Over the edge.

By the very nature of our great sport, dedicated runners always train "on the edge", always striving to gain that little bit extra without putting so much pressure on their bodies that injuries and illness result, thus making that extra effort counter productive in the extreme.  I'm far too old for all that nonsense these days but I'm still striving to get the balance right.  Unfortunately, when you get to my age, having run for over 40 years, the first 20 or so without any science or decent shoes (today's runners would not believe what Tiger Cub shoes were like), it doesn't take much to tip me into the 'dark' side.

At the end of a year that has seen my running improve no end - certainly beyond my dreams 12 months ago after three years of health issues - I have tipped myself over the edge to the extent that my right Achilles has flared up again and that familiar Wrighty hobble has re-emerged.  It all happened at the Eynsham 10k, a race I'd never done before but was keen to compete in as it's up there with Bourton as one of the fastest courses around.

In all my races this year I've started cautiously and gradually moved through the field, much to the annoyance of others, not least because of my shuffling action which kind of 'takes the p*** as I float past far more elegant runners.  This is, however, a very frustrating form of racing because I'm always 'crossing the gap' in cycling parlance, and therefore never really running in the right group at any one time, leading to frustration at the end.  So at Eynsham, with a couple of decent results behind me I went off at a faster pace than usual.  It wasn't a suicidal pace but one that I recognised very early on was probably five seconds per km faster than I would be comfortable with over the full distance.  Sure enough the little group that I was hanging onto started to drift away at about 6km, a difficult 2km ensued but then I settled back into a rhythm and finished strongly for my fastest time of the year, albeit I know there is another minute to come off at my current fitness levels

Felt ok after the race and did my usual couple of miles easy warm-down during which I felt a slight twinge in my Achilles.  Next day I went out for a steady lunchtime run with Adrian as I had the day off work, but I immediately knew things weren't right.  My right Achilles was not happy.  Two weeks later, Kinesio tape on my ankle, pain permanently etched in my mind if I try to run, I realise that at Eynsham by pushing that little bit harder and stressing my legs more than I should have reasonably done, I've put myself back a few months. Not a good end to the year but nobody to blame except me and can't really complain as the year has still gone far better than planned.  Time for a rest.

Mob match course in Richmond Park

Footnote to my mob match article last time.  Talking to a running friend in Cirencester this week who has been injured for a year and is just getting back, a comment he made resonated strongly with me.  He stated that he very nearly gave up and threw in the towel, thankfully he's now back training and will hopefully make a full recovery.  Back in 1987 I was in that position and got so close to giving up: I'd just become a dad; had an annoying running injury; was in a stressful job; and seriously thought I had a serious long term illness (jury still out on that one).  As a consequence I didn't run for six months as I wallowed in self-pity (and enjoyed changing nappies).  I was only 30 but as far as I was concerned running was over for me, the golf course beckoned.  One thing changed that, a mob match loomed on October '87: I thought long and hard, surely there was no way I could even contemplate 7½ miles after my idleness ...  Yet something inside me said 'go on, have a run, what's the worst that could happen?', so I went out a couple of times in the week leading to the race, just for a short jog, felt awful, yet decided on the morning of the race that 'Hell, if I don't run I'll be on the slippery slope and will never recover.'  I ran, it was hell but I got round in 50th place, got a great welcome back, found my enthusiasm and rediscovered this fantastic sport.  That one day was so important to me.

Eulogy to Ranelagh

Well it was a long time coming but last Saturday I churned out my 150th mob match for Ranelagh Harriers, that's 1,125 racing miles on Wimbledon Common, Epping Forest, Farthing Downs, Hayes Common and, of course, Richmond Park.  These traditional races between two clubs started back in the 19th century and I joined the pantheon of participants on 21 December 1974.  Ranelagh's fixture card stated that all members were expected to run in the mob matches - as the name implies it is all about getting as many people out as possible - and I took it rather literally having only missed one (it would have been my 98th consecutive) due to flu, I've not missed one since. (I remember once flying in on the red eye from New York on a Saturday morning and running a mob match that afternoon.)  The biggest field, excluding the centenary races of both Ranelagh & Orion, which were mass mob matches, was against Blackheath in 1988 when 192 toed the line, not bad for two clubs.  Amazingly, a total of 187 turned out in January 1985 to run Blackheath's tough course in deep snow drifts - health & safety wouldn't allow that these days - a race that I managed to win.

