The Quad-Boiler 25

(Photo by G Dixon)

I’ve been nursing my dodgy knee all week. This followed my running niggle, recently  aggravated by an ill-advised but enjoyable 50 mile ride with buddy Steve, previously an outstanding runner (so he tells me!, No, really) but who has, I suspect, worn himself out in athletics, and latterly became a bikie with some relish. 

Today was the first event for several months and I was one of one hundred cyclists who had succeeded in landing a place in the Barnesbury 25 mile time trial. A competitive event is big news these days. The organisers were duly cautious. 

Based from Cramlington, the course is two laps of an ‘out and back’ dual carriageway affair. Last Monday I had emailed the organiser to advise that I might not make it after my knee ligament starting rebelling. I think they used to call it tendonitis. After an excellent massage on Thursday, however, by the North Shields shamen, Sean, I felt immediately more lucid in the knee department. This manifest itself  yesterday in me spending all day digging out a gate post, replacing it and then hanging a new gate. It was a triumph, I tell you. Monty Don would have been welling up with pride. Anyway, today, I was off number 34. The weather was fine with a light crosswind. I was fuelled by a bowl of shredded wheat, a slice of toast, raspberry jam and a coffee. I was riding the Planet X bike, its proper racing debut since I bought it off a sporty chap in Selkirk last year. He was making more space for his daughters horse. I didn’t think the house looked that big. I did ride the bike in a hill climb at Elsdon last September, but that wasn’t so much of a race rather than a chance for me pose in front of the one or two accomplished paparazzi who periodically turn up at these events. Rising majestically in slow motion up the Gibbet at Elsdon, I looked the part, pouting hard, even if I was nearly last.

The last time I did a mid-distance time trial like this was in Stirling three years ago. I had just purchased the Focus and hammered my way up and down some flat potholed piece of road in the drizzle with all the purpose of a apathetic sloth to finish just off the podium for the wooden spoon. It was a 30 miler. It took me a couple of hours before I could walk properly. I think that holding the same position for an hour focuses all the induced stress on a small group of muscles and joints around the thighs, pelvis and glutes. You definitely need to train for this malarkey. Your shoulders, arms and fingers spend their time talking about old times, shuffling cards, pointing and being generally garrulous. The result of this effort is the development of an unwelcome crippling of my central torso; I kid you not. I didn't notice anyone else struggling to stand or walk, so it must just be me. 

The sun was up and I was quite relaxed this morning as I dug the bike out of the car, realising that I had forgotten my pump; but it wasn’t a disaster if I rode on flabby 40psi tyres. There was a doctor at the start to take our temperatures. I thought it odd that anyone feeling dodgy might still elect to turn out to thrash themselves for an hour, but hey-ho. Even though we had to bring our own pens to sign on with we still all had to use the same plunger of the bottle of the sanitiser beforehand.  I got my disposable number and then spent a good 10 minutes doing the dance of the diddy as I tried to pin the number on the back of my skinsuit, which I was already wearing.  

After an unconvincing 3 mile warm up I rode the 1.5 miles to the start and before you could say ‘get your masks on’ I was under starters orders and was dispatched. There was a slight tailwind on the way to Ashington which was worth having. The lad behind me, Daniel Dixon, passed me after 6 minutes. I could have tucked in, but apparently it’s not allowed.  There was then a long spell when no one else came past. However, I was fully committed to my cause and tried to remember to keep in an aerodynamic pose as my quads began to boil. I passed the 10 mile mark in 26 minutes and cracked on as the occasional bead of sweat wandered down my visor and the traffic increased markedly. In decades gone by and on a narrower road, a build-up of traffic was inevitable as riders hogged the lane. There are a myriad of stories of top riders deliberately backing the traffic up in order to reap the benefit of the draught once the traffic starts to come through. Spotters were frequently posted by organisers trying to monitor this in the 70’s.

After 20 miles or so my upper and inner thighs confirmed that they were having a visit from the friction police and by 24 miles my attention had moved from the road to my gusset and a mile later I was relieved to sit up as I passed the line after 1:06:10 of relentless graft. The last 25 time trial I rode was in Ayrshire when I was 18. David Hannah won it. I recall the time might have been 1:04.

Its evident that I can improve, but the objective this time round was to get a couple of competitive events under my belt before the season finishes. This year the only winner has been Covid.  If I remember to bring my pump next time, I might at least look like I mean business.  I’ll wait to see if I’ve got into the 10 mile event next month.  In the meantime, remind me to train.             

