readable with a flowing narrative based in and around Glasgow. However, elsewhere, things were substantially more surreal. I have now throttled back over Christmas to Ken Follett’s slightly less cerebral offering, 'The Man from St Petersburg'.  

A few weeks ago I managed to run two thirds of the Cross Country race in Durham before pulling up. I started late, well after the slow group had started. I realised that after two laps that this was about as much as I wanted. With nothing at stake and with light snow flurries, I was happy to put the day behind me and re-group.  I’ve still not fully recovered from the hip thing I had and have been treading water for the last 3 weeks or so, knocking out some good training runs and some not-so-good runs. I have, all in all, had a really good season though and was in rare form in the late summer. I have no races booked in, but should manage the cross country at Thornley early in January. If, however, I don’t, its not such a disaster, darlink.

I have been lucky enough to receive some lovely Christmas pressies this year including a new pair of Saucony’s and 6 or 7 seven books to keep me going well into 2022. I also got a dvd set of the films of Pressburger and Powell.  These films are thoroughly British, and, to be more precise, probably thoroughly English in the same way that I consider Elstree and the works of Morris, Elgar and Williams. I guess you could also squeeze in Holst’s ‘Venus’ into that pastoral thing. Anyway, The Canterbury Tale, a 2 hour wander through the heartland of rustic Kent was great last night. This stuff beats the nonsense and covid obsessed offerings that dominate the small screen. Yes, I even had Alistair Sims’s 1951 ‘Scrooge’ on. Another black and white masterpiece. Next it’ll be Will Hay (Aunt Aggies favourite).  The cyclo-cross has also been excellent on Eurosport.  As I wait for this cold to dry up, I have an idea of running a few fells over the next week or so. It’s the 3^rd cold I’ve had in 2 months which suggests that I need to be getting more citrus and less patisserie. Citrus and lemsips. Them and zinc, apparently.  

The forecast is for unusually warm weather, but a change as good as a rest.  The snow will arrive…eventually…

Lanark Short Course XC

Pride comes before a fall and all that! I was watching the scales plummet and getting 'right up myself' (as they say) with weight loss, decent mileage and gym work. I was running like a daftie while literally fading away. The sacrifice of Jammy Dodgers, tatties and Harviestoun pale ale was worth it when you're bouncing around like Tigger at sub-6 minute mile pace. My dopamine production had moved to reduced hours with the lack of sugar and carbs, but that's just the way it is.  I was to be found cruising near the front of the bunch in training nights. Deep joy. 

However, you can't foresee everything in life. It was a long day sitting in my chair at the desk plus a snatched gym session on the same day when my life as a professional athlete came to a stuttering halt. My left glute and hip seemed to go all loctite superglue when I got out of bed the next day. Must have been those weighted squats.  I thought I could run it off and kept my appointment at the track that night. However, it soon became clear this was something more than a niggle. That was 4 or 5 weeks ago I guess. I still managed gym sessions, but avoided hip and glute exercises and mileage went from fifty miles a week to around ten. Still, I remained patient and was still game enough to drive up to the Scottish Cross Country short course champs with Ant and Cat early in November. We arrived in good time and even had the temerity to visit a local farm shop and order coffee and shortie. Arriving at the Racecourse, we parked without any grief and sat in the car watching the wind whip the nearby flags hanging beside the old auction house into submission. Sure was windy. 

As the crowds gathered we walked the short distance to the tent village and took no part in the tent erection exercise. Well, its a specialist thing, isnt it?!  It was on with the spikes for the first time in almost 2 years and I, somewhat optimistically, waltzed out for a warm up. The discomfort was bearable  - it meant I could run, but not race with any effect. After exploring a quiet spot in the woods, I lined up in the squally rain and tried to find shelter behind some big burly men. But this being athletics, there weren't any.  We were soon dispatched and around 300 or so galloped ahead of me. It pretty much stayed that way all the way round. I took little satisfaction in seeing one or two men pull up. I was slightly jubilant when I caught another, but he was slipping and sliding around on the muddy patch with his road shoes on and I thought 'well, that doesn't really count, either!' I fairly minced my way around the 4k course and the race was finished before it began. A course for the fast boys; too flat, the surface too hard. Ant did fine and Cat had a stormer (top 10), so there was some salvation on the flat windswept hinterland of the town that apparently hosted the first Scottish Parliament and first Scottish aviation meeting. Who knew? 

Briefly stopping to watch the medals being dished out to Butchart and Muir, we were soon back in the car and shimmying past Tinto and before you could say 'pie and chips' we were on the M6 and heading south.  

I managed about 40 miles last week and things are much improved. However, the old spectre, the corpulent hooded monk who visits delivering flab and all things 'verbotten' has been and gone and its back to square one on the weight front. Well, lets be philosophical about this. Its winter and all my mammal friends are pretty much geared up to put weight on in order to get through the cold and dark dreary months. My punishment for all this? A trip to Liverpool this weekend for the Cross Challenge cross country. Mostly as chauffeur and supporter, but I will have a run out. Snow and high winds are forecast. Its the same dream team of three going down, so at least we'll get a music quiz as Cat tinkers around with the car radio stations. What a hoot! Wish us luck. I am happy that, given the shape I'm in, if I don't manage to finish the course at least I can have a crack at swimming the channel. 

    

Redcar 5k: We're in the money..

If it really is the 22nd of October already, my smoked salmon in the fridge is out of date and the next episode of the harrier league cross country is only a week away. Thankfully the black pudding keeps for longer. Full of iron that stuff. 

We gave the previous xc race at Druridge Bay a body swerve in favour of that lesser known carnival, the Redcar Running Festival. Ant was keen to do the 5k and Speedy Joe the half marathon. Linds was also up for the five while Mrs Mac preferred to get more miles under her belt and opted for the 10k. It was a warm morning and the esplanade road had been closed as we rocked up to get our numbers.  A wee running posse. 