I was very kindly presented with an engraved tankard after the race so I took the opportunity of both thanking and eulogising the club with the following note in its regular newsletter:

"I was very touched and surprised with the presentation for my 150th mob match on Saturday.  Thank you so much, it means masses to me.  Difficult to know how to   respond - hence the lack of a speech - but I think the whole thing comes back to Ranelagh Harriers incorporated.  This club has meant so much to me over the past 38 years for which I have to thank, once again, my old chemistry teacher Jim     Forrest (who himself has clocked up 117 mob matches)who persuaded me to run the  mob match against SLH in December 1974 and join this great club.  It really is 

 rather sad that I've been available for 150 Saturday afternoons since then but   in many ways this again reflects so well on the club because the four 'mobs' are the first things that go in the diary when the fixtures secretary publishes the  year ahead every August.

 I remember once, some twenty years ago, an Australian member Geoff Nicholson (he once ran 19.59 for the Thomas Cup course) said he loved the fact that he'd been  back in Australia for a number of years but knew he'd be able to walk into The   Dysart Arms, as it was, and be able to pick up on a conversation with a Ranelagh member that he'd started a few years earlier. Sadly The Dysart is not what it    was, but the clubhouse has usurped this and The Roebuck at the top of the hill 

 replicates the pub atmosphere as I found out this weekend.  Two old members from the 1980's, Dave Muckersie & Rob Wise, ran the mob match, their first time 

 back at the club for some 25 years.  They were welcomed back by those who knew 

 them in such a lovely way, conversations flowed as if they'd never been away.  

 That to me is the ethos of Ranelagh and long may it continue.

 Sadly because I live so far away down deep in the Cotswolds, I don't know a lot  of today's members but that's a good thing because it means the club continues 

 to move forward.  Long standing members are important but the driving force 

 behind the club must be those who are around today.  

 The standard in yesterday's mob match was of the highest order, it was just a 

 shame that Ranelagh couldn't compete at the front with what is an incredibly 

 strong Thames outfit.  It does, however, beg the question that if they can do it why can't we?  Ranelagh has so much going for it, a wonderful clubhouse, vibrant membership, captive marketplace ... I just think a bit of belief, positive 

 thinking and concerted group effort can take the club up to another level.  

 Ranelagh has been closely involved with two major seismic changes to the sport 

 in recent times, namely the London Marathon and Parkrun through Chris Brasher /  John Disley and Paul Sinton-Hewitt, two events that have changed the sport 

 massively.  The club should be incredibly proud of these achievements.  However, for  running to continue to prosper, the club system needs to survive and races  such as mob matches, which unlike most athletics events involve everybody who 

 turns up and therefore personify club sport, must be seen to prevail. Ranelagh 

 turned out 60 plus yesterday, a decent number but not as many as should have 

 been there.  This may be partly because of Parkrun: participants are besotted by taking part in this fantastic event but I think there needs to be a bit of 

 balance here, by all means take part in parkrun but don't forget club athletics  at its best and the joys of running on different courses with the camaraderie of team sport. This has to be so important in keeping the club spirit going forward and getting Ranelagh up to its 150th anniversary, by which time I may well be up

 to 200 of these damn races!

 Ranelagh Ranelagh Rah Rah Rah!" 

Another four years

Barack Obama has just been re-elected for a second term in the US.  At least he's been given the chance to finish off what he set out to achieve, something that the momentum of the mandate might energise him into doing.  I particularly liked a piece before the election by the [right wing] journalist Charles Moore who wrote that "one of the reasons that Obama has lost his heroic status is that people now see beyond the simple wonderful fact that a black man can be elected president."  He then goes on to quote from Martin Luther King's famous dream speech about the time when his own children would be judged "not by the colour of their skin, but by the content of their character."  As Moore states, this time has now come for the president.  And as the author John Grisham states in a separate article, "Obama has been too caught up with being a celebrity for four years".  An intriguing time lies ahead, not least with the impending 'fiscal cliff'.