Can I come out now?

Ok, lets get something down here or folks in the future will think that Aunt Aggie got the better of me. Looking back through earlier blog entries this year, I can’t really believe I managed 5 races or so before it all imploded. I never really envisaged that the Government would crash the economy in order to control transmission, but here we are 100 days later. As March gave way to 'Lockdownmania' and we all towed the line, my running continued on an upward trajectory and well into June during which I was churning out several fifty mile weeks. I was regularly delivering 70 minute x 10 mile runs and was quite perky. It was a little off-putting seeing people diving into hedges and holding their breath or grabbing their scarfs when I careered round the corners, and for a while there was a real fear that runners were the enemy with all their extravagant breathing, huffing and puffing. 'Nothing personal', I thought.

As this state of economic and social torpor dragged on, my earlier enthusiasm appeared misplaced and my training runs slowed markedly. This culminated a fortnight ago during an eight miler in the heat of a Wednesday morning running along the by-pass when my left calf tightened. I was on the bike the next day, the first ride since January.  Over a thousand miles running this year and only seventy on the bike said Strava. It was possibly the longest period of continuous uninterrupted running I have had for ages. A day or two later I developed a swollen knee and have rested all this week, succumbing to that wee voice in my head this morning to nip out for 25 miles on the bike. There was a ferocious westerly and as I cut along through the lanes of Duddo, Belsay and Whalton the crosswinds were waiting to pounce, an ambush on the unprepared rider with huge gusts funnelling through any breach in the hedgerow. The swelling has gone from the knee and I assume it’s a ligament thing. Since I blogged last, I am a year older and in celebration I have entered two local time trials. We’ll see if they go ahead or not. This years Lairig Ghru, my running target for the year, is an ancient memory that never was. 

The running club have been organising a virtual grand prix, but I’ve not managed to register any times for the various events. Mrs Mac and the flying chef (Linds) have been burning up the calories though and Linds has really come on with a recent sub-20 5k. Let’s hope the running calendar resurrects itself at the same time as my knee makes a full recovery.  It’s not only a means of competing, but there is also a social element to racing and, of course, if you are a runner, its partly who you are, part of your fabric.

On the book front I eventually ground my way through ‘Papillon’ and finished it yesterday. This followed 'Conclave' (Robert Harris) which I whizzed through in May and is highly recommended. I have dropped straight into Falkner's 'Moonfleet' which I recall reading when I was 12 or so.  It’s quite a welcome contrast to ingesting the trials and tribulations of a serial escapee in the French penal system.  Anyway, I hope it not another 2 months before I blog again. Lets hope its worth me ordering some new trainers shortly and that the lectern-hugging first minister gives us a break or I’ll be demanding a rebate from Scottish Athletics.

Newburn (Virtual) Relays

Running a leg of the (virtual) Newburn Relays was possibly my highlight of the week. Regarded as the biggest early season club affair of the season here in the North East of England, normally it involves 4 senior men (or vet men) to a team, or teams of 3 women. With all this ‘isolation’ going on and amid the climate of social distancing, we were keen to sign up for the event. It was organised by Simon Pryde of Tyne Bridge Harriers. His event was organised through Farcebook and involved teams of 3 running their own legs somewhere remotely and then submitting the results. Just a bit of fun. With the girls taking up my suggestion of forming their own team, Missus Mac et moi needed another body to complete our crack team. We thought about asking Jamie or Kris. Mo was unavailable; so we called upon the services of the Bellahouston Road Runners crack runner, Ant. He had, until recently, been training for the Manchester Marathon, but was seemingly thwarted at every turn; if it wasn’t a storm which resulted in the cancelling of his Wrexham Half, it was the arrival of the Andromeda strain which meant Manchester was also postponed.

There is almost exhaustive tv coverage of this business which is probably not healthy. I have been largely avoiding the news. Never have I seen so much of Nicola on the box. Does she do park-runs? I don’t know. Anyway, I digress. Thinking about where I would do my 2.2mile stint, my thoughts turned to the local track. Nice and flat.

