Round 1 - Hexham 800m

Last night was round one in the super vet medley-mash-up combining track racing, road racing and fell running. Round one was last night's 800m at the track in Hexham, the other events being the Teesside 10k next week and Simonside Fell Race later in September. My calves don't know what the hell's going on. If you don't tell them, then I won't either. When I last checked, the last 800m I ran was in 2007 when I delivered an anonymous 2min:20secs. This time around I was in the C race, and got round the two lapper in surprise, surprise.. 2:20secs.  Given that it was as fast as I could manage, I should be quite happy really.  Finished mid-table.
Anyway, good news on next weeks Teesside extravaganza....the cyclo-cross that potentially clashed with the 10k is only 5 miles away, so might be able to do both.

Crackerjack

I've got my work cut out for me in the next fortnight.
During a trip down town I made a trip to the bank and then moseyed around, shuffling aimlessly from shop window to shop window; Its cheaper that way. Occasionally I catch my reflection in the window and smile back.....Sometimes I wave.

My shopping partner.... Margaret; lets call her 'M' for now... decided to pick up a few things in the bakers and when we met up, her arms were full of paper bags.
'I got you a Cornish pasty' she said.
I thanked her for this, taking it from her and, as we sauntered back to the car in the late afternoon sunshine, I began to sample the contents of this tasty parcel of pastry. I remember seeing a green pea in the brown mix, but not much else I could recognise. Before I knew it, it was gone.

The sun was still out when we got back home.
Aunt Aggie was outside in the garden already, being busy with something.
I said hello and sat on the warm slabs that make up our wee patio in front of my new arrivals, some lush fern plants in pots that I was given. 
As I dozed, I imagined I heard the kettle go on and before I knew it,  I was presented with a mug of tea and an iced cream finger (cake, in other words). You won't find this in any of your fancy training manuals, I can tell you.

The accumulated combined carbohydrate and sugar rush must have taken effect rapidly and before it was five to five and you had time to shout 'crackerjack', I had found the laptop and entered the Tynedale Harriers 800m on Thursday night. The last time I did one of these in earnest was maybe 5 years ago.  The way I look at it, it's a 400m race, but double the length and double the lactic, but not necessarily double the speed.

As if this wasn't enough, I found I had also signed up on-line for the TeesPride 10k on the 8th. It's in Teesside strangely enough. That's why its called the TeesPride. The local cyclo-cross league starts that day and I was intending to make a go of it this year, but the 'British Bakeoff' effect clearly has put these early season plans in doubt.  This is the second clash I've come across. The Simonside Fell Race is on later in September on the same weekend as the Dumfries Half. What to do? 

As the sugar levels dissipated, my sugar goggles began to fall away and I began to feel anxious. I couldn't stop myself confessing and spilled the beans to Aunt Aggie as she sat reading to one of the new Ferns in the back, speaking in prosaic, hushed and loving tones to it while listening to Franz Ferdinand in her over-sized Sennheisers.  When I'd finished telling her of my impetuosity, she just gave me a quizzical look, shrugged but continued with her reading.  Anyway, I presume the volume was too high and she didn't hear a word I said.
I think she was reading Coleridge. His reported forays into the psychedelic seems to have piqued her interest.  Despite her periodic wavering in support of the Indie rockers, she has been a stalwart of the garden, so I came away with no help from the worlds oldest proponent of evaporated milk with everything.  

So not much time to prepare for this poorly conceived onslaught of racing.

Refusing to be put off, I made an early start, tagging on two laps of the local track at the end of my 5 mile run with Mick in the early evening. Let's call him 'M' also. My illusions of getting near to sixty seconds for 400m looked well adrift and unconvincing as I struggled to crack seventy seconds for both laps. However, the Achilles stayed intact so there was some good news. 
Will Ally manage to better his PB on Thursday?.....Will he get a good lane draw and will Aunt Aggie  remember to pre-order the new FF album and what did Kubla Khan decree in his pleasure dome? Only time will tell......

Inertia on the achilles front

Inertia is the resistance of any physical object to any change in its motion.  Its a fundamental principle of physics, apparently.  Our young physics teacher, Mr Burnett, made a brave, but doomed effort to convey this conceptual gobbledygook to me all those years ago. My grey matter was having its own little inertia soiree around that time, swanning around a cerebral drawing room in a paisley patterned smoking jacket, fat cigar in hand, having hung signs over both my eyes and ears saying ' out to lunch'.  

Boredom is one manifestation of inertia. Apathy another. Much as I'd like to expand in detail about this phenomenon, cleverly dovetailing physics principles with running philosophy, I cant be a*sed. That's a good example. So, to cut to the quick, I will summarise Ally's first law of inertia thus:
The inertia acting on a body or mass is proportional to the amount of anticipated spend at the shops.
As always there is an exception to the rule. 
The first law of inertia is void where expenditure is on bike or running stuff'.

I put in some decent but not exceptional mileage last week. The recurring injury, inflammation of my achilles tendons is my achilles heal. They respond better to cycling than running, but best respond to inertia.