The 5k was first and after a delay caused by gremlins in the super tech chip gazmotron, around 80 of us were off along the pan flat course. Within the first half mile, I realised I wasn't feeling the love and dialed down my expectations as I slumped to a 6:02 first mile. I was still clipping along and slowly dispatched the mature north shields poly runner who was present next to me early on. I was happy ploughing my own furrow, my mind lost in the gentle north sea breeze. We executed a dead turn at the half way point which gave all of us a gander at who was where in the field. I trolled on and perked up as I began to catch a diminutive runner in a pink vest around 3k I spent the remaining 2k trying to run him down. He looked about 12 from behind but maybe it was the distance. The shame of being beaten by a junior drove me on. His pacey pertinacious run helped me to a 5:46 toward the final mile. However, I was aware that the finish line wasn't coming as soon as I had anticipated, but come it did with the youngster still a few metres ahead. I was happy to cross the tape in 19:30. I congratulated the young runner and then went all mystic meg, telling him he had a bright future. As I accepted my medal, t shirt and mars bar, I caught sight of Ant, who had finished around a minute ahead. He was exasperated and berating the organisers for the extra 250 metres that the course appeared to be. He wasn't alone. It was too long. There was little that the course director could do, even if he wanted to, at this late hour, to remedy the cock-up, and the 10k and half marathoners just had to dig in and get on with it. 

As we waited and cheered on those who were running the longer races, I took my place and the queue for the coffees and teas and 25 minutes later was rewarded with 2 teas and a coffee. One would have thought that, having recently held the National Road relays, there would have been something more than the one cafe to serve the throngs of gasping and parched athletes, their adoring supporters and bored on-lookers. Linds finished 2nd and Speedy Joe won the half.  

Sometime later we wandered up the prom for an ice cream and fish supper which was truly the highlight of the day. Even later, some vouchers arrived in the post. The value of the various prizes totalled £225 so it turned out quite well and we can forgive New Markse Harriers on their course distance oversight.  Strangely, my time on the results have been reduced by 8 seconds. If they think that it would take me only 8 seconds to run the extra 200 or so metres, maybe they should stick me on the programme and enter me for the Worlds. I'd show them a thing or two with my black pudding. 

On another tack, I overdid it in the gym last Sunday with the squats and have, as a result, had most of the week off running, so I'm looking forward to an energizing, if drizzly, run around the woods at lunchtime. I've signed up for the Scottish Short Course XC early next month so a bit of off-road is what's required. Mrs Mac has been glossing yesterday, so I'll be pleased to get out of the volatile ridden house for a while.  

 

Giffordtown & the 'Autumn' Training Week 2021

It’s the penultimate day of the Aberfoyle training week. It’s been pouring these last 2 days. The bizarre heat of the Wrekenton Cross Country in Gateshead a fortnight ago is a long gone memory. All that dust and heat haze. There is something re-assuring about the cool west coast rain and misty clag that clings to the hills and forest at this time of year. We walked Conic Hill on Monday and Ben Lomond on Wednesday in bright sunshine. It was busy. Some folk had stripped down to their t-shirts. Several were in their trainers. On Lomond, as if trying to make a point, I ploughed on regardless wearing my camouflage goretex smock until we were almost back in Rowardennan when I submitted to the warmth of the lower slopes. The last time I was up Lomond was in 2009 when I was up and back in 1:27.  It snowed on the top if my recall is correct.  We had a tea in the garden of the Hotel. Wasn't too inspiring, I must admit. 

The plan today was to walk up the Corbett Ben Ledi, but this morning I settled instead for a 9 mile plod through the rain. Very wet I was when I finished. 

At the start of our week last Sunday, we mooched across to the old Kingdom to do the Giffordtown 5k. I don’t think it was a full field, but it was, nevertheless, a pretty decent field that gathered in deepest Fife for this out and back affair. Starting at 11am, I was raring to go and at the 1km mark, which came very quickly, I thought I’d better get a shifty on otherwise I might run out of road. The first mile was a 5:49 and I was still galloping forward at that pace into the second mile with purpose. Speedy Joe and Ant were running as was Mrs Mac, and I wasn’t too far behind Ant at the turn. I was aware that toward the end of the race I had to work harder when a Lothian runner crept up on my flank. I caught a glimpse of his grey hair and thought ‘M50’.  We ran the last 400m together before I dug into my reserves (which I had thanks to my weights work) in the last 50m to reclaim my lead. It was a well earned 18:32, 3^rd M50 and an 8 second improvement on July’s Sunderland 5k. Definitely worth the trip.  I warmed down with Ant and Speedy Joe who had finished second to Rebecca Burns of Edinburgh AC. We were joined by an affable young man with red hair who introduced himself as Noah Lambert. A Gloucester lad, he was running for St Andrews Uni. He had beaten the best Fife AC had to offer, crossing the line in 15:05 and only a handful of seconds off the record. We chatted a little before getting back to the car and after getting changed, we took off for tea and soup at the Pillars of Hercules café in Falkland. Organic, trendy perhaps, but not that cheap. Is anything anymore?

Back to today and this afternoon after getting dried out from this mornings run, It was a 5 mile slog in the mist and rain halfway up Ben Venue. There was no one else around but no shortage of interesting fungi. On this holiday I’ve finished Joe Haldemans Classic 'The Forever War' and moved on with Rankins novel 'The Black Book'.(not sure if I've read this before or not?). I've bought a wooden chess set and a set of old dominoes from an antique centre in Doune. I have also discovered the panorama tool on my phone. I haven’t managed to stick to the diet or weights regime, so I reckon my time for Sundays Redcar 5k might well creep into 19 minutes. However, it’s the price of a weeks holiday that has been one and a half years in coming, so I’m not too bothered. It was almost a sesh in the nearby hotel tonight before coming back with a fish supper to share. I’ve just changed the newspaper packing in several pairs of sodden shoes lined up and trying to dry out beside the door and tomorrow its goodbye to the cracking trails around Aberfoyle (until the next time).    

Falkland Hill & Trail Race: or maybe just Hill Race...

It was about this time last week that Linds' brought in a new kettle. The old one was on the blink and we do a shedload of tea hereabouts. It was fresh, in a pastel green and very tidy unlike my big toe, which became the physical manifestation of the carnage that was endured at the Falkland Hill and Trail race last Sunday. In a naïve decision some time ago, I entered this race organised by my new running clubbies in Ecosse. I reasoned that I could also pick up the new vest and t-shirt that I had ordered and, better still, meet some of my new buddies. 