Friday was a lovely day with warm spring sunshine and little wind. I jogged 3 miles to the track. As expected the main gate was locked so I had to ease my skinny torso under the other gate in a covert ‘Joe Wicks type’ stylee.  The Dark Destroyer had just finished her leg, clocking 12:30 something and had snuck out of the track by some other improvised exit. I jogged a lap around the track, then dropped my hat and pressed ‘start’ on my garmin. Nearly five laps or so later as the GPS clocked up 1.1 miles I turned and cracked on back around the outside lane, skipping over the melting track beneath my mercurial feet and creating my own speed vortex. The rabbits looked on agog. A nearby hedgehog looked bemused, but then continued knitting. My pacing was sound and running a steady heart rate of around 150bpm, I delivered a 5:50 first mile or so improving to somewhere nearer 5:38min/mile for the return.  The time-piece said 12m:59s for 2.25m. Very satisfactory. I wasn’t in any grief at the end and in no way worn out, puffed up or creaking like an old wreck dashed against the jagged cliffs of expectation. I wiped the slaver off my vest and jogged a further 2 miles home, waving at no-one as I proceeded down the empty High Street. I expect that the results should be out Late Monday or Tuesday.  

Clocking in another 50 mile training week, I probably need to start working on my diet and core.  My auntie, the one from Perth, keeps sending me video clips that she thinks I’ll find amusing. She’s over 70 and no doubt, bored. I am sure she would dearly love the chance to lace up her Hokas and bang out a mile or two along the leafy lanes of Dunkeld or wherever in her support tights.  It would certainly be a surprise to her husband. They, like many, are stuck indoors.

I have been supplementing my diet with multi-vits and have, at last, plucked up the courage to have a look at my under-siege pension which I had been mentally stroking in a smug and self-congratulatory manner only a month earlier.  I bet Casey Ryback hasn’t had the same problems. There’s alot to be said for a Government or Services pension arrangement. Maybe I should’ve joined the Argylls' all those years ago. Who knows. All I know is that there’s still work to be done to improve the running and hopefully find myself in good nic if and when races resume.  Easter Blessings, all. Pip, Pip.

Strange Times

Its been a funny old week. Funny, just without the humour. Another 50 miles of training shoe-horned into my allocated 7 hours a week.  I’ve averaged around 7:10 min/mile for the week and I’m in good shape. The weather is also on the up.  Several reasons to be grateful.

Last Sunday, we attempted to start our weeks ‘training’ camp in a cottage in a nowhere location about a mile outside Aberfoyle. I was really looking forward to a week running in the hills. However, we had barely unloaded the car when the owner put in a surprise appearance and advised us, apologetically, that the place was closed and we might consider re-packing the car and going home. She promised a refund. Having driven the 3 hours north via Glasgow, I sat on the rear bumper and surveyed the remote forest, the birds chirping, the squirrels jumping in the late afternoon sunshine. It was enough to make you weep. We returned home via a chip shop in Dalkeith.  I was thankful that at least we had had a meal out! Maybe the last for a good wee while. The inaugural Dunbar Multi-terrain half has, of course, been cancelled together with the Gartmorn 6 and the Hartlepool 5m at the end of March.

We’ve been given leave to take an hours exercise a day. So this week I have tried a new route up Whorral Bank and then along the bypass cutting up by Fairmoor and then down to Mitford before returning home. It’s exactly 8 miles door-to-door. After getting the hill out of the way at mile 2, it’s a flattish run where you can disengage your brain and take in the air. It’s true, there have been some new joggers out and the pavement has been peppered with older couples taking the air rather than the shops, so I’ve mostly been running on the road, taking the courtesy to give everyone plenty of space. With everything cancelled or closed, the scope of what I can report on the blog is, not surprisingly, severely curtailed.   I had to give myself a little illumination, so I pre-entered the Lairaig Ghru, the race I decided was this years target. That was before it all went tits-up.

However, outwith my hours run, possibly the highlight of my day, I am reverting to trying to keep myself warm and rested. I have checked out how I might boost my immune system. Over-training is a no-no. It seems, also, that my hot baths, the small sanctuary where I read, are out. Ironically, there has been more than enough time to read. After completing William Boyds enjoyable ‘The New Confessions’, I have been making excellent progress with Dan Browns ‘The Da Vinci Code’. I am also ramping up the fruit and multi-vits.  I have been avoiding the shops. You can live on surprisingly little. I have been eating more since the lockdown started than I was beforehand. I have also run out of beer tonight. I probably shouldn’t be drinking any alcohol anyway; no marks on the ‘immunity charts’ and no marks on the ‘serious athlete chart’.  However, I have been getting plenty of kip, so if and when the lurgy comes knocking I’ll hopefully be ready for the contest, the only one that looks like it hasn’t yet been cancelled.  

