Ch-ch-chilly!

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It gets tricky, reporting on events more than a couple of days old.  What do you say?  Yesterday’s day before yesterday?  Hence, on a fweezin’ cold and dark night, I’m sitting in my study punching away at the keys so that I don’t get that far behind.

Yesterday morning seems like an age ago now, but the memory lives on.  It was a perfectly still, clear and dark morning until the sun woke up to the aroma of my making coffee (pictured above) and spread a blue glow around the perimeter of the eastern horizon.  I was gazing out at this big, deep blue sky waiting for the coffee to finish gurgling when it struck me that there was a huge star hanging up there, like a Christmas star in waiting (apologies for the camera shake which make it look as if it were travelling).  It really was very impressive, most especially as there was not another star to be seen in the firmament.

Nick arrived and as I welcomed him through the front door, the -5C outside temperature turned the inside of the hall to ice,  Oh boy, was this going to be a cold run!

Kitted up in our warmest gear, we set out into the stillness of the morning and despite wearing gloves, my hands were already painfully cold by the time we reached the end of the road!  It may have been cold, but it was a beautiful morning and that always makes a difference.  The ground was crispy and my still-sparklingly-clean runners crunched along merrily.

We headed out past the Royal Oak and around the back of St Georges Retreat and somewhere here my sparkling trainers did a neat disappearing act… cracking through the frozen top layer into a puddle of mud.  Amusingly, Nick did the same in synchronisation, but we hardly had a chance to laugh as our breath was taken away by the view to the south-east.  With moments to go before the sun rose about the hills, it gave us a stunning display by running a glinting highlighter pen around the silhouette of the hill.  Simply stunning!

We headed up onto Hundred Acre Lane and then I pulled a neat trick, by not taking the tight turn for home, but rather following the path that returned the long way around through the wood and back through Wivelsfield.  By the time we got to open fields, the sun was streaming down and it was easy to imagine that it was warmer… apart from the numb sensation at my extremities!

We returned to the house having achieved a reasonably sedate 6.4mph over a time of 1 hour ten minutes, which meant we had covered 7.5 miles… not bad for a mid-week run.  I must be getting used to it as I suffered no aches after at all.. mind you, since returning I seem to have been running from one meeting to the next, so I’ve not had the chance yet!

Man about town

Getting up late yesterday morning yielded a couple of benefits: I didn’t have time to go for a long run in the hissing rain and the rain stopped by the time I was ready.  Judging by the amount of standing water, it was going to be a hilariously muddy affair.  I had washed and properly dried my runners last week (they were gleaming, quite frankly) and as I ran towards the path signposted ‘ankle high mud’, they skipped merrily past in the other direction… me having no alternative than to skip along too, on account of my being tied into them!

So this was a rare road run around town.  I love looking at other peoples houses (where does the apostrophe go??!) so I munched my way along the sidewalks happily gazing sideways.  I quickly realised that this was going to be a ‘hot lap’ in more ways than one.  There was a moment when the sun came out and I was instantly roasted alive inside my Gore jacket.

I have been vacillating over which item of gear is my favourite.  The contenders are my disco runners, my all-weather Gore jacket, my woollen (two L’s) Thurlo socks, my iQ beanie… but today I decided it has to be my lambswool soft Rono under-layer.  I realise I’ve just said my, my, my, my, my… but if you’re jealous, go see Kurt at Run and he’ll sort you out with your own!  The Rono under-layer is just a little thin t-shirt made of the softest material known to man; worn underneath the Gore jacket, it is SO comfortable and if you’re looking for a last minute present for a runner in your family, this is it!  And SO perfect for a Boxing Day jog!

Ah… Christmas presents!  That reminds me… I really must go shopping!

For some reason I keep kicking the inside of my left ankle with my right shoe (like just once or twice in a run) and running on tarmac enabled me to focus on what was happening at ground level.  I think that I have stopped focusing on this important area and that some imperfections have crept in: not extending my legs enough; or landing on the outside of the heel; and certainly not leaving from the big toe, rather just from the front of the shoe.  Running on mud masks these aspects as the focus is on staying upright, especially if there’s a camera around!

The route was a mixture of downs and ups in the end and I ran within a reasonable envelope of speed (not sprinting nor crawling) so I was quite surprised when I calculated the results.  I ran five miles in 40 minutes, which is 7.5mph on the nose… truly a hot lap!

A Bok in sheep’s zimming

Public apology: It has been pointed out to me that the reason for Nick slowing down prior to the final hill last week was not, as I had guessed, to gather his energy, but rather for my benefit, ungrateful sod that I am. 