I've sat them down and threatened torture....stretching them on the stretching table, using 'the wheel' or even hanging them over the kerb of a busy road, but they refuse to submit. I've stopped short of the bringing in the inquisition as no one expects them. The surprise might be too great. Yesterday was the first day they (the achilles) have reverted to their previous occupations as bit part players in my sporting life. I've told them often enough how very important they are to the cause, but they're not big talkers. With a seed of hope taking root, I was able to push on a bit in last nights 9 mile road session.  If they behave themselves we might get some progress and a race or two might be in order. I can't stand the anticipation.   

Angel Sportive 2013

We were eating up the road as I sat behind man mountain. I introduced myself as I came up beside him and he said he was Rob. Rob from York. Having set off at the crack of nearly dawn in the Wiggle Angel Sportive, we were making up a bit of a dream team.  This substantial framed athlete in front of me was taking most of the wind, most of the time. He ate up the little and big groups we caught and duly spat them out. I took a breath at 12 miles and peered at my garmin. It announced 19.2 mph. Keeping this up was going to be a tall order.
There was a light shower just before the start of this 80 mile cycling sportive (other distances are available) and, after a moment of mild brain activity, I changed from the short sleeved top to my tracksuit. God knows why. Did I really think I was going to be cold or it was going to be that showery?
As we turned north from Scots Gap I was simmering nicely. I was certainly making inroads into my Robinsons mango flavoured squash.
It seemed like the pace was also taking its toll on Rob from York and he slowed slightly as the inclines became more regular and challenging.  Given my slight frame and knowing the terrain, I moved on into the side wind and made good progress to Rothbury.
I was beginning to wonder where the drink station was when I saw the banner and flag on the left in what looked like an old church yard in Thropton.   I filled up, took on some flapjack and saddled up. The road splits about 2 miles on and it looked like most of the field present were completing the longer 94 mile route. This left me on my own with no one in sight and no one to chase up Bilsmoor, one of the biggest climbs on the day. As it was, I ploughed on and enjoyed the little event signs along the road which implored 'don't give up now' and  'nearly there'...I thought in my sportive, I would have signs that said 'come on, pedal harder you loser' and ' this is what too much flap jack does for you'! Not PC, I'm sure.
As I came into the sleepy hollow of Elsdon, the route joins up with the shorter route (65 miles) and at last there were suddenly more riders on the road ahead. 
The pull out of Otterburn and up toward Bellingham was predictably tough but had to be done. Thankfully, with a blustery headwind I was feeling a little cooler. It was a relief to turn east at Donkleyhead, where a very respectable tailwind was waiting for us. However, I began to cook again under my stylish SC Gothic top. I took on another bottle of water at the drinks station in Bellingham and was pleased to make good progress up the climb out of the valley and then up to Redesdale.
With 15 miles to go, there was a reasonable chance that I could crack 17mph for the overall ride, and it was simply a case of grafting to the finish on my local roads. Pleased to finish in 4:43 for 81 miles. All I could think about was a cool pint of lager tops but settled for my free cup of coffee. Enjoyed the challenge. Could have been quicker if I'd found a group to work with.
Three cereal bars, 2 slices of flapjack and 3 litres of drink. Wonder how Rob from York got on....? 
   

Fruity

Still getting over the excitement of this years Sunderland 5k road race.

If the London marathon is the Rio Carnival, then this event could be the Pamplona bull run. It certainly seemed like that as over 300 eager athletes spilled over the sides of the pavement in the park at Ryhope with eager dribbling anticipation of a pb.

There’s not many fun runners for this event. It was hot and humid, but little wind. Its an eyeballs out event and no mistake. With 750m of downhill from the  start, its a race that’s garnered a reputation for a fast time. The start was marred by a runner who took a tumble but the field soon stretched out along the tree lined boulevard I found myself behind my young ‘un for the first kilometre. This is a new experience. However, wisdom over youth soon prevailed, order soon restored and I pushed on and caught up with Alison Dargie of Elswick. The event’s so short and the field tight on this two lapper that there’s no time to do anything else but pan yourself. We passed a few ahead and before I knew it, we were passing the 3k mark. I vied for the front position from time to time over the next kilometre but there were runners all around me; darting left and right like fireflies, looking for the gap, for the edge. I was on the highway to the danger zone. With the finish line looming,  Dargie put her triathlon training to good use and got a few metres ahead.  I was happy to finish strongly in a heat induced lather. 

Quickest I’ve ran a 5k in a couple of years so pleased with the result.  I’ll need to go some to catch the 1^st M50 though, Bracken, who had finished in 15:47. Even if they fired me from a catapult at the start and gave me a copy of the fortean times, some caffeine tablets and a small blue tardis, I still wouldn't catch him. He was probably sipping a pina colada and enjoying the samba music by the time I crossed the line.  

In the meantime I’ve been foraging in the wee garden daily as the hot weather’s brought the fruit out. The tatties are flowering, so could be potatoes for the next fortnight now that I’ve exhausted the rasps and strawbs.  Not sure what to run this weekend, but for today its the bike.  Some sexy sportive is calling to me next week, so best get some miles in.

