Two endurance tests in three days

Mob match no.138 safely negotiated on probably my favourite of all the courses, Wimbledon Common. I first started running on the common when at school so it has a particular resonance for me and the course is all you'd want from a xc race: woodland tracks, hills, fallen trees to climb over, streams to jump across, some good fast flat stretches and a bit of mud thrown in near the end. Yesterday was made particularly special because we beat our hosts, the oldest running club in the UK, Thames Hare & Hounds. With mob matches being all about numbers, home advantage usually counts, but Ranelagh managed to get 59 hardy souls across from their Richmond HQ - with a little help from the Cirencester branch of the club (see, from left in picture, me, Paul Barlow, Chris Illman & Adrian Williams) - and ran out relatively easy winners, the first away mob win for Ranelagh since 1989.

Chris (4th) and Adrian (7th) were Ranelagh's first finishers and Paul (19th) had a great battle with Ciren second claimer Andy Bickerstaff (yes, it works both ways). Once again I shouldn't have run but as I've now no longer got any running targets to aim for, having lost all semblance of fitness, I've got nothing more to lose so may as well continue to haul my ample frame around these mobs, at least whilst I still make the scoring team! With another few weeks fitness lost since the last outing I found the 7½ miles hard work but was able to just about keep going all the way. As Baron Hansen said: "Life is short ... running makes it seem longer."

My real endurance test of the week was also up in London. I was invited by our investment bankers, Schroders, to a 'tasting evening' at Fortnum & Mason, the famous store in London. I dragged Claudie along kicking & screaming but with the carrot that she could do the London shops and museums the next morning when I was at a seminar that was part of the Schroders deal (that was good too, as the keynote speaker was Sir Ranulph Fiennes). We expected a glass of champagne, as had been promised, and maybe a vol au vont before escaping back to our hotel via a meal somewhere. The reality was very different.

All four floors of the store had been hired by Schroders for the evening and all the F&M staff retained in their full morning dress regalia. There was indeed champagne and canapes, wherever you turned another waiter was proferring one or other the whole evening. All the food counters were open and we were encouraged to try everything ... so we did. Oysters, smoked salmon, caviar washed down with Polish vodka, truffles, foie gras, suckling pig, fresh pasta cooked in front of us, Jamaican ice cream sundaes, afternoon tea cakes, delicate mince pies, Christmas pud & cake, chocolates to die for, cheeses and fine wines. Wow, what an evening. We decided not to stop off and eat on the way back to the hotel.

Finally, reverting to running as I should, I can't let Cirencester's performance in the first Oxford league race of the winter season go by without comment. Adrian managed to get 21 senior men turning out on a foul day at Ascott, that's three full teams, and the first team performed really well. There's a real feeling that under new chairman Dave Edelsten - who took on the world's hardest job since Tony Blair's search for WMD - together with Adrian's captaincy, the club might at last be emerging from the doldrums. I'm only sorry that I'm not part of the team although in many ways I'm pleased that they no longer need to rely on an ailing old bar steward like me. I think I can safely migrate to the bar on a permanent basis.

My man in Rome

The world has changed since I were a lad. In those days it was a major expedition to drive from Morden to Portsmouth down the old A3 to see my grandparents and watch the Isle of Wight and channel ferries crossing. We used to play pub cricket in the car - hint: always worth starting your innings just before Cobham as lots of runs to be scored there (for those that don't understand the intricacies of this game, you score by counting the number of limbs in the pub name, thus The White Horse scores 4 (legs) whereas the Queen's Head means you are dismissed) - as the A3 in those days used to meander through villages unlike today's dual carriageway. Anyway, I digress ...

These days people go abroad a few times a year, take a year out to travel and even live and work in far flung places. Hell, we even marry foreigners (guilty as charged, m'lud)! My sister, who is married to a German, has recently moved to Ireland even though she works in London. A friend, Geoff, lives in Australia but regularly commutes to London on business. Whilst we were in Paris a couple of weeks ago we met up with Rob, who works for a Norweigan company, en route to French Guiana for a two day trip (see previous blog) and I swapped a number of texts with my good friend Gavin, an economics journalist for Reuters who lives in Rome. He was in Frankfurt to run a marathon. Confused? Gavin's experience in Frankfurt is definitely worth recounting.(He's pictured here racing in Rome and is also in the Ranelagh 100/125 year celebration pictures at the foot on this blog, he's the one with lots of hair in 1981 and none in 2006.)

Over the last couple of years Gavin, who is a mere 47ish, and I have both got back into semi-serious running after a long break. Our best marathons are similar (low 2.20's) but are ancient history. It was as a consequence of my trip to Rome for the marathon, when Natalie was living out there, that triggered Gavin's renaissance. As it turned out I had flu so didn't run and he had a bit of a 'mare, finishing in 3:10 (he was so slow that I'd stopped looking out for him!). We have since traded times over the half and full distances, each shaving small amounts off the other's best time. We were both going to run Amsterdam this autumn but obviously I was out and he decided he needed another week or two to be ready.

