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.

Its alive...

 

Bless me father for I have transgressed. It’s been 2 or 3 months since I last blogged. In that time I have mostly mooched about and lost contact with reality. My 2007 Mortlach is finished and has been replaced by a Glendullan of the same age and hue. They could be the same whisky.The heating is on again and the gardens a state. who cares?

The cold weather that marked the middle of February has given way to much milder conditions and with it, my mileage has recovered. It’s a pleasure to get out in a short sleeved top as the thermometer nudges into double figures. I clocked three ten mile runs over the weekend, threading my way through the linked couples and threesomes who have resurrected that old social ritual of promenading, even if they lack, in some cases, its craft.  Half of them in great long downy padded coats that look like they’ve inadvertently come out wearing their sleeping bag.

I have noticed that it’s a struggle on some days when starting a run to get my heart rate up and, as a result some slow starts simply develop into slow sessions. The snow, when it arrived, was a joy to run through and my heart soared as I tramped through the woods with the snow flakes cascading down falling between the branches above. It was an easterly and the snow was that kind of a crunchy affair. I tumbled across a dear tentatively lunching on a bush. It darted down the bank and into the iced undergrowth. I didn’t have my camera with me anyway. Later I heard a woodpecker.  Somehow a little comforting to bump into wildlife. That made the expiry of the mouse we caught in a humane trap in the garage that bit sadder. It was cold by the time I got to it. I found another one dead in the back garden. It looked like a cat had caught it. Tough times for mice.

I am plodding through Archer’s ‘Kane and Abel’ which according to the inside cover has been re-published more times than I’ve put the kettle on. With the charity shops closed, I have had to revert to amazon to source my reading material. I’ve had a good run so far this year with O’Hagan’s  ‘Mayflies’, an introspection of a coming of age and, later, the death of a friend; Francine Toons gothic tale ‘Pine’ and Hanif Kureishi’s ‘Intimacy’.  I enjoyed Patricia Highsmith’s ‘the Talented Mr Ripley’.  I’m sure there’s been another that I have forgotten but the bookcase beside my bed has been cleared in preparation for some decorating.  A likely story.  Alberto Tyszka’s ‘Sickness’ arrived today and I’m expecting David Nivens autobiography later this week. There's still Stephen King and some Heinlein to get through Got to keep it varied.

I have checked the NHS website today and it’s the 60 year olds plus that can step up for their dose of the future. Some of the running buddies have had it already and they’ve had no adverse reaction, so that’s reassuring.  There is some talk of the Parkrun being restored early in June.  That’s still at least 12 weeks way.  We’re in danger of our lives drifting away with this lockdown business. I might become a solitary bee. I have singularly failed to re-invent myself over the last 12 months. I really should have grasped the downtime more firmly to learn something new. That said, I haven’t been furloughed and, until last week, was pretty busy, so I can cut myself some slack.  The glimmer of light was a 19:48 minute 5k, 3 weeks ago on my todd.  However, that form wasn’t reproduced as I clocked in a 43 minute 10k a fortnight later for the club virtual handicap thingy.  Still, God loves a trier. There’s more chance of some cycling time trials arriving before running events, so I’d better dig out the bike again. I put in an enquiry to Dundee Thistle and I might pay my twenty quid and buy one of their striped orange creations if theres any that fit.

Marg had a trip yesterday when she was out running and is off work today with a hurty shoulder.  The daughters' are all treading water in terms of their athletics.  Difficult to get yourself motivated. Aunt Aggies in the kitchen and torturing me with smells of fresh leek and potato. and that’s just her smalls.. With no bread this morning in the bread bin, I dug out some flour and yeast and I’m now in charge of something forming slowly in the front room. It’s morphing into a creature from a John Carpenter film, rising with modest threat over the radiator in the front room.  Not sure if I’ll bake it or use it to re-tile the bathroom. I’ll let you know the outcome.

News...what News?