I belted up to Fife early doors, stopping at Kirkcaldy for a cuppa and was outside the Community Hall in Falkland with an hour to spare. Speedy Joe and Ant came up under their own steam. Speedy Joe (Cat) was running, Ant in support. Cat had said she’d enjoyed the race 2 years ago when it hosted the Scottish Trail Race champs. However, we concluded that this event was not the same one. And what about its title? Was it a trail race or was it a hill race?  As I pinned my number onto my vest I had visions of a gentle canter through the woods past the Stables café. ‘Not too challenging’ I mused. It was, as the Blancmange song, a ‘blind vision’. We warmed up and then doused our legs with neat TCP to ward off any sort of arachnids. I smelt like a WW1 field hospital. Perhaps a one in twenty solution might be more appropriate next time. 

With a field of 60 out of the 80 or so who had pre-entered, we made our part way up the hill to the start. After a lengthy pre-race synopsis of what we were about to experience we were off, me in my new psycho squirrels (the clubs mascot and nickname, apparently) oversized t - shirt.   I slotted in behind Steve Mathews of Hawkhill as we wound our way up and up through a narrow grassy path. The climbing eased off after a little as we crested a heather clad ridge and then hit a long grassy path.  My heart rate was off the scale. Speedy Joe disappeared somewhere up front and was soon lost from view. Meanwhile I sat in behind the Hawk. on the level he was bearing down on a Highland Hill Runner in front - lets call him Eric (cause that’s his name). However, the highlander from Alness was proving elusive and too busy trying to run down a Falkland runner (Dave Clark) ahead of him who was going well. Could I use Steve to slingshot myself to overhaul these two. Well, not likely. We turned left and began a steep grassy climb to some yon big hill with a trig point on it. Falkland man and Eric pulled away a little more and disappeared over the crest. 

Hands on knees working hard up the incline, I imagine Steve the Hawk had had enough of me, the Klingon heavy breather on his shoulder. I was invited to make my move just below the summit. I took the front near the top and got my first view of the descent. I thought if I can’t make up some ground on the runners ahead, I should perhaps think about trading in my Salomons for a crochet kit and a bottle of buckie. I was well out of practice having not raced in the hills for more than 18 months, but what I lacked in practice I made up in misplaced bravado (is there any other?) and I hurled myself down the hill through the heather to the style and, as we entered the forest with only 800m of greasy grey boulder and gravelly paths remaining, I went straight past Eric and just around the corner, I spied the flying speedy Joe. She was motoring downhill along the track ahead. It was quite a technical descent, but she was running with just a hint of consideration for her own well being. Me, not so much and with 200m to go I felt my toenail catch the top of my shoe momentarily as my toes were repeatedly forced into the end of the shoe as gravity, momentum and impact came together repeatedly on this last gasp dash. Would I have tried to pass her if I had had a chance? Well, I guess we’ll never know. I took away 2 bottles of beer and a hobble from the race. We finished 6^th and 7^th. Afterwards, we sat outside Campbells tearoom in the village with a coffee and scone before heading off. It took me all week to recover from a trashed set of quads and a general weakness and malaise which I put down to being old and trying too hard.  And for those of you who were still wondering…this is definitely a hill race.

Shettleston Open Meeting: Too Hot to Trot

 I’ve never ran a 3000m before; and I’ve not been to half the well known bars in Glasgow, even though, for 2 years, I went to school there. So I thought I’d combine both by entering the Shettleston open meet at ‘Crownpoint’. Yes, its sounds a glorious venue, majestic even, but don’t get your hopes up.  I managed to get an entry even though the website entry failed to take any money off me. The organiser kindly advised that, upon enquiry, my name was down.  A freebie then? A reward for my summer of toil.

 

I took the train to Waverley and then jumped on the Glasgow Train. Boy, it was hot. Arriving at Queen Street, I had 4 hours to burn. Did I mention it was hot. The wall clock thermometer thingy said 26 degrees as it began to wilt down the side of the window.  I checked out the Burger Bar on St Vincent Street that I had previously identified for a post race feast. I then moseyed along to the café at St Enoch Square in the Bank which I knew was air conditioned and, armed with a pot of tea, spent 45 minutes watching the world go by out the window.  There were some sites, Glasgow all t shirts and ice creams. Saltcoats, but without the sand or sea and more discarded sweety papers and plastic. Stepping back out into the heat I wandered to Greaves Sports and then Blacks where I bought a small backpack. It was more secure than the shopping bag I had brought. I re-packed my belongings and wandered across the Waterstones for another tea and glass of iced water. It was soon 5.30 and I made a move to find the Trongate, then Gallowgate. 

 

Passing the Barrowlands, things became rather unloved with litter and dereliction rather more prominent than the gleaming shiny buildings I had left around Buchanan Street.  The sun was melting the pavement and, even though I had a t shirt on, I was lathered. I heard the voice in my head ‘we’re all going to fry tonight’ as I passed the Wee Mans Bar. I registered at the track and looked for a secure place to put my bag before I ‘warmed up’ (an unfortunate phrase in the circumstances). I was referred to the leisure centre. However, when I enquired at the leisure centre, which was near empty, they advised the lockers were not in use due to Covid. What complete b#’ocks.  Bureaucratic nonsense. Bureaucraps. I returned to the track and left the bag with the officials and had a run along Crownpoint Road. Partway along I was invited in for a pint by 2 amused smokers standing outside a bar, but I declined.  I made my way onto the track and stepped up in lane 3 with around 15 others. I started promptly and made my way around 3 or 4 runners during the first 3 laps. On lap four I was passed by 2 males, one Cambuslang and a Bellahouston Harrier. I tried to tuck in but they ran away from me, lost in their own wee battle. I cracked on but my mouth was dry, my reserves were failing. The sweat was dripping across my face. The red track and sky, the searing heat, it was like Mars. I thought for a moment I saw Matt Damon in a spacesuit; the arid surface, a hostile sky bearing down on me. I was passed by one, then two women but grabbing the shreds of my dignity, I rallied on the final lap and ran across the line in around 10:50. It was hardly the stuff sonic booms are made of, but it was sub 11 and that was, in my book, a result.In the other 3000m heat, I noted an infringment of the new rules on nasal discharges being transgressed right in front of the crowd. It will be interesting to see if the runner is DQ'd or not.