Still on the same continent, it must have been awful for all those foreign runners who were told that the New York City Marathon had been cancelled with less than two days notice.  Whilst on the face of it, it is understandable that a mere sporting event, especially one that requires a great amount of policing, should be relegated in comparison to the devastating effects of Hurricane Sandy, I can't help feeling that an opportunity was missed for an outpouring of the spirit of the people running the streets; then the race organisers donating vast sums of money to the relief effort.  Just a thought.  My feelings also go out to those who forked out vast sums of money to fly out and stay in NY; my eye was taken in particular to the incredible cost of the entry fee these days at $347 or £220.  In the six years that I organised tours to the marathon on behalf of Chris Brasher's Sweat Shop (picture was from 1979 race), the whole cost of a week in NY, including flights, top notch hotel, tour of the course (with excellent running commentary from DW), entry fee, champagne reception etc., was less than today's entry fee.  I must be getting old.

To continue the tenuous links, I must wish my old chum Sandy Clark - seen here with me in the Cabbage Patch '10' in 1989 - a happy 60th birthday.  The poor guy has sacrificed his life by supporting London Scottish rugby club and following the Scottish national football and rugby teams, to the extent that he has visited every country in Europe wearing his kilt - with very little underneath, as Claudie discovered one frightening night many moons ago, moon being the operative word - he even lost all his money from his sporran once on a train and remembers nothing about it.  The guy is a true legend and will be a friend forever.

As this is a running blog, I ought to report that I'm happy with a couple of decent performances at Stroud and Tewkesbury that will give me confidence going into winter conditioning mode (I even won a few bob).  It's taken a while but I'm gradually getting there.  Just a few Ranelagh 'mobs' to break the training regime through the dark months, otherwise just some good solid week on week training.  Even at my age I'm taking the long term view and being incredibly patient, a basic concept that today's runners and coaches are, it seems, unable to grasp.  All this short termism is decaying our great sport.  What is currently happening on the Cirencester AC coaching front beggars belief, but I need to leave that for another time ...

PS Random stats of the day: Scottish 3rd Division football attendances this weekend:
Annan Athletic v Stirling, 508
Clyde v Montrose, 496
Elgin v Berwick, 790
Rangers v Peterhead. 48,407

On the Road

Hello again.

Jack Kerouac's famous novel On the Road, which I read many moons ago, has been back in the public eye recently; a film has been made of it at long last (reviews rather mixed).  The book had a massive influence on a whole generation.  What was different was that instead of the journey leading somewhere, the somewhere being the objective, the book made the journey itself the destination.  As Kerouac's semi-autobiographical character Salvatore Paradise states, "The road is life."  I like that; it reminds me of Nike's famous, albeit simplistic, advert: "There is no finish line."  In other words it sums up the sport of endurance running.  This, together with desperate pleas (well, maybe not desperate but a few 'when are you getting back into it then Wrighty?') from loyal readers for me to resume posting these inane blogs about running, has convinced me to start scribbling again.

So yes, after a brief mid-summer hiatus due various old man's ailments, I'm back 'on the road' and actually quite enjoying it.  A regular routine of steady lunchtime runs from work in Fairford during the week - some beautiful trails, lakes and hills to choose from - one of which I usually do with miling legend Derek Gardner, and a couple of longer weekend runs in Cirencester Park or around the local Cotswold lakes (Saturday usually turns into a bit of a tempo but is very much on 'feel'), has brought me some base fitness.

I keep a running log and having always loved statistics - cricket averages in my youth, most of which was spent at The Oval - I often turn to some of the information churned out on my spreadsheets.  The absolute key stat for me in recent years has been a rolling 52 week average weekly mileage.  It really tells a story relating to fitness, and rewards consistent training over a period of time.  Back in 2009 when I was running really decent V50 times, my average peaked at 55mpw over a 12 month period.  My injury and health issues are well illustrated by the following:

2008: 36 (Jan) consistently rising to 45 (Dec)
2009: 45 to 55 (Sep) then fell off cliff to 36 (Dec)
2010: 36 to 8 (Dec) steady decline through lack of running
2011: 8 to 16 (Dec) started running again just in the nick of time
2012: 16 to 32 (Oct)

Incidentally, my best 52 week average was 76 in 1981/1982, otherwise translated as 4,000 miles.

A graph of my weight increase (2½ stone) and then decrease (most of it) would reflect the mileage changes listed here and confirms that in my case "the road is life" as without it I can't indulge in that other great passion, namely fine food & wine.

Cheers.