 Crikey. What a hiatus between blog posts.  It might reflect, in part, the Governments insistence (yet again) that we all stay home and stop doing stuff except when we're out doing other stuff that's permissible. No pubs, no restaurants, no races, no concerts, no meeting, no touching; its like being in a Puritan England of the past. In Northumberland the questionable decision by the Council to lump us all together with the rest of the North East is ensuring local oppression is thriving.  I have fought back against this tyranny by ordering a couple of second hand books and some new running shoes and after a week of no exercise, I enjoyed, yesterday, a modest 5 miler around the town once the rain that has dogged the last 2 days finally came to an end. A couple of sub 7 miles on the flat ground was encouraging, but I really must learn to reign it in.  My mileage over the last month has been meagre as I try to stave off the niggles. 

What with all this apparent spare time I have sped through Frederick Forsyths 1974 classic 'the Odessa File', Hanif Kureishi's short 1994 novel 'Intimacy' and I am currently stop-starting Sebastian Faulks 2010 effort 'A week in December'.  

Work has been busy and I have a back log of reports to prepare.  The work in the back garden has ground to a halt but I hope my effort to create a permanent pond will attract the frogs in the Spring. I haven't seen our resident hedgehog recently and hope its just hibernating and not come to any grief. 

The various reports of vaccines as the saviour of our freedom has been doing the rounds, but I hear we are to have identification cards on the back of it. What a strange world we occupy.  Being stuck at home, I missed the first snow of this winter and looked on enviously as much of Scotland was bathed in the crisp white stuff.  However, if I can nurse my temperamental calf through the next month,  I should be able to get out and about on the trails. At least we can get out training together so I can resume our mid-week jaunts around the lanes with a couple of the lads. 

While considering the virtual racing scene, the Dark Destroyer came up with a well meaning but hair brained idea of running 100miles in 24 hours around the time for charity. She set off at lunchtime last week and completed the challenge in 20 hours supported by family and friends in part. I singularly failed to make an appearance till early morning. Excluding stopping for food and change of clothes etc her time was a remarkable 16 hours. The charity is St Oswalds hospice in Gosforth and the just giving link is here (should you wish to give to a good cause) : Lorna Macdonald is fundraising for St Oswald's Hospice Limited (justgiving.com)  www.justgiving.com/fundraising/lornamac13

I hear the RunNation bloke is organising a 5 mile race on the 27th at Whalton over the circuit that I organised the Whalton Classic race 10 years ago. We'll see if it actually happens. Anyway, best get up and get some work done. 

Wobble, Wobble.

I am sitting with the early day sun seeping into my wee room with a cooling brew nestling in a William Morris decorated mug. We lost one of the set last week. It happens. Tom Morton’s weekly offering on the Beatcroft Social is on the Mixcloud. Gary Moore's on at the mo. 🙋

I eventually dispensed with Madame Bovary 3 weeks ago. Flaubert’s effort is, regrettably, not a classic now. Was it ever? No more salacious than Armchair Theatre or Tales of the Unexpected, both of which  are being replayed on a tele near you. More interesting, perhaps as a piece of social commentary of late 19th Century provincial France. It took me an age to read. In comparison I hurried through William Boyd’s spy novel 'Waiting for Sunrise'. When he writes well he delivers quality fiction. I found his novel Bethany Melmoth very disappointing however, but I guess everyone is allowed a wobble or two every now and again. I am now onto Ian McEwan’s Black Dogs. All charity shop buys I should point out. 😉

We have booked a couple of days in the Borders and a week, later this year, in Aberfoyle. Its all touch and go whether Scotland will be open and quite frankly I have ran out of patience with the whole thing; graphs and selective statistics; All this at the expense of every other ailment? 'phooey' as Nero Woolf would say. My dentists practice also appears to be having a having a wobble and its taken some persistent detective work to get a date for an appointment for a replacement filling 😓. In the meantime I have had to lay off the bike (cycling and cavities don’t mix well), but strangely not the chocolate. I have found myself handing over a tenner every week at the local gym. This is in order for me to throw around a couple of dumbells, squat like I was Jagger and strut around catching my reflection out the corner of my eye in one of the many full height mirrors. In the process I can also get closer to any number of similar intumescent musclebound humans. Value for money in my book, he said in a whimsical manner. Lockdown lockup. He's playing Georgie Fame now. 