 

I made my way out of Bridgeton as the sun came down and made my way to the Scotia Bar, before moving swiftly on to Bread Meat Bread on St Vincent Street where I enjoyed the meal. I had visions of walking to the accommodation but, by then, the meat sweats had got me in their grip and I elected for the underground to Partick. I managed a half in Deoch an Dorus, self styled as a ‘Partick Institution’.  It was tea and bed at eleven. 

 

The following morning I opened the day with a 5 mile run along the quayside with Ant’ before the weather broke and I made my way to the ‘Clockwork Orange’, thanking my host for his hospitality.  The rain had returned half a day early and I ended up with tea, bacon and eggs in a quiet Weatherspoons. It wasn’t my choice, but I had been around several blocks looking for a wee café rather than a coffee bar. When I asked what street it was on, the girl said cheerily ‘Jamaica Street’. I never recognised it, even though in the 70’s I’d spent my time twice a day on the bus coming up and down the grey grimy thoroughfare.  It was up to Queen Street for the train home and another 30 pages of my Denise Mina book ‘Still Midnight’. She sets her novels in Glasgow. Maybe her next novel will be called ‘A hot night in Bridgeton’ or perhaps ‘Scunnered with 2 laps to go’? Then again, maybe not.

Signals Relays & the Perth 10k

 

It was a tad on the warm side when we appeared at Hetton in Durham for the annual Signals Road Relays last weekend. The sun had broken through and we had plenty of time in hand before the start of the women's and vets race. It’s a 2 lapper, each lap comprising 1.1miles of rolling tarmac enveloping a large pond (or small lake if you don’t get out much). I was running leg 3 for the vets M50 team and with Hancox, Bennett and Bracken making up the team, it would need to be a heck of team that would beat us. The numbers were a little down on the usual, but with 60 or so teams from perhaps 30 clubs, there was plenty going on.

We led on the 1^st leg with Bracken. Hancox came in on the 2^nd leg still with only a few seconds over North Shields. They had won the vets title for the past however many years. However, the defection of Bracken from Shields to Morpeth a year or so ago changed the dynamics in our favour.  The Shields lad was a little close for comfort, but I told myself I was in good shape and blasted off for a terrific first lap. The second lap became blidy hard work very quickly as I ran out of steam, but I sensed I had put time into my opponent and sure enough I had put around 20 seconds into him at the finish. I crossed the line in 13:13, the fastest I’d run this event since 2017. And I needn’t have worried about the slim lead as Bennett, running the final 4^th leg flew around the course for the days fastest time and we ended up winning by a minute or so. Sunderland were 3^rd but were never in the running. In the woman's race, Speedy Joe ran the days fastest women's time and they also won their event. Tea and medals all round.

We took off soon after, not waiting for the presentation. We got to Perth at around seven, stopping only for fuel at Dunbar and a bar meal at the Steading off the Edinburgh By-pass. Still plenty of masks on and frayed nerves up here.  A couple of pints before bed and before we knew it, it was Sunday Morning. It was a pot of porridge and a coffee for breakfast before we hot-footed it down to North Insch, collecting our chips for the Perth Festival 10k. There was a queue for the toilets. I took the initiative and sauntered casually past reception at the Leisure Centre to use the other toilets where the queue was negligible.  Mrs Mac tried this tactic 5 minutes later, but by then the way to toilet nirvana had been blocked and the lavatory interlopers were chased back from whence they came.

Conditions outside were ideal and me and Speedy Joe warmed up. There was around 350 running and it was good to see things almost back to some semblance of normality in the running scene.  We started after a brief preamble and I got my head down and cracked on.  I overshot a junction at the end of the Park after 2km and doubling back, found myself behind Fife runner Alan Gibson. I sat behind him for 5 kilometres as he ground out a metronomic pace of around 6:05/km. I mused that from behind, the lines on the back of his neck and his cap pulled tight over his head, he might be in my category. However, it became harder and harder to maintain contact with him. There was no let up. I was goosed. It was almost a re-run of the Tay Ten in 2017 when I lost contact with my wee group. At 8km the elastic finally snapped and I lost contact. I was chased hard by Hawkhill runner Sandy McDougall who had been in front, but overshot the same junction on the return at the same place where I had gone wrong on the way out. She passed me with 50m to go. I crossed the line in 38:35, finishing 2^nd M50 to a Perth runner who managed a 36 minute run. Gibson won the M60 category and he certainly had a good run. We nipped up to Bankfoot to see some family and then took the long road home.  Speedy Joe won the Woman's race and managed a big PB. Mrs Mac also had a good run, so all in all, a pretty successful weekend on the running front.

I promised myself an easy week this week, but have, somehow, I've still managed 2 sessions and a weekly total of 50 miles looks imminent tomorrow. My next target is the 3000m at the Shettleston Meet next Wednesday. It’ll be a PB for sure….In all the years I’ve been running, I don’t recall ever running the 3000, so anything under 11 minutes will do nicely.  

Renaissance Man: Any excuse to Blog.

 

As I sit here with a cuppa half-watching the 'Lost Boys', I am already aware that I won’t watch the film to the end. I can hear the washing machine spin in the kitchen, the high pitched whine competing with something vague with canned laughter on Radio 4Extra. Everyone's out, and I’ve been slacking. But the previous load is out on the line and the potatoes are on the hob. 

I ground out a very solid 12 miles this morning. About 7:25 pace. Twenty kilometres sounds better. The conditions were cool and humid and I was soaked by the time I got back.  I was surprisingly fresh given that I had attended a wedding reception the previous night and, hours before that had competed in the NE track champs, finishing 7^th out of eight in a time of 5m:07s. It took me 1hr 45mins to get down the 50 miles to Teesside on the congested A1 in the pouring rain and I was late to get my number and then almost missed the registration call-up 10 minutes before the start. I had to remind myself that gobbing on the track was a no-no. Out of an impoverished original entry of 12. I counted 9 starters as we were led onto the track like modern day gladiators. Back in the day this 2 day event would have attracted a big field of elite runners. Not any more. The crowd craned their necks in an effort to get a better look at the contenders. I wasn’t one of them, having decided only to run this short event as a marker to test my form and to boost my Power of Ten ratings. Call it an ego boost. I was drawn in the first lane nearest the inside track line. However, I had no illusions of running anything near to the 3:56 or whatever was required to win the event. If I could go sub-5:30 I would be pleased. Sub 5:15 would be very encouraging. At the gun I settled early into my pace, letting all but one of the others fire on ahead and witnessing them disappear around the top bend and into the distant horizon.  There was very little to report as I pushed round the nearly 4 laps, beating Hughes of Sunderland by a handful of seconds at the end. At least I wasn’t lapped. I won a modest applause as I finished and wondered if I had had some competition at close quarters, would I have squeezed another two or three seconds out of the track.  Who knows?