Oh, and to make sure that his heart hadn’t exploded… more of which later.

Meantime, please bear in mind that one of the things that I really love about running is getting out into the fresh air and allowing my mind some space to think.  In my work I occasionally help teams to be creative and one of the easiest ways to facilitate this is by getting people to leave the office, with its myriad distractions, to go for a walk around the block or into a park.

This morning was overcast but relatively warm and whilst it threatened to rain, it actually held off until we were back.  We took a different route out and having warmed up gentle-like, bowled along at a quite reasonable pace.  Behind the Royal Oak there’s a most beautiful and ancient church and this morning we ran past this way, up the driveway and across the main road into the back of Wivelsfield.  From here we followed my Sunday route for a while and it was on this uphill through the wood that I first realised something was amiss.

I was undoubtedly on good form, probably due to my shorter-and-faster-than-normal Sunday run, whilst I suspect that the Bok had spent most of his weekend ambibing incohol and being deprived of sleeping it off by two inquisitive sons.  As we pushed heartily up through Hundred Acre Wood, my inner peace was disturbed irrevocably by a recurrent beeping.  The Bok looked sheepish, which was a sight in itself, confessing that his nuclear-powered externally mounted satellite global heart position monitor was warning of impending disaster, with threat to life and limb. 

I think I preferred it sans power… it was more peaceful.

At the top of the wood the Bok started to gallop again, only to refuse at a small brook.  If there had been a rider on his back, they would definitely have got wet.  If I had’ve been behind him at the time, then he’d have found out how deep the brook was, head first.

Ho hum.  Next time!

We eventually worked our way, beeping and gasping, across to Ditchling Common and it was when we were crossing the next road that I first realised there was a second, more subtly irritating noise.  This clacking disappeared once we were back on the muddy stuff, only to reappear at the bottom of the hill as we ran along towards Wellhouse Lane.  The unmistakable sound of a Zimmer frame dragged my mind back, kicking and screaming, from whatever peaceful haven it had found.

We slowed for the Bok to regain his composure whereupon he amazed me utterly by sprinting forward 100 feet, leaving meto carry the Zimmer.  And good job that I did, because he promptly collapsed back onto it when I caught up with him.

My prognosis of alcohol abuse linked to sleep deprivation was confirmed a couple of minutes later when he saw me take a swig of beer from a can of Grolsch: I actually took a swig of pop from a bright blue bottle as I passed a discarded beer-can laying in the grass… I can only rest my case!

And back again we were at the gentle uphill and the fast rise past the Station, me being admonished for misrepresentation to the beeping soundtrack of his exploding heart. 

I was determined to finish gently, but he dumped the Zimmer outside Daren’s place and started to motor down the hill, me tagging along in the wake of his testosterone.  As with last week I tagged along behind down the last 400m, but this week he increased the pace to try to shake me.  As with last week I gently closed the gap and out-sprinted him to the finish.

The run was done and the results were in: and they were not pretty!  We had covered 6.8 miles in 1 hour and 50 seconds… a mere 6.69mph compared to last week’s tantalising 6.99mph and my triumphant, if damp and windy Sunday 7.07mph.  But still better than the race-off-as-quick-as-you-can-and-then-collapse-in-a-heap 6.63mph on Wednesday 21st.

I’m sure the Bok will back at fighting weight next week and ready to mete out some much deserved punishment, but in the meantime I shall have a well deserved bask in the warm glow of his discomfort.

Swimming

With driving rain and severe gusts of wind blowing the cobwebs of of the trees, it was certainly not the weather to be going for a run this morning.

The principle that Kurt at The Run Shop advocates for fair weather runners like me is to wear the right gear so that you’re always comfortable.  So I donned my goretex jacket, beanie hat, long tights and woolen Thorlo socks and out I went for a run.

The going was somewhat more than wet underfoot, but we’re not far enough through the season yet for the mud to be all-encompassing.  Most of the water was either sitting on the surface or running off and judging by the backs of my tights, even Nick wouldn’t have noticed if I had splashed mud on him!

I ran out to the Royal Oak and across to the outskirts of Wivelsfield before cutting up through the woods towards Hundred Acre Lane.  Here it was just a lickle scary, with long gusts tearing through the trees above and raining twigs and other detritus down on my head.  The expectation of something larger following them down was ever present.

I swung in a large arc through the wood to come out near Lew’s place, looping around Ditchling Common Industrial Estate and heading back down the magical path.  I reckon the gradient must go this way as it was easy to speed through, hastened by the wind whistling through Damoclean branches above.