The man with no name

Having written last time about a report on how regular running increases life expectancy, was brought back down to earth with a recent article stating that "marathon runners have been warned that extreme exercise can damage the heart, with 'scars' found in almost one in 10 athletes."  In an article that triathletes in particular should read carefully, the author Dr James O'Keefe from Rochester, USA, stated that "exercise is one of the most important things needed on a daily basis, but extreme exercise is not really conducive to great cardiovascular health.  Beyond 30-60 minutes per day, you reach a point of diminishing returns."  This is a really interesting statement which we should all note, especially the last bit from a pure fitness regime point of view ... and the health aspects are quite scary.  I know a number of long term runners who have current heart issues; it's clearly a subject about which we still don't know enough.

Ran the Fairford Festival 10km in a last minute decision as I reckoned [correctly as it panned out] that not only were Cirencester likely to win the team prize but also a number of absentees would allow me to make the team.  My only other reason not to run was some fence painting to do at home; the torrential downpours soon put an end to that idea.  The course encompasses a lot of my lunchtime training routes so was very familiar.  Usual slow start - I couldn't go off faster if I tried - then got into my stride, literally so after 3k where I kicked hard down a steep gradient, as is my wont, to break up a little pack.  Gradually picked off some fast starters and despite a chronic 4.07 6th km up a long climb I finished strongly with my fastest four km splits.

As going up to London to see Natalie, decided to have a run out at Ranelagh's Richmond 10k, taking in the towpath at times on a flat but slippery surface.  A 9am start for a race 90 miles from home meant an early start but it was worth it to meet up with some old friends and be relatively competitive.  Despite (or because of?) chip timing I was missed off the results for a few days, what with wearing my Cirencester rather than Ranelagh vest I was truly under the radar.  Beers in town and a lovely walk on a sunny but blustery Primrose Hill made the day worthwhile.

Blogs are becoming so 'yesterday' so I think I'll probably stop posting for a while unless I feel that I have something I think the world needs to know.  (Or I get desperate pleas from my vast readership not to cease this inane rubbish.)  Have a good summer and enjoy the Greco-Roman mud wrestling ...

Just like the 93 bus

Read in the paper last week that jogging for an hour a week increases life expectancy by six years.  Danish cardiologists discovered this and presented it at what must have been a fun weekend in Dublin where the European Society of Cardiology met.  (Combination of Danish cardiologists and an Irish venue probably meant that those statistics have now been reduced among jogging cardiologists based on the amount of lager and Guinness consumed - that's probably the best joke ever told.)  Anyway, at this rate I should make it to about 135, although I'd be a REALLY grumpy old man by then.

I chalked up two more races in six days recently and chose well.  I'd like to state that I'm getting myself rapidly fitter as I finished 3rd overall in both races!  Sadly, the truth is that standards are continuing to dive.  For a 55 year old out of the sport for three years to be getting podium finishes is a sad indictment on today's standards, although does show that I have a good eye for choosing the right races.

Firstly, I ran the Linda Franks '5' in Cheltenham.  As part of the Gloucestershire County Road Race series it should have been of a higher standard; the race was originally scheduled for January but had been cancelled due to policing issues that are driving road race organisers bonkers in this part of the world.  Not only was the new date not greatly publicised, the race started at the unearthly hour of 8.30am.  Running fairly even paced - unlike at Highworth - I eased past the early fast starters then chased down the third placer in a pursuit that took me to four miles before strolling past (little did he know how tired I was).  Although disappointed not to break 30 minutes, I was at least a bit faster than Highworth and received a pot for my efforts.

A few days later Claudie went off to France for a week so I had to find a race on what was otherwise going to be a blank weekend.  A search on Runners World came up with all sorts of weird and wonderful events and I settled on a 10km multi-terrain race near Melksham.  Another good choice.  As part of the great British summer, this race was attached to a local fair where a few vintage cars were lined up; somebody was selling home made cakes; the local school brass band were playing (actually not bad); and there was a hoop-la stall, all attracting a few locals and augmented by runners and their partners (or, in my case, not).

About 80 lined up on a narrow footpath and we set off through a farmyard and out into the woods.  It was immediately evident that this race suited my fitness levels; one guy (44, see pic) eased into the lead and half a dozen of us ran together sizing each other up.  I really enjoy running in races where I have no idea how good any other runners are.  After some uneven, dusty tracks through woodland the course emerged out onto roads at about 4km.  A big, generously tattooed guy (64) then took control on a long downhill section, cranking up the pace considerably.  I latched onto his shoulder and very quickly we'd shaken off the others.  Once again running hard downhill did the business, it's a tactic I've used many times because it is such an efficient way of changing pace and breaking up packs.  It's so easy just to cruise downhill but by actually working hard and lifting the tempo by pumping arms and legs, real damage can be done to unsuspecting rivals without wrecking stamina.  The two of us ran together through to about 8km before I faded on a climb back off-road, but by this time I was comfortably clear in third and cruised home to garner another pot.  A couple of excellent pints of Doombar, a Cornish ale, and a chat with a couple of strangers in a pub on the way home made for an excellent day out.