Beaconhill Fell Race - Don't stop till you get enough

As I sat close in behind a speedy runner from Tynedale Harriers, resplendent in his all black gear, I tried to concentrate. I tried hard even as the beads of sweat trickled down my cheeks.
His pace was just beyond my limit as we began the short ascent through the pine forest near the halfway mark of last nights Beaconhill Fell Race at Rothbury. I felt my breathing struggle. The legs were not responding.  He was getting away (again)....

My mind was somewhere else. All I could think of as hoards of flies swarmed around my sweat-laden bandana in the summer heat was Michael Jacksons 'blame it on the boogie'. As I tried to jettison the tune lodged doggedly somewhere in the acoustic cavern of my psyche, it morphed to something else. The heat was really getting to me.

As he pulled away on the short climb back up to the ridge, it was for the second time in the 6 mile fell race that he had 20 seconds on me. He was even catching a tall NFR runner ahead. As I watched him go, I turned and looked back only to see Saltwell's Smith not far behind.


However, I wasn't done yet. 
Having given the flies the heave-ho as I ran along the dry-as-sticks sandstone track, I also passed the NFR runner and was still in the chase.  A very hot pursuit.

The competition took a sharp right and set off up the last steep climb of the day, a scramble up the gritstone face through the heather to the top of Simonside. He disappeared from view. But it's easier to chase than lead, at least in my book. I think (pitifully) that it was the fact that he had some grey hair and I guessed he might be my V50 competition that I didn't give in.  Over the climb is the ridge and as we both ran along the sandstone slabs along the Simonside ridge, he was coming back. He slowed a little as the paving gave way to rough track on a short descent that required either some 'technical' skills or just being 'abit mental'. In my small armoury of blunt, fell running weapons, that means announcing 'f+*# it' and launching myself down over the boulders and cobbles with arms waving wondering which teeth I might break first if I went down.

I caught him sooner than I would have thought possible and then sat in as we continued over more flattish paving and steps. However I took a different route going down a short drop and hit the front and had no option then but to crack on at full blast across to Dove Crag and down to Lordenshaw Car Park. What a blidy effort for an old man.
Finished 6th and collected a modest bottle of wine for my trouble.  He wasn't even in my category it transpired. Still, got under the hour and waited for the young 'un to come in before we took off back home.  By that time my head was full of 'Don't stop till you get enough....' OOOW.
Thanks to M for the photos and NFR for the race.

Cronkley Fell Race, Durham

It wasn’t until I woke on Sunday morning that I decided to run Cronkley. First time for me. A straight out and back fell race of 10.5miles and 1700ft of ascent over the Yorkshire Dales in Teesdale. It starts at the Strathmore Arms, 3 miles up a dead end near Middleton in Teesdale but set in a beautiful craggy limestone landscape with short cropped grass and gravel tracks.

There were fifty who started and running 5 miles straight into a stiff headwind, it was a grind. I tried to initiate a bit of work and take turns peeling off with a couple of runners, but this failed miserably and predictably, so I ploughed on and soon we were all strung out along the moor. The wind was so strong I felt my cheeks billowing and stretching like I was on a roller coaster or maybe going through a worm hole in a star trek film.

After the coarse gravel track it was onto a boggy stretch with thick reedy grass and we had to pick our way over a couple of rocky streams. I managed to get pretty close to the runner ahead as we climbed up onto Cronkley Crags, but let him slip away on the sometimes rocky descent to the turn at the River Tees. My number had blown off so I decided to stick it in my bumbag rather than run with it in hand. I crossed the river, wading unsteadily over the slippy boulders which lined the river bed. The marshall with the clip had a good laugh on the other side. As I turned I was shocked to see 3 others right behind me and also already coming at me through the brown peaty water. I had thought, mistakenly, that I might have had a gap. Obviously not the case. drat. 

I took off back up the climb to the Crags, but decided to walk and thought if I got passed...well, good luck to them. One of the three was Graham Burns of Durham Fell Runners and my V50 competition. I was passed halfway up by the young Elvet runner and then at the top a rangey Pudsey runner came by. No sign of the DFR dangerman though.

With a strong tailwind, I was hanging on in behind Elvet and as Pudsey came past with his big strides, I decided he was going to get us home quicker, and off I went. I was running behind him so fast that I could hardly keep up with my legs and was furiously scanning every step to make sure I avoided the grey boulders poking their angular heads through the short grass.

With around 2 miles to go, Pudsey moved on and I never got back to him. My speed dropped. I teetered dangerously  on a boulder in the stream and almost lost my foot down a rabbit hole, but was soon on the unforgiving gravel track and it was up along Ore Carr and then down to Holwick Crag and the finish. I allowed myself a quick look back near the finish and there was no one in sight. Crossed in 1:28 (8^th) and after having a light hearted moan to the organiser about the gratuitous river crossing at the 5 mile mark, thanked him and left, having a lunch to attend to back up the road.  

Some great photos on display at www.fellandforest.co.uk. Results at the DFR site. Absolutely wiped out last night.