I knew the common would be waterlogged so I used the road to circumnavigate it, scurrying along the bank where it too was underwater.  And then it was back up into the ‘Hill with a quick sprint where Nick usually speeds up, followed by a slow jog back to the house.

My neighbours looked at me aghast… I’m sure due to the fact that I’d come back after only 45 minutes!  I had been quite sprightly though, managing to cover somewhere around 5.3 miles and returning a speed of over 7mph.

And lest you think that it was nasty horrible wet & cold out there, it was not… I was just luvverly, snug and warm in my gear and I can verily recommend the woolen thorlos!  Overall, it was a great excuse to get out and, er, swim through some fresh air.

December gathering

It’s been a few months since the gang gathered en masse, so the invitiation from Fran & Paul was a very welcome opportunity to catch up with everyone!  Well okay, not everyone, but believe me, those not present in body were certainly there in spirit… and Clive, Nat & Paul drank their share of the beer too for good measure!

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Driving nuts

For those of you who share my passion for driving, I’ve noticed some excellent videos on Don Palmer’s website that might whet your appetite for a day spent on one of his limit handling courses… which are top value, believe me! 

Please note that, with Christmas fast approaching, these also make AWESOME presents for boys who you may think have everything!  [please also note that’s not a (n un) subtle hint from me, in case anyone thought it was!]

Breathless!

My plan yesterday morning was to start off slow so that I didn’t run out out of puff further round and see whether this would improve the overall time.  Nick arrived with a cold and a wine-induced headache, which helped me convince him it was a good plan.  Alas, the slower start only lasted for five minutes by which time his faculties had magically reappeared (BOING!), but it at least gave me half a chance to warm up!

The going was wet in places and downright slippery on some of the little wooden bridges that we cross, but otherwise it was a mild and pleasant morning.

On the return leg there is a downhill section that is always hilarious in the wet.  Both Nick and Daren always max it down there, irrespective of the conditions (which reminds me, I really must write a review of the marvellous book Feet in the Clouds by Richard Askwith – don’t bother finding out what it’s about, just buy it and dive in!) and today I took their lead and chased Nick down the hill.  Risky strategy, which could easily have ended in tears, but I managed to hang on to just enough grip to change direction in all the right places before I ran into anything.

After that there’s a gentle uphill, where Nick slowed considerably, I’m guessing to gather his energy for the faster uphill drag by the station.  Somewhere in this slower section Nick almost took a pearler (alas unnoticed by me), but at the last minute remembered that I didn’t have my camera so managed a recovery to save it for another day!

We hammered up the rise to the top of the town, after which it’s all downhill, which was a good thing as I was all-in! 

In the same way that Nick doesn’t warm up, he doesn’t cool down towards the end either!  The last 400m is tarmac and gently downhill and here he generally stretches out ahead of me, slowing towards the end to allow me almost to catch up.  Today I hung onto his coat-tails sufficiently that in the last 100m I could sneak strategically into his slipstream, enabling me to sprint past him to the finish.

It was a pyrrhic victory as I was then pretty much speechless for a couple of hours while I tried to breathe normally again!

Deliberately following the same route as the last two runs meant that there was a time to beat, which is an interesting exercise (especially for adrenalin junkies!) but detracts from some of the enjoyment.  We’ll go a different route next week.

Oh, and the time?  54 minutes, which beat both the previous weeks by a good margin.  Now, how do I persuade Nick to let me have a slightly longer warm up?

Ironing hydrogens

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Picture this, if you will.  It’s half past three in the afternoon and I’m sitting with my feet up on the sofa, facing the heat of the logs a-turning into charcoal and then to ash; laptop on lap.  I may have loads of weekend chores to do, but I’m dug in here now for the duration!

Kim read something to me about tempo running yesterday – I can’t say that I understood it completely, but it was basically talking about warming the muscles up gently with a jog for 15 minutes before running harder than your normal speed, but not flat out, for 2 to 4 miles and then slowing down before the end.  Sounds pretty much like a normal run to me (gasping for breath the whole way round and running out of energy at the end) so I’m obviously missing some key details.  

The missing detail is something to do with lactate and hydrogen ions, which form in your muscles as a result of metabolism.  These normally build up to form lactic acid, which stops the muscle working properly.  Pushing the lactose threshold means that the muscle gets used to using these by-products, allowing you to run faster and further.

