Another day in Northumberland

With the short survey at Belford completed by 10am, it seemed a shame not to drive 5 miles further north and park up at the causeway which leads out to Holy Island. Its Norman priory stands on the site of an Anglo-Saxon monastery founded by St Aidan in A.D 635 when King Oswald was doing the rounds in the locality. The castle was built in the 16th Century but only saw action during the 1745 uprising.

I avoided the centre and swung around through the mossy tracks that wind through the sand dunes beside the beach.

The island attracts plenty of tourists during the summer but its quiet during the early months and todays offering was an easy 45 minutes across the tidal flats and dunes before turning back into a brisk westerly. Its easily the farthest I've jogged since my lay off a month ago. I had to make sure I checked the tides and made it back to the car with 10 minutes to space. I reckon my legs have had plenty time now to sort themselves out and with the longer nights coming in, I'm chomping at the bit to get back into shape. The amorphous look doesn't suit me! I'm not completely ignoring the slow road to recovery and am adding cycling and pilates to the schedule.

An old lady stopped half way along the road and we exchanged photos and our appreciation of what a beautiful place it is. Getting back home for a cheese toastie I caught my shadow on the kitchen wall and can't help feeling I'm turning into Nosferatu.

Saddle Torture

After my rub down on Thursday, I had a walk-jog-walk in the woods yesterday and spent most of the yesterday evening trying not to be pre-occupied by my so called recovering calf tear. Watching a scary movie, I supped my glass of British red wine (8.8%) and had to remember that it wasn't blackcurrant juice. This morning after 2 croissants, coffee and a heavy downpour, I was in that 'will I or won't I' dilemma. A bit like having two margarines on the go at the same time. Two or three miles didn't seem too far, surely?

In the end I adopted my own advice which was that the speed of an injury recovery is partly (or probably) mostly dependent on the patience of the athlete. So, instead I decided to go out on the bike as there was no wind and calfs are only bit players when it comes to pedalling.

As it turned out, I had a really enjoyable 2 hours to Newcastle and back, with a slight tailwind developing on the way back. Snapped a photo of a bus belching out clouds of exhaust. The sticker on the back said 'Cleaner Engine, Cleaner Air' - cleaner than what....? The potholes were all over the place as I ate up the road but I imagined I was riding the Paris-Roubaix and that this sort of saddle torture was par for the course. It was, therefore, with some irony that I actually found myself riding along a cobbled street before turning back.

I stopped at a corner shop on the outskirts of the City for a can of Irn Bru and choc bar and happened to meet the former owner of Steels Bike Shop in Gosforth. We had a good natter about mostly nothing but on the way back I reminded myself about the racing team Thornaby CRT-Been Bag he used to sponsor and had a few ideas about re-forming the club under that banner.

The ipod was on shuffle and I made my way back to a strange mix which included Harry Chapin, Rush, Katy Perry, and Donna Summer. Nice to get back out, whatever the sport and whatever the music.

Prices...wot prices?!

Watched a programme on Ron Sexsmith (singer/songwriter) last night. Didn't know who or what he was until last night. Wandered out today (to the computer) to download his album. Enjoying it much.

Meanwhile, a trip to the Trimpell 20 has been binned following a visit to the Physio today. With it goes my entry fees and 'free' t-shirt and medal and, no doubt, the possibilities for me of making up a crack team who might have had a go at the team prize. I was going down with the Morpeth Wolf Pack. They'll be one grey (or bald) wolf short tomorrow. Then went shopping. Why is everything soooo expensive now.

Like a few others out in Blogland I've been out of action. Legs that don't work are a pain. Its only when you're not running that you value the release running offers, not to mention the craic.

I've rested up all this week. Stretched occasionally and told myself to be patient. I opted for the gentler touch of a new physio. She was good if a little pricey. I wasn't writhing in agony. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. She also offers colonic irrigation and something called ear-candling. She advocates irrigation. 'Good (she says) for lots of things'. I said if it meant I could at least run the London Marathon and take 5 minutes off my time, she should book me in. I'm back for more leg rubbing later in the week. But at the moment as far a running goes, I'm a spectator.

The computers playing Rose Royce now so I'll clear off. Its clearly time for my ear candling. Do I have to bring my own wax?

Out of the Pits

It was touch and go this morning but I'm not the patient type so packed my bag and legged it to Gateshead for today's round of the North East Cross Country series. Wrekenton is a cross country on a former pit heap so the ground is gravelly and not bad at all. The remnants of the pit heap forms the main focal point and competitors run up and down three times and around some wet fields, but, all in all, it's not too testing as XC goes.

Started very easily and took it easy on the first lap, then began motoring on the second working my way up to 30th-ish. Had to jettison my hat as the sun came out halfway through. By the third and final lap I'd used up my meagre reserves and hung on unconvincingly for 50ish something as some of the fast lads started to come through. Numbed by a couple of brufen, the calf and knee were fine. Tonight, the knee aches abit but a good nights kip might do the trick and hopefully it'll cope with tomorrows 15 miler. May have to have a wee snifter to make sure it sleeps soundly! Medicinal, you know.

