Dr Stephen Instone

We lost a dear friend last weekend. Stephen Instone, Natalie's godfather and a close friend of the family for over 30 years, drowned whilst on holiday in Switzerland with his family. Full details are still awaited but it is hard to comprehend this tragic news. He was 54 and leaves behind his lovely wife Shelley plus Florence & Arthur who are, I'd estimate, aged 10 and 8. I just want to write a few words now whilst I think of them.

Stephen joined Ranelagh at about the same time as me, in the mid 70's. When I first knew him he was at Oxford University where he spent many years, ultimately gaining a PhD in Classics. Despite his high intellect you couldn't find a more down to earth character and as another friend, Ian Milne, has stated this week, everyone had a soft spot for Stephen. He favoured the longer distances, running numerous marathons all over the world on the back of regular training laps of Richmond Park. His best time would have been in the 2.30's. I remember him being very chuffed to receive a winner's medal - in the days when medals meant something - for being part of Ranelagh's winning team in the Hanwell '5' one year: Ranelagh had a stream of quality Australian internationals running for the club for a number of years and in this race they finished 1st, 2nd & 3rd; Stephen was somewhat further down the field but the medal was won! His running career was blighted somewhat by a badly broken leg in his mid 20's - he fell off a ladder whilst clearing some ivy from his mother's house on Barnes common - although such was his spirit that within a week or so of the accident he was "running" seven mile laps of the park with his leg in plaster and using crutches!

Claudie and I shared some great trips with Stephen; I particularly remember a bleak Poland in 1987 (Claudie was pregnant), where we had guns pointed at us, contrasting with the idyllic caribbean for the Run Barbados races. There were many other trips; he was forever travelling, spending a few months in Kunming, China, training with Hugh Jones and Alan Storey, as well as working out in America for a time.

After working as a journalist for a while, Stephen eventually settled as a research fellow at University College London and had numerous works published. He also regularly turned up on radio & tv esposing his specialist knowledge on an unsuspecting public. A couple of these broadcasts will never be forgotten. The BBC picked up on the fact that Stephen wanted to experiment to see whether the elite athletes of the ancient Olympics had an advantage because they ran naked. He went up to Loughborough and raced against some students, Stephen playing the part of the ancient athlete. As he stated, "they all had lycra on, while I had to run unencumbered". On another occasion he re-enacted men running in full armour, this time in London's Regents Park. He put a saucepan on his head and used a dustbin lid as a shield. I still have the cassette of this absolute classic of a broadcast. Stephen could always laugh at himself but was, of course, also educating at the same time.

Yes, he was quite an eccentric - most runners are - yet he was such a genuine friend who would do anything to help. He was overjoyed when we asked him to be Natalie's godfather. He never forgot a birthday; took a great interest in her development and loved chatting to her about any subject. I spoke to him a few weeks ago and he was so pleased at Natalie's results from Exeter and to hear of her plans for the next two years. I sent him an e-mail last Saturday with a picture from Natalie's graduation; sadly he would not have received it.

Stephen was a devoted family man and spent hours playing all sports with Florence & Arthur. Our thoughts are with Shelley and the children at this dreadful time in their lives.

Stephen, you were a wonderful friend to the Wright family. Rest in peace.

Proud parents

Although this is a running blog, I can't let events of this week go by without mention. On Tuesday Natalie graduated from Exeter University with a 2:1 BA in French & Italian. Whilst the ceremony itself dragged on a bit - there's only so much excitement generated by numerous students lining up to collect their degrees - it was made a bit more colourful by the university's Chancellor, children's tv personality Floella Benjamin. She certainly brightened up the stage which was otherwise filled with crusty old academics.

For Claudie and me it was an incredibly proud day and one we will never forget. We stayed overnight - in university halls - and had a great night out with Natalie's three housemates and their parents. With an afternoon reception in the languages department it was, all in all, quite a day.

A few days earlier I sat through a roller coaster afternoon of golf on tv as 59 year old Tom Watson almost won the Open (I was incapable of doing anything else having endured 2h 50m running on a three mile grass circuit - to protect my legs - in pain and in heavy rain in the morning). A lot has been written about how wonderful it was to see someone of that age competing at the top. Having watched it and subsequently thought about it, I have a different view.