With this in mind, my loose plan this morning was to warm up gently, then run a bit harder than normal, before slowing down before the end.  It was also to run from Jack & Jill back to the house.As we pulled into the car park at Jack & Jill, so a clearly well-seasoned runner was warming up to leave.  I hoped to get parked before he left, to get some company up the hill, but he legged it off.  

It’s funny, but give me a boy-racer at the traffic lights and I will pull gently away and let them get on with it: give me a hill with a runner up ahead and the testosterone kicks in!  So much for the gentle start then.  

Half way up the hill and I had reeled him in a little when some walkers asked about my circuit, so I paused for a moment to explain my plan – they laughed when I said I’d just started as I was panting so hard!

Off again and by the time he had got to the next gate at the top of the rise and I was almost there myself… he was kind enough to pause and hold it open and we ran on together.  Meet Mark Johnson, pictured above – oh yes, I went into MCL yesterday and Daniel helped me figure out how to send an email from my phone.

Mark wasn’t running at a huge pace, but he gave the clear impression that the sea anchor devise would not have affected his pace in the least… he had a really purposeful style and had I not slowed him down on the hills, I’m sure he would have just kept the same tempo regardless.

There is no doubt that chatting to another runner is a great way of helping the miles off with their jackets, allied to which the tendency is to keep going at times where you might have walked on your own.

We were having such an amicable run that I ignored the turn I was planning to take to the north and carried on with him to the outskirts of Lewes, with a new plan to peel off on the return leg.  This was where I realised how deceptive and consistent his pace was, as the going is uphill for quite a way and he just hacked away at it as before.

Despite Mark slowing for me, the pace was fast enough for me to feel knackered and as we reached the top of the rise the desire to slog it home to the north evaporated.  Which just left the slog back to Jack & Jill to contend with.  It seemed rude to suggest he run on ahead so I resigned myself to just having to go with the flow.

There’s a lovely point on the return trip where you mount an oh-so-gentle summit and Jack and Jill sit below you… pure joy to behold!  The going underfoot for the first part of the descent is soft and springy and here my gait lengthened and I relaxed into the freefall.  We crunched down the last path, managing to avoid a couple of startled walkers who were looking at us over opposite shoulders while they tried to get out of our way, each pinned by the other’s shoulder going in the opposite direction. 

Kim and I used this route, with some minor variation, when we were training for Berlin in 2004 and it used to take us two and a half hours; so it took some time for the 1 hour 51 minute time to sink into my skull!  On the map I realised that I hadn’t been quite as observant as I should, so I’m not certain where we turned, but I make it a minimum of 19.75 km, or 12.3 miles, making for a 6.65 mph speed.

Interestingly, this is more or less the pace I ran at Berlin, coming home in a thoroughly depressing four hours, two minutes (having stopped to pee five times), but that was on flat tarmac whist this was anything but!

Overall a really lovely run on a beautiful morning and with great company… thanks Mark!

Note to self: introduce Mark to Pete and Cliff – he has a strange desire to cycle some of the Tour de France sections and also to compete in La Via Marenca or Mont Blanc Ultra next year!

Second note to self – figure out where I went wrong sending the photo from the phone, as it didn’t arrive! (got the photo now, after sending four messages!)

Third note to self – don’t write blog on Mac.  And if you do, don’t edit it on there.  Remember, you lose ALL the formatting every time you open it!

Nick’s runners… by special request

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Nick took this photo of his runners when they arrived back at the house the other morning… some minutes after he did: that’s how fast he was running!

I had to clean the photo up a bit as you couldn’t see the trainers for all the smoke that was coming off of them.

I’ve just been reading about how the Inuit in Greenland used to hunt Whales in the 12th Century from kayaks and umiaks (small, skin boats).  They clearly couldn’t kill a whale with a single hand-thrown harpoon, let alone hang onto it on a rope afterwards, so they developed a harpoon that released itself on impact leaving behind a barb with an air-filled bladder attached.  As the whale tired of this extra drag, so it would surface and the Inuit hunters would repeat the exercise, and again, until the whale was so exhausted that an umiak could pull alongside and a hunter could kill the whale.

This puts me in mind of a sea anchor, designed, I guess, to float upstream or upwind in a driving sea and slow the craft down, making it more stable in otherwise difficult conditions.

Where I’m going with this is, well, think of a bath towel, rolled lengthways, with the ends secured to stop it unravelling. 

Now think of a cord, say a metre in length, at each end attaching it to one of the trainers pictured above. 

I reckon this kind of contraption might just slow the Bok down sufficiently for me to keep up.  What do you think?