Brough Law

(foties by Jill Bennett)

Als diary entry: Short entry - the Ides of March. 
This week has had little to commend itself. But today I found myself making the trip to the Brough Law Fell Race up at Ingram Valley not far away from Wooler with Missus Mac. I always thought Wooler should really be bigger in the hill running world than it is. Plenty of potential and great running around there.

Chef Linds', who had run the xc the day before, agreed to accompany Missus Mac round the 5 mile AS (short, steep) course.  I reckon there were around 100 in attendance and while the sun was out, the wind was definitely getting up. I ran to the car to add a Helly Hansen to my T-shirt. The race starts with a heart strangling ascent before the course plateau’s out . There is a tough long grassy climb at the far end before you turn and come back on yourself. It’s a lasso sort of route. Probably around 1000ft of climbing. I paid my £5 and was happy not to be paying the £4 parking charge levied on yesterdays North East cross country event in Sunderland.  
After a couple of notices from the organiser JB, we kicked off and I walked-ran-walked up the hill. I began to pick up a few places once we were at the top and continued picking off a couple of runners before the far end. I tracked Tim McCall  (Norham) up some climb into the gale force wind. I could see Keith Murray (Teviotdale) and Vaughan Hemy (N Shields) ahead. 
I drove on hard at the turn as we began a fast descent toward a burn. Hammering down the valley side to try and make some ground, I lost my footing on the wet grass and went for a skite along the wet surface. No injury, only mild embarrassment.  I had only just recovered crossing the burn and then stile, when I heard Tim (now behind) yell as he was blown onto the barbed wire. I caught a North Shields runner at the top of the steep climb with Robyn Bennett and the three of us ploughed back along the gently rising ridge fighting with the ridiculous crosswind. I imagine we might have been dealing with some serious wind chill if we had slowed down or the event had been longer. By this time Hemy and Murray were out of sight, but I wasn’t making any ground on them anyway, so next time perhaps. 
I came down the last descent at high speed almost making up the 100 yards that the runner in front of me had, but he pipped me at the post. Probably around 48 minutes and placed upper to mid table, I imagine. I dumped my bum bag at the car and re-ascended to see the Missus and Linds come back, but somehow they eluded me by taking the long way round a crag and were finished by the time I got back down with the Sweeper. A hard event in the wind, but very happy to have had another competitive run. It was JB's birthday and we were all given a generous slice of cake to celebrate. An enjoyable morning out.  

The Cupar 5 (2020)

I ran the Cupar 5 yesterday. Didn’t stop once. I weighed myself last week and it seems the weight loss has stuttered somewhat. However, at least the scales didn’t announce ‘no coach parties, please’ when I stood on them. If I manage a steady 10 today, it’ll be another 50 mile week. I have had a long uninterrupted spell of continuous running in the last 6 weeks. Its therefore frustrating that this virus business is threatening my salazaresque programme, the virus which goes under two names like a dark cloaked Dickensian figure with bent head, fag in mitted hand, smoking furtively around every corner. 

As I drove to Cupar I was disgusted at the amount of litter strewn along the A1. A national disgrace. I also fought to remind myself where the start was. Perhaps this was not surprising, considering I last ran Cupar perhaps 8 or 9 year ago. I ran it for the first time after the course had been re-measured and it was lengthened by 180 yards (so I read in an earlier blog). 
Arriving in good time there were various random runners jogging up and down the high street. I wandered to the YMCA on Bonnygate and collected my number. I used the facilities and ensured I washed my hands. However, opening lavatory doors afterwards is always a challenge. I sauntered back to the car and pinned on my number and went for a warm up to find the start-line.