Firstly, the world's top golfers must collectively be ruing an opportunity missed. With Tiger Woods missing the cut, there was an opening for someone to make a mark but on the final afternoon they all fell away and became as anonymous as graffiti artist Banksy. Meanwhile Watson looked like a weekend golfer enjoying the monthly medal in what were not difficult conditions. It seems to me that had Woods made the cut, he would probably have won the tournament by half a dozen shots. That doesn't say a lot for the rest of the field.

Watson missed the final putt to win the tournament and suddenly looked his age. The play off was embarrassing for all and pretty difficult for eventual winner, Stewart Cink. Everyone wanted Watson to win, including Cink he said afterwards! It also summed up why sport at the top level should be about the young and not oldies hanging in there for one more moment of glory before going out to pasture.

This has made me think about my own situation. My running has gone well in the last year but it's only a last hurrah and in many ways is quite pathetic. I think it's probably time to stand aside and retire gracefully rather than push my body hard, beyond limits. I'm only doing well because standards have fallen so much. I wish the younger generation who run would grasp hold of this and realise there is a real opportunity to make a mark in the sport. Hell, if I can do it at my age what could someone with a functioning body do if they had belief in their abilities?

The Bourton Mile last Saturday highlighted the age barriers. It took me the first quarter mile to actually get going - my abdomen pains restricting movement through searing pain during that time - then I was flying along for a while, picking off all the fast starters. In the final quarter I was running against two youngsters whose combined age was nearly 20 years less than mine. They kept sprinting for short periods, then fading, whilst I sustained my pace (I never could change gear) and kept catching them. Inevitably, they had one final sprint to beat me.

A strange day out in London

I'd heard that the British 10km was quite an experience but nothing prepared me for the day's events as they unfolded. An early start got me to a convenient parking spot just behind Liz's house off the Mall by 7.30. Everything was strangely quiet walking across the front of Buck House and up through Green Park, part of my old training route when I worked in London. Having blagged myself a free / elite entry (don't ask, long story!) I registered at the Hard Rock Café near Hyde Park Corner where I was handed elite No. 11 (no pressure then ...). Sat there for an hour watching the real runners go through their pre-race preparation, including luminaries such as Olympic Marathon Champion, Constantina Dita and World Marathon Champion, Catherine Nderaba. I was more interested in looking at the memorabilia on the walls of this famous venue and thinking how different the place must have looked just a few hours earlier with Saturday night's revellers. Chatted to a couple of people then ran up Park Lane to Marble Arch on an uncomfortable warm-up (adductor / abdomen sore, more later). Had to scream blue murder when a job's worth security man wouldn't let me back into the Café (I know, I don't exactly exude elite runner status!). Eventually we were ushered to the start where the enormity of the event started to unfold. Jogged down the first half mile of the course to do a few strides and on the other side of the road, facing up towards the start, were wall to wall runners, thousands of them penned in like sheep!

After interminable speeches by the Lord Mayor and others; a token lighting of the Olympic torch; some fanfares from the military buglers and three (yes three) renditions of God Save the Queen, the race started. Of course I'd stiffened up by then, my aforementioned problems restricting me badly, so the kamikazee starters streamed by. The noise was deafening from the waiting competitors on the other side of the road and this continued all the way to Piccadilly, down Pall Mall and into Trafalgar Square before we reached the end of the snake. Eventually got into my stride and by the time I reached Embankment at about 3km I was going well. Continued to pick off runners coming off the back of the dwindling pack holding the three lead women (an Italian being the third), although after a u-turn just before halfway I was very much on my own. The next stretch is familiar to all who watch the London Marathon as the course emerged from a subway and along the Embankment towards Westminster Bridge - this stretch was straight into a strong wind (I always tell people that the marathon course is into the prevailing wind for long stretches so isn't that fast) and I was running in splendid isolation, apart, that was, from the thousands streaming along in the other direction. The whole thing was made even more surreal by the fact that I was rapidly closing down a solitary runner, namely Olympic champion Dita! Over Westminster Bridge, another u-turn and back over the bridge to Big Ben, around the permanent demonstrators in Parliament Square (they seemed pleased to have something to see for a change), up Victoria Road, yet another u-turn and we finished running past Downing Street in Whitehall. Couldn't quite catch Dita (34.31) but pretty happy with my time of 34.37 as it was my fastest non-Bourton 10km for 14 years (for non-Glos readers, Bourton is reknowned as being very "fast"). Also pleased to beat Ranelagh's Jonathan Stacey after he got the better of me at the Ranelagh ½ in May.