The text on Saturday wasn't promising: he'd made it to Frankfurt but was almost certainly not going to run because he had a temperature (he'd only travelled because everything was booked, I know the feeling). Of course he ran, spending most of the first 8km trying to work out where best to drop out as his chest was tight, he was coughing and he felt dreadful. But there was no obvious place to stop and before he knew it he was swinging along and his legs were fine. He ended up overtaking runners throughout the race and posted a fantastic time of 2.38.37, well under his original 2.40 target. He's also given me a hell of a target to aim for, but that's what I'll try to do ... eventually.

His text after the race was priceless: "Now have [temperature of] 37.5 and burning throat/chest, and am, needless to say, ecstatically happy! As a great man once said 'beware the wounded runner!' " What a man! He is alluding to my blog of 27 February this year with his final comment - it's great to know that someone reads this nonsense.

This story reminds me a bit of Stephen Instone, my friend who sadly died earlier this year. He and I once ran the Sutton ½ Marathon and the local Mayor, in all his regalia, greeted all finishers with a hand shake. He was somewhat shaken however when Stephen said "thanks very much, I was pretty pleased with my run, especially as I've got chicken pox!".

Update on my injury: no change, weight still increasing, trousers no longer fit, main source of exercise is now therapeutic leaf clearance.

How to avoid overdoing the warm-up

An interesting couple of weeks: a bit of (painful) running and walking, some socialising, a few beers, good food and travel. Despite no running for 10 weeks, I couldn't resist fronting up in Coulsdon for another mob match, despite my comments last time. Messrs Illman (for stating in the pub that I was bound to do it, even if it was with a walking stick) and Bickerstaff for not believing that I wouldn't turn up, are mainly to blame for me suggesting to Claudie on the Friday evening that she'd enjoy a stroll in the Surrey countryside the next day. She was very good about it, once I picked myself up from the floor she was quite calm.

Decided to drive straight to the start as couldn't face the half mile jog from HQ, so I went changed. An accident on the M3 confirmed this as a good decision; we arrived 4 minutes before the gun, thanks to some adept driving I might state. Having gone through the trauma of decision making, I wasn't about to miss out because of crashes, contra-flows and congestion. A quick pee in the bushes, pinned my number to my ample midriff and off I went very slowly ... I didn't win.

A week later, another mob match. An unusual state of affairs - in fact I can never remember two in two weeks - but by this time Claudie was resigned to my crazed decision making so off we went back up the motorway, or so we thought ... Onto the M4 at Swindon, slowed down to a crawl and then a halt. Once a fire engine shot down the hard shoulder we knew we were in trouble. Switched engine off for 45 minutes, rang Bickerstaff ("good news is that Chris is in the back of the car, bad news is that we are still in Swindon!"). Eventually got going but Richmond Park for 2.30 start looked impossible, not least because it involved crossing the Thames at Kingston or Richmond into congested town centres, and Harlequins were playing at home in Twickenham. Decided on long route - M4, M3, M25, A3 - and it worked. We kept in touch by mobile and arrived in car park adjacent to the race right on the appointed start time. A quick change in the toilets, pinned our numbers, uttered the club cry and set off with the other 61 Ranelagh runners (Orion had 55, a great overall turnout). I didn't win.

This is not the start of my comeback. I was stupid to run these races but at my age it was a way to maintain some sort of positivity in relation to my running. By missing a mob match I would have lost any sort of momentum, having only missed one since 1974, and probably faded away. At least this way, I've deferred any proper recovery by a few weeks but not on a terminal basis. But to any ambitious athletes, can I suggest that you do as I suggest not what I do!

Sandwiched between my two mob matches there was lots of excitement. One of the reasons I ran the first race was that we were staying with friends in Chiswick, which allowed me to spend some quality time with one of my godchildren (I have two, poor souls). We then took the Eurostar from St Pancras to Paris the next day armed with a red cross parcel for Natalie. It appears that she was pining for marmite and Wispa Gold chocolate bars despite developing a love of all things produced by French patisseries.

We had a lovely few days in the French capital in balmy sunshine. We walked for miles (just what I needed!), did the museums and parks, enjoyed some fantastic gastronomic delights (and expensive beer!) in the Latin quarter on the left bank each evening, and generally enjoyed spending time with Natz. Picture shows the two ladies in my life in the most beautiful city in the world.

Whilst in Paris we met up with an old friend, Rob Wise, affectionately known as Le Sage by Claudie. Rob works for Norweigan Telecom (I know ...) in London and was in Paris en route for a two day trip to French Guiana on the South American mainland, to oversee the launch of a $200 million satellite. We had a great chat about old times & friends and pontificated on important matters like Surrey cricket, Brentford football and the comparison between the superb professional set-up of British cycling under Dave Brailsford and the fragmented organisation that is uk:athletics. To be discussed further.

Finally, and sadly, we attended the memorial service for my dear friend Stephen, who died in the summer. It was held at his university, UCL, just a short walk from St Pancras and our trip back on Eurostar. Having missed his funeral as we were abroad, it was important for us to be there amongst his family, friends and colleagues. There were some lovely words spoken by them about a wonderful man.