I have been out tentatively in trainers once or twice this week. It seems my calf is not quite ready for more than 3 miles. When catechized, it says it's because of Covid and under today’s guidelines, regulations, statutory instruments and heresay it's not allowed to go any further. I am also running rather bow-legged as the calves say they have to be no less than a metre apart. They seem perfectly happy, however, on the bike or taking part in leg presses. They even enjoy watching their fellow quads on the adductor machine, although I think that there’s an unhealthy touch of shadenfreude there. 

The running club have hosted a couple of track meetings in the last month or two. These have drawn in athletes from all over the place desperate for a race and including a fair few athletes from up north. Not the Diamond league but some impressive performers out there. Chef Linds and Speedy Joe took part in a 800m and a 3000m and both managed pb's. The club is muttering about another meeting in October. I found myself mulling it over, but what with all this muscle I am building, I reckon its the 100m for me. Either that or Mr Olympiad with my budgies on 💪. I was offered a place at the late running Larig Ghru which was frustrating, but I had to decline it. The race went ahead, though, which I thought was laudable.

The blue Condor is in the charity bike workshop (Watbike) for a check-up before it goes on the road for the first time since its re-spray. It looks the biz. Can't wait to get my filling sorted and get out on it. I guess one benefit of all this business is that the Pro Cycling UCI calendar has all been shoe-horned into the autumn months and I have enjoyed watching race after race on whatever screen I can find. Anyway, best be off. The new backyard patio slabs won't lay themselves. Lets hope I'm up to the job. If its crap, its ok. I'll just blame the virus and todays guidelines.

 

Barnesbury 10m TT - More Quad anguish.

 ‘As I flew down the slip road of the Spine Road, out the corner of my eye I caught the cars in both lanes below me seemingly passing in slow motion even as the passengers turned and gasped at the two wheeled comet dropping out of the skies to meet them, their dawning fear breaking slowly across their unbelieving eyes. The frightening speed, bulletlike, forced the rider’s face into a contortion reminiscent of a pink translucent balloon pulled tight across a distorted mannequins face. He struggled to hold on ...and then….and then I woke up.

It was the Barnesbury 10 this morning, ten miles of unhinged and unfettered lunacy wrapped up in a twelve quid entry fee. I was off 13^th at 8:13am. Oh, how I love early morning competition. I was still in a dream state at 6.30am as Mrs M left for her shift. Aunt Aggie was still snoring, the windows rattling on each exhalation.

At race HQ, the procedure was the same as last time; arrive not too early, have your temperature taken and get your number. No warming up on the course and make your way to the start in good time. As this event was on my doorstep, I felt compelled to enter, even though my training has been uber-patchy as I wrestle with a dodgy left knee. Aunt Aggie questioned my sanity yesterday. I argued that if I could spend half the day on my knees laying the new path at the side of the house, twenty five minutes of pedalling wasn’t going to make much difference. She simply tutted, pulled down her swimming goggles and carried on trying to strap herself to the neighbours lawnmower.

It was nearly a full field with 100 riders. The weather was overcast and mild; ideal really. I did a couple of miles warm-up on the empty roads of this New Town, not short of mini roundabouts and stretches of dual carriageway. I had dispensed with some of the more fancy trimmings associated with time trialling like the skinsuit and rubber overshoes, but I did buy a new pair of Pringle type socks yesterday and thought I looked ‘the dogs’.

It took me a mile or so to get into my rhythm, my heart caught unawares and frantically sending s.o.s messages to my brain to no avail. I was wearing my wrist Garmin (rather than using the one that perches on the handlebar stem) so I had no idea of my speed, but mentally, I was treating this as an exercise with the slack aim to go sub-26, so I just rode as hard as I could.

It was out and back and I could see some of the riders who had set off earlier on the return across the carriageway. At 5 miles I was passed by No15, banging out an impossible level of wattage.  At 7 miles another rider came past but, by then, the sweat had begun to drip down my clear visor and the world began fogging up as I retreated into my own wee pain bubble.  As always my posture on the bike was woeful, jiggling around like a loon, but it was just enough to get me over the line in 25:40 and a heroic 80^th place. I swear my quads inflate to match the tyre pressures at the end of events like these.

Happy enough with the result, I packed up and cleared off. Strangely my knee was absolutely fine and I took great pleasure in letting Aunt Aggie know as she glided around next doors lawn in effortless if slightly noisy fashion.