Aggies Wee Doll

I was down in Leeds yesterday and wasn't far from an old mill over the canal off Moss Road that's now been demolished...with it went these images. I took a few b&w snaps ages ago. Some amazing work by a grafitti artist or art student. Always meant to return to get some colour photos.

Meanwhile, the spirit's eager but the flesh is weak. ..and its getting more decrepit every day that this shiftless spring stagnation continues (see what I did there with that alliteration - only excitement I get at the moment). I have a 20 miler in 2 weeks time but had to dip out of the session on Monday, hobbling halfway back to the club before I remembered I'd ran down from home, so, as with every good politician, I had to contemplate a u-turn.

I've got 4 pounds to shift before then and a whole lot of lost mileage to catch up on, but someone's sabotaged my left leg. Its all very subtle. Knee pain that disappears when I stop running and which also responds to brufen and a lower calf thats tighter than me on a night out but not so far down as to be an achilles thing. I'm off to see the physio on Monday. I daren't touch the bike in case its something to do with the cycling.

Meanwhile Aunt Aggie, mumbling away all the while, contents herself by sitting in the corner over the embers with a wee woolly doll, a secret smile and a handful of pins.

Team Orders

I frequently watch TV nestled in an atmosphere of apathy. Sometimes this spills into mild psychosis if I'm really bored or the programme turgid. When I think about it, there's not been many times when I've stood in the middle of the lounge with my cowbells clanking, shouting at the glass screen (at least not since I stopped getting Eurosport).

Adverts are treated with disdain. I casually comment on the nonsense they often pedal to get their message across. Aunt Aggie now believes there are indeed five phases of fartlek, four signs of fatigue, seven symptoms of ageing, that meercats can talk and that every shampoo has a secret or unique ingredient.

Languishing around with a heavy cold for the last week I've watched too much telly so when I ventured out and managed 5 miles last night, the cabin fever began to fall away. Team orders were promptly issued to enter the 'Trimpell 20' race. The fastest 20m race in the country apparently, but that assumes you're fit and can run fast. It's sponsored by Pete Bland, so I might be able to cash in my 2009 vouchers if he's got a stand there. I did enjoy my last 20 miler, the Edinburgh to North Berwick last year. Well. enjoyed it up to the 15 mile point when I became dehydrated and fell off the back of the group I was in. I've since got a marathon under my belt so I'm a bit wiser in terms of endurance.

The legs seem fine now but everything's a bit weedy from inactivity. As I lift my head to cough and splutter and swill the yellow remnants of my 'cold remedy drink' in my mug, I catch the shadow of the April marathon behemoth heaving itself over the far horizon and it occurs to me that I better get my 's#*t wired' (as they said last night in Starship Troopers 3) and get some miles in toute suite.

Saddle Up

I was pretty baffled by my knee pain resulting in a premature exit from Saturdays Northern XC competition. Fair enough I had suffered a bout of cramp at Simonside a fortnight earlier and then from a strained calf toward the end of run at the Devils Burdens run last weekend, but the calf had recovered quite well over the following week, so this knee thing was a mystery.

I've only been a DNF statistic once before in the 7 years I've been running competitively. I had been out on the bike the day before for 20 miles, but it was a slow easy ride so no cause there, surely.

Rather than doing my usual long Sunday run I went out on the bike for another quiet steady ride. Those lads at Breeze Bikes had got the machine working a treat and I was still going nicely along the damp, leaf strewn lanes after an hour. There were plenty of bikies out. I got back to the house with 30 miles in the bank and sponged the machine down with warm soapy water. Later in the afternoon the knee pain was still there and I suppose the giveaway was that it had spread from my left knee to my right knee as well.

On Monday it was looking like I would have to give the Scottish Masters XC at Kirkcaldy this Saturday a miss and I contented myself later in the afternoon (after a meeting) with nipping into Northern Runner to get a new pair of fell shoes. The Salomons have been great for the last 14 months, but at £80 a pair in other shops, I opted for a pair of Walsh's which I'm sure will do the job. It was during a conversation in the shop that it was suggested that the bike might be the problem and, more specifically, the position of the seat. I nodded at this sagely, after all, I am an ex-bikie and know all about this sort of thing. But as I passed over my cash and vouchers, the latter a prize that I was advised dated from 2008, I realised that the seat did feel a bit low and I'd spent no time ensuring it was in the right place.

I thanked Mr S for his advice and accepting the antique vouchers and, getting home, checked the saddle position of the Ridley, comparing it to my old track bike. It was an inch lower and about 2 inches further back. It all made complete sense then and I felt like I should be wearing a cone with a big 'D' on the front. To celebrate this breakthrough I popped a couple of brufen and went out for a 6 mile run with the crowd (but without the 6 minute efforts!) which passed without incident. I'm pleased to say I've adjusted the saddle and just might manage Saturdays run. Auntie Aggie gave the bike the once over and thinks the saddle 'might 'do me a mischief' but I told her I wear plenty of padding. She likes the colour but said it's not the bike for her as it doesn't have a basket, and in any case she's no masochist, she'll stick to her Raleigh shopper, thank you very much. I guess I should be thankful.