There, I’ve changed the film to the Twelve Monkeys with a brooding Bruce Willis and a delusional Brad Pitt. Much more watchable.  A mix between Bladerunner and the Fifth Element.  

Next on the calendar are the Signals Relays at Hetton Lyons. My two interval sessions a week coupled with 3 visits a week to the gym and regular core exercises at home, iron supplements and the ongoing assault on carb intake seems to be paying dividends.  If nothing else, I can get into my jeans more easily and feel better about myself. This psychological fillip is important when you’re under duress and you can call on all these minor gains as the going gets tough. Well, at least this is the rationale and mental mantra I have adopted.  I better get a Hill race under my belt before the end of the year if I am to avoid a duck for the year on Chris Upsons Site. Eildon looks favourite.

Ten Squats

 

Well, we’re into August already. My October Aberfoyle training week may hold up if this easing of the so-called lockdown and restrictions continues. Aunt Aggie has weathered the whole debacle fairly well. She has just finished a sherry trifle wearing her hairnet. Like Nicola, she insists that I maintain mask wearing. She says it gives everyone’s eyes a rest.

After a 3 week course in core training off the Youtube, I have paid thirty quid to rejoin the gym for a month. With a further modest reduction in weight, I have reverted to pushing, squatting and pressing in order to save my chest caving in altogether and in the hope of building some muscle density. I confess that on the first session I could only manage 10 squats with 20kg. When I stepped forward for a second set, I could barely walk such was the acute contraction in my inner thighs. Today I managed 3 setts of 15, so something must be improving.  With my spindly concave chest and spider like legs, I admit that I do cut a strange figure amongst the heaving mass of puffed up bodybuilders. 

I have the North East Track champs on the 21^st when I have entered myself for the 1500m. There’s a joke in there somewhere.  My names also down for the relays a week later although I’m not at all sure that we’ll manage to assemble a 4 man squad.  Its then up to Perth for the Festival 10k. What a busy calendar I hear you say. I'm already trawling the various fixtures for September. I have already spotted the Eildon hill race and one or two trail races. 

I was up in Glasgow a fortnight ago and me and Speedy Joe ventured out for a sharp 3 miler before dinner. Running along toward Scotstoun we ran past a huge puddle at the side of the road, a result of the recent deluges. As we passed the unnamed reservoir of murky water, a silver audi drove at high speed through the pond and we were caught in a huge spraying wave of clag. Speedy Joe was miffed, but I could only laugh. This demonstrates that my 'weight loss no carbs except beer and chips' diet has gone too far and has, perhaps, began to affect my mental status.

In between training runs, I have hammered through Asimovs Foundation (nothing to do with make up), the gritty Garnethill by Denise Mina, Brett Easton Ellis’s rather disturbing 90’s novel American Psycho and Robert Harris’s compelling novel Munich.  I attempted The Sickness by Tyszka, rather a deviation from the recent genre of fiction. It had positive reviews, but after a spirited effort, I’ve binned it half way through in favour of My Crimbo pressie The Great Swindle by Pierre Lemaitre.  

The weather's gone all autumnal with the thermometer falling below 20 and with the days shortening, I will need to make the most of the remaining season. but then again, there's always the cross country season. 

Busy July (aka all change part 2)

 As previously suggested in the 'All Change Part 1' blog, I have had a packed July of racing. Scotland's racing calender appears to have stalled. I suspect the politics of fear have had everything to do with this. However, down here, 50 miles south of the border, I have, in recent weeks, tucked 3 very satisfying performances under my belt. With the Sunderland 5k, my original target the re-commence the season with, I bookended a run on either side of the Sunderland run to spice things up. The track meeting in Middlesbrough on the 10th July went ahead in warm but overcast conditions. They were ideal for a good run. After a 2 mile warm up, I felt a little slothful and apprehensive. However, I was in a slow heat and around 12 of us started in Heat A. Gotta start somewhere, right? I tucked in 4th on the first lap and felt surprisingly lucid as I commenced the second lap, so I tentatively moved up to 3rd on the 2nd lap and moved to 2nd on the 3rd lap, sitting behind a high kicking female. However, I still thought the pace too easy and, as I was after a time, I moved to the front and never looked back. I lapped the field at the end and crossed the line in 19:11. This sort of malarkey is very good for the ego, but really only revealed that I should of, perhaps, been in a different heat. I was given the race winners wooden or bamboo medal and had the minimum of a race warm down, before high tailing it back up the A19.

North of England Champ Speedy Joe (courtesy of Stuart Whitman)

After 3 days walking the Fife Coastal path between Kincardine and Lower Largo with Mrs Mac in glorious weather, it was backdown for the Sunderland 5k on the 22nd. This was the North of England and North East England 5k champs and there were some proper athletes present for the 2 lapper with the ski-slope start. I had been looking for a sub 20 time, but after Middlesbrough, I was really hoping for a sub 19. Some of the family were also running and it was Cats (aka speedy joe) boyfriend, Ant's first run in a Morpeth vest, him in the process of re-locating down south of Hadrians Wall.  I was in the first race for the m50's and women and competing against Catmac and Mrs Mac. I glimpsed Cat powering ahead across the course some way through the event but never saw her again as she won, beating a Rotherham runner in a time of 17:20. I landed sometime later sprinting hard to beat a Newton Aycliffe runner at the end for a time of 18:44, which was just the job. Mrs Mac came in 9 minutes later. It was a happy car load that returned to Morpeth, with everyone running well in ideal conditions. 