There was a full field of 250 for this event. It is also apparently a counter in the Hawks annual handicap league thing.  With 10 minutes to go, I binned my trackies and top in the hedge and slipped the car key into my gloved hand. I wear kids knitted gloves when I run. They fit neatly and are cheap as chips to replace. I don't like wearing a matching pair, either. 
As I stood watching the field gather, a large group of Hawks spotted me and they all trooped up to shake my hand in welcome. Had the word about elbow tapping or the foot focused greeting not reached Tayside?  'What a cheery bunch' I mused as I switched gloves from left to right and stepped back another few paces.
A short announcement was made by the Fife A.C. organisers, but I couldn’t hear them, what with wearing my welders mask and ear muffs.  We were off soon afterwards and I spent the first mile trying to get my heart rate up to the requisite 155rpm. Dragging that oxygen bottle around was a bitch tho' and I soon ditched it.  I ran simply, inhaling the spent vapours of the 60 guys and gals ahead.   
I found myself in 'no mans' land after a mile, running into a brisk headwind. No good at all, so I put in a burst and tucked in behind a group with the 3^rd placed woman in. Half of them seemed to be from the PH running club. As the road stretched out, the rest of their club appeared ahead in a long string of black and red vests. A Kinross runner in green vest and headband came past and I tagged in with him, trying to find shelter. I glanced at my watch after 2 miles. I was doing 6:30’s. I told myself I only had another half mile to do before I turned and had the wind at my back. Kinross man pulled away just before the turn as a Hawk came by me and gave me some encouragement. ‘Come on you baldy old slapper’ he said’.   
I caught what looked like a Cambuslang runner near the turn. His gait was a little awkward, but it seemed to be working for him. We jockeyed hard for whatever position we were in and with 400m to go, the string snapped and I let him go. The last mile was around 6:10 pace, but that was fine given that we had a downhill and tailwind. Crossing the line I think it was about 32m:14s, (63rd) nicely under the 32:30 that I had previously planned as my target time. 
I warmed down jogging back up the course watching the rest of the field come home and then toggled back to the car. A quick cuppa in the hall afterwards (but drunk outside) and then a prompt drive home was the order of the day. The Fife Whisky festival was on in the town, but there was no chance of me making an appearance there. After all, I could probably have my own festival at home, given the various bottles salted around the kitchen. But a minute on the lips and all that…..not much whisky drinking going around these 'ere parts at the mo. 

Alnwick Cross Country 2020

After a solid weeks training I deigned to make an appearance at the nearby Alnwick Cross Country. I've been nursing my weight loss over the weeks with some modest success. Most of this is to do with eating prawn cocktail salads and cold smoked mackeral in place of the usual main meals of pie, pasta, chips and tatties. It's evident, however, that the war against snacking and beer is something more demanding. Snacking is well dug in on the high ground. It will probably require guerrilla tactics.
The cross country programme this season has been decimated by the wet weather. This disturbance in the XC Force has been due more to problems with car parking rather than the courses themselves. After all, there's nothing better than spending 45 minutes running through clagg and losing your shoes in the yielding bowels of the earth.
The forecast was windy but dry, and although there were one or two passing squalls, it was almost Springlike. Elsewhere, speedy joe was running (and winning) the Cambuslang 10k, but us lesser mortals had to make do with lacing up our 'hardly clean' spikes and warming up as best we could. I had to make a late dash to the chemist for some Compeed to protect my heels from my 'not-broken-in-yet' shoes. Other than that there were no dramas and the dark destroyer and chef linds finished top ten in the women's race with Mrs Mac some way behind. She made the point that she still beat 70.  I spent much of the time during the women's race entertaining Master T as he toddled around. We had a right good go at trying to find a mole in the molehills that were dotted around the field and between the caravan of tents.
I like this event. The course had been tinkered with from earlier years and its definitely an improvement. They have retained the run through the woods which is right up my street with a sizeable descent immediately afterwards. If you know how to descend you can easily make up a couple of places over those more timid types or folk that haven't got their spikes on and are a little more wary. I was off in the slow pack and with a backdrop of Alnwick Castle we clattered off down the field and up toward the wood. I had to stop for a few seconds on the first lap to re-tie my lace on my right shoe. I was 54th at the end of the first lap and moved up to 51st on the second. However, as its a handicap, there was a boatload of folk from the medium and fast pack who came through in a rapid and unseemly manner on the 3rd lap (during which my other lace worked loose). However, there was little chance of my shoe coming off and I just put up with it whipping my ankle as I came through the woods for the last time. I finished 68th (350 in the field) at the end and gulping in the air I had a repeated dose of dry wretching which in my book is a sign that you've over done it. Excellent. Confirmation of a good, committed run if one was required. 3rd counter for the club. I felt much better than I had at the Scottish Masters. My spikes arrived back later in the day and had been cleaned by Linds to an inch of their life. Finding your daughters doing stuff like that is a slippery slope. Next she'll be bringing me my slippers and cocoa and a little later booking me on a flight to Switzerland.
Anyway, next up Cupar. Best clean your own shoes.