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.