Three days later it was down to Redcar for the New Marske 5 mile Penguins race, a new race comprising 2 laps of the esplanade. Ant and Cat decided to join me armed with camera and after collecting my number, we all jogged up the course. We didnt reach the turning point, however, as the course had been taped off by police due to an accident apparently involving joe public and a car. After a little re-jigging, the race organiser still managed to get us underway, albeit that the course had been changed to 3 laps with a reduced distance of 4.75 miles. This was a little disapointing as the original course looked good and had been properly measured. However, I was happy to get underway with 120 other runners in hot conditions, cooled with a light whispy breeze coming in off the sea. There were plenty of punters out taking in the sea air so a good crowd of onlookers. The air quality might have been a different story 50 years ago as the course basked in the shadow of the former British Steel plant.  

I found myself after the first lap tucked in behind the Aylciffe runner whom I had managed to beat 3 days earlier. I had borrowed Ant's Saucony carbon plated trainers to see if this new fangled sole technology is for me and I can report that I fairly bounced my way up the tarmac. We were joined on the 2nd lap by the 2 leading ladies, Kay Neasham and Dawn Richardson who were having a battle royale. I took advantage of this to tuck in behind the duo and out of the headwind until the final turn, at which point I unleashed the Kracken and took to the front with the aim of putting time and distance between me and Aycliffe man who was still hanging on in there.  It was only Neasham who managed to keep in contact with me, and, after running a very measured race, it took me a good 50 metres of application at the end to keep her from coming past. Aycliffe man was 10 seconds or so behind.

At the end, having not been aware of the shorter distance, I thought I had won the pools when I glanced at the time (29.04) on my garmin. However, I realised then that it was a short course; but extrapolating the performance, it was still 90 seconds faster than my run at the Cupar 5 in 2020.  There was a goody bag at the end, but alas it didn't contain a new pair of Vaporfly's. Cat had snapped some great fotos from the sidelines and I had been spurred on by the support. We concluded the days extravaganza by tracking down a chippy in Ormesby for the passengers. I myself, being an athlete, could not entertain a wholesome battered fish; but, I admit, I did have a few chippies. Well, even athletes have to eat.....

 

All Change (Part 1)

Having entered a clutch of races in July and one in August, I have celebrated by losing 3 kilograms and changing my club. Having been at Dundee Hawkhill as second claim member since 2005, I failed to pay the increased subs on time and after a couple of short emails, I found myself having left the club. I don’t read my emails too often and failed to heed the requests. Dohh. Anyway,  I don’t know too many folk there anymore and a change is as good as a rest. Soo, having had such a good time on the trails of Fife earlier this year, I was accepted into the ranks of the psycho sqwerls (squirrels), and should be donning the baby blue vests of the Falkland Trailrunners soon. I got onto their Strava page early and was later accepted to their facebook page after stumping up a very reasonable twelve peanuts and an acorn.

The Sunderland 5k is not until the 22^nd of July and with a little bit of time, I thought I would enter the Middlesborough 5000 metres on the 10^th,  hoping for a 'sub twenty', I am in Heat A at 5.40pm. I have checked out the opposition and think I should be well up. 

The carbohydrate and incahol intake has been slashed and I am working daily on fortifying my core with a series of exercises that threaten to expunge the remaining shag pile on the bedroom carpet. I'm aiming for the rippled washboard effect, that Roman centurion look. I have also been down the track 3 times over 3 weeks and while this hardly represents a commitment of an Olympian, it does, at least provide a foundation for some enhanced running.  The bike has been parked up for 3 weeks now as my mileage creeps up to fifty a week. Not much speed I grant you, but I need to be sensible. 

Today I need to get round each km in less than 4 minutes to dip under the 20 minute mark. I have changed my garmin from miles to km's. Not having a race since March 2020, I am very light on recent experience and admit to feeling a little apprehensive. I added to my recent battery of commitment by buying a pair of Brooks Glycerin last week and they seem just the job. I won’t bother with my spikes; too much potential for achilles damage. 

When I was out earlier this week pounding the lanes, I was in a reflective mood. Why am I putting myself through the mill again? There’s nought wrong with running for pleasure, surely? Well, If I can stay fit, I reasoned with myself that I should try and be the best I can. After all, I might, one day, not be able to race at all. That day is getting nearer each year. I am also inspired by one of my training buddies who has reached the No. 1 ranking in his age group and the kids, who continue to run well, although that said, two of the trio are laid up with ankle trouble.  I have had an easy morning with a short 2 mile run and some stretching followed by coffee and leek soup at lunchtime. I always go well on soup. I’ve had a short nap and I reckon I’m as ready as I will ever be. Lets hope there’s not too much smog on Teesside and I manage to remember my club vest, safety pins and how to find my way to the finish line Wish me luck....

North East 50m TT: Wake Up (& smell the emollient)

 

In preparation for the 50 mile time trial on the 6th June (yes, D.Day), I gave the bike a good clean. This included stripping down the rear cogs (cassette) and cleaning all the muck off. I re-assembled the cogs and tightened the lockring. I then took it out for a couple of miles to check all was well. Later, checking the details of the event and gathering all my bits n' bobs I felt I had prepared well. I had even got in some Genoa Cake and sliced up a couple of small slabs, wrapping them in clingfilm.  I also fitted a bottle cage for a bottle of juice to keep me hydrated. I invited some of the family along for support, telling them that they could appear and leave as they wished. I reckoned that I would be on the road for between 2:15 and 2:30hrs depending on how things went, so there was no trouble about catching me along the 'there and back' course between Cramlington and Amble. For an entry fee of ten quid, this event presented unrivalled value for money!

Race Day: I arrived early on Sunday Morning at around 7:30am just as the small car park was filling up. The smell of testosterone, WD40 and emollient was in the air, but not from me. I signed up and dug out the bike as the sun began climbing into the early morning sky. I signed on and admired the trophies. It was the closest I was to come to any of them. Local Legends such as Waugh, Walker and Bradshaw writ large on the plaques. 

There were 20 women in the 90 strong field, but the organiser had decided to send them off first and they had all taken off to the start, leaving me with a bunch of younger male adults who, collectively, could probably power a small village with the watts they were about to generate. I elected for a modest warm up. However, it soon became clear that the bike had developed a rattle. I checked the cassette at the back and, sure enough, it was a little loose. Too late now to send for the cavalry. I arrived at the start with 2 minutes to spare cutting it a little fine, and 2 minutes later I was clocking 24mph down the dual carriageway toward the coast road. I hadnt even got off this stretch of the road, however, before I was passed. We were only 4 minutes into the race. Another came barrelling past at 7 minutes and this procession of sleek, bronzed and shaved near-silent whirring assassins came and went throughout the 2hours 20minutes that I was on the road. 