Picked up my gear (from the elite spot just yards from the finish, I could easily get used to this treatment!) and walked up to Trafalgar Square towards my car. I was astonished to see thousands of runners streaming through the 1km point with plenty more still waiting to cross the start line. It has to be said therefore that in finishing 12th out of 27,000 it was a slightly uneven contest! I sat and watched for a couple of minutes as I changed out of my race gear then strolled back to my car - Buck House & The Mall now heaving with tourists in contrast to much earlier - with ominous pains percolating through my body. Dropped my gear into the car and tried to do a warm down: I was in agony, my adductor had seized up and the pain in my abdomen was searing. I was doubled up; I know Ron Hill would have managed to hobble a couple of miles in this state but not me. Was home by 12:30 and wondered how many poor souls were still out on the course.

Postscript: with marathon training in full flow, at least in theory, I'd taken Monday off work to do my long run. So despite a bad night, out I went for a 22 miler, thankfully with Natalie and her friend Alice coming along for the ride on their bikes. Have subsequently seen the doc (already being treated for the adductor problem by the lovely Helen Hall in Fairford, highly recommended) and am waiting on blood tests to see what the problem is and whether Finland is viable.

The Ashes are back

By Evie Jones (Lakeside Primary School)

The wizards of Oz are coming to Wales,
The best team with a bat,
We’ve built a brand new stadium for them
With a view of the Taff – Howzat!

The Roos bring their Ashes,
With their pads and bats and caps,
But they’re playing in Wales, not England,
So they better pack some maps.

The strange thing about cricket
Is that they stop for tea and scones,
But we’ll serve them Welsh cakes and laver bread,
And large portions of the fast bowler Simon Jones.

The Aussies will pour over the border
To our land of song and hills,
But the Barmy Army will beat them
With weapons of golden daffodils.

All the players will dress in white,
And cover their faces in zinc war paint
Whereas the crowd will bring anoraks and sweaters,
And at the sight of the sun in Wales, they’ll faint!

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I don't have Sky - life's too short to spend hours watching my favourite sports on tv, especially as they are all endurance based: cricket (5 days), golf (4 days), marathon running etc. But it is so frustrating at times like this; the evening highlights are a waste of space as they can't encapsulate the chess match ebb & flow of a quality Test with all the nuances developing as the game goes on. I'll just have to rely on Aggers and the TMS team to bring the games alive in my ears and allow me to picture the view in my mind. This will be difficult for the first match in the unlikely surroundings of Cardiff (money talks more than tradition in modern sport unfortunately). It all reminds me of the 1970/71 winter when I used to listen to the radio commentary from Australia late at night as Ray Illingworth's team beat the Australians over there in a magnificent series.

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At the end of last week's heatwave I had a pleasant workout in the Aerospace '5' near Cheltenham on a tough course which climbed up towards Cleeve Hill. Felt I needed to wear a race number again despite struggling with an adductor strain and other problems that a family Blog like this wouldn't want to know about. Started very slowly as planned then picked up pace in second half as I like to treat these evening races (especially when as hot as its been) as good tempo runs. Splits were 6.07, 5.50, then avg 5.30 for the rest. Nearly caught Mike Smith on the line but as he got thrashed by a 50 year old in Bourton's half marathon the previous week, thought I'd spare him any more embarrassement. Claudie came along and there was some good social with some newer Ciren members as well as a good chat with Dennis & Lucy Walmsley ahead of Finland next month (it appears it's impossible to run anywhere in the world and not find a Bourton runner in the same race).

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Great news from Natalie. She got her 2:1 from Exeter; her next two years are now mapped out for her (and for dad's bank balance!) in two more of Europe's capital cities. What a great life she is having.