As I made a good impression of pounding my way past Ellington then Widdrington with my complaining quads, droplets of sweat rolled down my visor. At about 18 miles I dug out a tablet of cake. This is why gels were invented. Trying to wrestle open a crumbly clingfilm wrapped square while riding at 'speed' is tricky, never mind finding enough moisture in your mouth and gaps between your heaving breaths to masticate the thing to an adequate level of turgid fruity gooiness in order to swallow it. I turned at Amble and was on the return leg. By this time the team car had turned up. Missus Mac Wielded the Nikon from a safe distance on the verge, revelling in the pictures of an exhibition, like something from a night on bald mountain. After a few more miles, I noticed that there were crumbs of fruitcake and a raisin that had fallen from my mouth still sitting on my outstretched, sticky glistening arm. My gaze returned to them a couple of times over the following miles before I reluctantly diverted my attention to clearing my arm. Could this fruit cake really be slowing me down.  I am surprised that Clive Barker has not yet used the experience of a 50 mile time trial as the central plot for one of his ghoulish stories. Torture. I had to remind myself to keep drinking. 

Blyth eventually loomed into view, but not soon enough. The traffic was definitely picking up. Two boy racers came careering past before cutting across me to take the slip road.  I didn't have the energy to swear under my breath. This sort of behaviour is why I rarely go down the coast when out training. I was tiring badly at 40 miles as the scratchman, number 90 came past. Using my enhanced mathematical skills I worked out that he was about half an hour in front of me, timewise. How can this be?

I had long given up on my supposed 'aero' position and mused that if I had perhaps grabbed a deliveroo bag I might have at least made myself a few quid riding miles and miles for nothing. I rallied a little in the last 3 miles, but the clock crept over the 20 minute mark and as I passed the line I was, I suppose, mostly relieved that the bike had not failed somewhere out there or that I had been cruelly mown down on a faceless stretch of dual carriageway. I counted magpies, 2 hedgehogs, 1 fox and a seagull, all of which had tried and failed to beat the traffic. Time to think about a bike fitting and re-assessing my aims for the sporting season, perhaps. I pedalled slowly back to the car park which was reassuringly empty.

I packed the bike up, being careful not to burn my fingers on the glowing hubs and molten tyres (aye, right) and handed my number back to race HQ. I was 60th out of 65 finishers. There were a good handful of folk ahead of me that I've beaten on the previous 2 outings. However, maybe I should stick to the shorter distances on more rolling circuits. Don't get me wrong, I was pretty pleased with my debut appearance at this distance. It is obviously a distance that you need to train for. Pleased to have done it and ticked another off 'the list'.

   

Sit up and Mambeg

 Apart from a couple of ‘incidents’, I enjoyed last weeks bank holiday weekend. With the sun working hard to make an appearance each day through the eastern haar, I managed 25 miles with the dark destroyer on Friday. We did have a rather unpleasant altercation with a motorist who took it upon himself to drive within a foot of us in order to shout his opinion on the highway code out the window. We had an adverse reaction to this and I’m a little surprised that we haven’t caught ourselves on a video clip on facebook from one of the drivers stuck behind the resulting rammy.  Saturday saw me up at the time trial in Embleton in North Northumberland. It was cool and misty. There was quite a big field for this 12 miler. I had two women in front of me and a no-show, so plenty of work to do. I cracked on and was careful at the first junction not to cross over the white lane. However on the long stretch south I was baulked by five cars behind a caravan all of which were trying to get past a rider from Alnwick. Travelling at the speed of the rider in front, I became increasingly frustrated and eventually snapped, overtaking the car in front. As I rode along the white line, another car came around the bend and I realised there was little space and I might soon be history, squashed in the white line of duty. Thankfully, I breathed in and the car passed without any problem, but as I pulled back in, I felt stupid and had learnt my lesson and waited for all the cars to pass and then passed the rider in front. Not my best moment. Long story short, I was passed by the Muckle CC rider, but caught the two in front and finished again in ‘mid table glory’ with an average on a sporting course of 22mph.  

Eager to get the miles in before my big 50 miler on the 6th June, I met my buddy Steve on Sunday morning and we rode north eastwards up through Warkworth and up the coast eventually turning at Craster. On the return there was a cold easterly coming off the sea, but we moved a little inland and by Felton the sun came out and it was a pleasant 70 miler and almost 3000 calories expended.  Two squares of Genoa Cake kept me going. 

Monday was a seven mile run round the woods. I am aware of my changing physiology and felt heavier as I truckled around the bluebells and blooming wild garlic.

The Dumbarton job at the former Jaconellis is coming to a close so on Tuesday I went back up to take the final readings. This took around 20 minutes. I had clocked the weather forecast and had brought the bike. I took the opportunity to drop off the car at nearby Cardross and, packing my jersey pockets with a tube, tyre levers, pump, glasses and mobile, I took off on the bike in warm cloudy conditions through Helensburgh and up past Faslane turning left at Gareloch down the peninsula to Roseneath.  As I pedalled toward the village, I was passed by a lean grizzled bloke on a hybrid with knobbly tyres. I didn’t think he would maintain the speed so I tucked in about 3 or 4 metres behind. Sure enough he began to slow after a mile or two. As I considered passing him I looked behind I saw the outline of a powerful bikie catching both of us. He powered past in his brown jersey and shorts which sported a ‘outlaw’ brand. Grizzled man behind shouted for me to catch the outlaw and get a free tow. I duly obliged and we enjoyed a 21mph tow to a little hill at the entrance to the village of Clynder, whereupon the outlaw stated he couldn’t find his inner ring. I realised this wasn’t a euphemism, an admission of his spiritual state, but rather that he was having a mechanical. Being the diminutive rider that I am, I surfed up the short ascent and he was a distant memory. I think the grizzled hybrid turned off shortly afterwards. As I reached the tip of the Peninsula the road kicked up in good style. As I changed down to the small chainwheel, I glanced back only to see the dark figure of the Outlaw careering along the road behind me. However, I was fairly sure that his speedy antics on the flat wouldn’t translate well on the hills toward Cove. As I crested the hill there was no sign of him.

I rode on up the coast to Coulport. I was hoping there would be a shop there, but there’s nothing there but the navy base. Hello Sailor. I elected to go ‘ovethetop’ and take the high road cut though down to Mambeg and toward Gareloch. As I turned left a huge hill presented itself in front of me and it took all my effort not to get off and walk. It’s a long long time since I zig-zagged up an incline and had broken into a quality sweat by the time I got to the top. My heart rate monitor was fizzing. There was a little bit of dribble on the side of my mouth.  Coming down the other side I had a full view of Faslane. It’s a wee town on its own and there’s new building still going on. I guess it’s a big employer in the area. I stopped for a ribena and macaroon bar at the Spar in Gareloch and then set off again for the last 10 miles of my 40 miler.  As I cycled through Helensburgh I noticed Humbles, my fave café, was full, so I ended up on the front sitting outside a sandwich bar with a cheese and tuna panini and a cuppa. I got talking to an old bloke who told me he cycled 20 miles a day, every day and was complimentary about the old jalope. He left shortly afterwards, only to be replaced by another random bloke who also wanted to talk bikes. However, I had to get off and get back down the road before the traffic around Glasgow and Edinburgh built up.  The number of cars on the roads at present is crazy. All folk who might, on any other year, might be on a plane to some foreign clime.   

There's a radio programme doing the rounds called Time and presented by Armando Iaunucci. It concludes that in order to slow time, you need to make new memories and get into new places to stimulate the brain. I think this is my new mission. Upwards to the next ride or adventure.      

Knee trembler

I've just had a very good couple of days. The come back is not quite established but its definitely waiting in the wings. With the re-commencement of cycling early last month, my knee ligament flared and reacted poorly to the novel action of hard pedalling. Apparently there is no such thing as ‘muscle memory’ as far as my left leg goes. Prior to this, I had work in Kirkcaldy and enjoyed running both east and west along the Fife Coastal Path. It really is a terrific day out with lots of old castles, churches, caves and what not.

Anyway, my dodgy knee has meant I’ve replaced running with cycling and have easily been clocking 100 miles a week on two wheels, some of that at or near to 20mph. This excess of fresh air and lycra resulted in me entering a 12 mile time trial. With no running races, I wasn’t missing any events as far as athletics goes. I had eyed a longer hilly time trial, but had a late but refreshing realisation that I was not in that kind of shape.  

The event took place on Saturday. It was the Tyne and Wear Fire and Rescue ‘12’ based on the circular route around Stamfordham, just south west of Newcastle. Its not a standard distance so there was no pressure of ‘PBing’ going on. I was off no. 88. Very apt. The course was described as ‘sporting’, which means its an uppy-downy affair. I arrived, signed on and jogged around the village for a mile to get my heart rate up. The sun was up and a gentle easterly meant good conditions. It was only the second outing for my Planet X t.t. bike, bought second hand from a nice man in Selkirk last year. Maybe it was more than a year ago?  Who can keep track during these covid groundhog days and months.  

Anyway,  I lost around 5 or 6 seconds trying to get my shoe cleat in the pedal at the start. Normally, pre-covid, you would get held up and could start all clipped in, but not anymore. Richardson of Derwentside was a laughy, jokey no 87 in front of me, but I didn’t share his nervous energy, and never saw him again after the start. No 89 came past after 6 miles or so and then a whirring Ben Lane (90) some time later. I focused on both riders to drag me to a finish time of 32 minutes and a very respectable 55^th place out of a full field of 120. The dark destroyer and H. had ridden out to give me support which I appreciated. Maybe a sporting course favours my diminutive build. In response, I have entered another short event in North Northumberland at the end of May and then, in a minute of brain meltdown, a 50 miler early in June. I will have to get the miles in for the latter.Either that,or get an electric bike.

 

On Monday morning, after dropping off the wee man to nursery, I drove to Warkworth, fancying a 6 miler to Alnmouth and back. Theres a coastal route which is part of St Oswalds Way. Who Knew? I hit the sandy path behind the dunes on empty beaches and jogged around to Alnmouth and then continued up to Boulmer where, after 8 miles I turned around. I spent most of the time on the beach on the return leg and stopped after 12 miles at Alnmouth Golf Club for a corned beef and pickle sannie and a cuppa. Alnmouth was busy. 

All in all, it was a 17 mile run which was a wee adventure. I admit there was a little excess chaffing down there, but it was a poultry price to pay for such a grand day out. I will return to do another bit of the Oswalds Way soon. There’s also St Cuthberts Way. I’ve been down to Spennymoor in Durham (again, on work) and picked up 6 miles of the Auckland Way; When the suns out these off road trails offer a terrific alternative and you feel you can go all day on an easy pace. I’m already on 20 miles after 2 days this week and have looked at all the trail runs available in Scotland – there’s plenty to go at. With the back end of work to finish in Dumbarton, I have also recently been mooching around Helensburgh, Rhu and Roseneath with the bike. I can see myself spending more time exploring these trails and quiet roads. I’ve not totally given up racing, but life’s short and I’m not as spritely as I was.  There is a 10k being organised on a nearby airstrip. However, the £23 entry fee means I won't be crossing the profiteering organisers palm with silver anytime soon. His prizes are often another entry to one of his events! 

I should add that, since my last blog, the dream team of the dark destroyer, Linds and Cat formed the womens A team for Morpeth Harriers and won a bronze in the North East XC champs, so I was chuffed about that. I was even mentioned in the race report - but that was for transgressing too near the course to try and get some snaps. I was chased away by a man in a yellow bib...my knees were trembling, I can tell you! 

Having finished Heinlein’s satisfying ‘Starship Troopers’, not like the film at all, I am back on Faulks with ‘Engleby’.  I have a bit of a backlog on the reading front, having spent this last few weeks on decorating duties.  Anyway, the suns out and the forecast is pants for tomorrow and Friday, so I better get out. Bike today. The good news, I guess, is that with the vague promise of the lifting of these pandemic measures (as consistently as effective as syrup in a colander) there might be, just might be, a chance of more to blog about, so strap yourself in for an update soon.  toot, toot.