Melksham podium - where are the athletes?

I can't remember when I last made the top three overall so to do it twice within a few days definitely replicated waiting for that damn 93 bus to Wimbledon back in the 60's.

Racing the elements

Despite this country's reputation for being constantly wet & miserable, in the 1,250 odd races that I've competed in very few stand out for reasons of particularly inclement weather.  I've done a few marathons where it rained heavily from start to finish: the first London in 1981, Rotterdam the same year and New York in 1983.  Of course there have been some memorable cross country races: many will remember the National quagmires at Milton Keynes (1985) and Nonsuch Park, Sutton (1989), the latter being so close to home I could jog to and from it, although I wasn't let in the house until I was hosed down, such was my state.  Before health & safety became an issue, races were not cancelled due to snow with the consequence that I have many fun memories of dragging my pins through the drifting white stuff: Wimbledon Common in one of my first ever school races in 1968; the Southern in a blizzard at Stanmer Park, Brighton in 1986 and a mob match victory (hand in hand with my flatmate and best man, Simon Collingridge) on Blackheath's tough course at Hayes in Kent (1985).  At the other end of the spectrum, heatwave conditions prevailed in my Isle of Wight Marathon victory in 1985; the inter-counties 20 miler at Wimbledon in 1983 where I was part of Surrey's winning team of three (ran well that day!); and in many of my foreign forays, particularly to Barbados.

A classic from the Oxford League

Inclement weather or not, I'm always falling over, whether it be slipping in mud, tripping over a twig thanks to my supreme economical running style or bashing my elbow against a lampost or my head on a low hanging branch ...

So what have been the worst conditions in which I've raced?  This question came up last week as we tried to stay upright in storm force winds and lashing, icy rain just before the start of the Highworth '5'.  It had tipped down all night so the roads were flooded as well.  Despite all that it was actually quite an exhilarating race for the runners (although a nightmare for organisers and marshals whom I salute): we faced the worst of the conditions in the first half, initially straight into the wind and then being hit by strong gusts from the side, which invariably pushed me into the deepest puddles.  The second half, which included the notorious climb back into the village, was positively pleasant with the wind helping us along.  I pushed too hard in the first half, mainly because I felt the need for some protection from the elements from within a group, and thus paid the price as I faded in the last couple of miles, but a decent enough effort.  Paid the price for venturing out by going down with my first cold in three years the day after the race.

The worst ever conditions?  Think I'd have to say a fairly recent race, the Gloucester '20' in 2009.  The weather changed violently at about halfway with painful hail, incredibly strong winds and driving rain sometimes making forward motion almost impossible.  A couple of runs on the Pennine Way relay run it close, up on the wild Cheviots and on Cross Fell, the highest point on the route, in the pitch darkness of night in lashing rain and with just a head torch to help with navigation ... but that also had other non-weather issues that made it frightening ...

Rite of passage as right Wright writes

Another race, another gloriously sunny day. It was 19 years since I'd run the Maidenhead 10; this time different course and different weather (it threw it down throughout the race all those years ago). Shouldn't really have run due aching Achilles' and recurring abdominal issues but plans were in place - drop Claudie at Maidenhead station, run the race, drive to London for shopping, beer and food with the girls - at the start of the Easter weekend so it seemed the right thing to do, not least because I didn't want to waste another entry fee.

This was another phase in my rite of passage back into mainstream running. It felt good to be part of the racing scene again as we warmed up around Maidenhead's office park (excellent location to start and finish a big race, plenty of parking and facilities). Because it was chip timing, had to collect number on the morning of the race - more of that later - then sat in the car listening to the Test match from Sri Lanka before deciding which shoes to run in: brought four pairs with me, eventually deciding on lightish trainers that would give me a modicum of support and protection. As fully taped up with Kinesio on both ankles (skin colour not lurid pink, so not too embarrassing), feeling was that I'd done all I could to protect myself.

As is often the case with these big races (1,000 runners), the whole thing started late after interminable speeches by the local dignatories brandishing a London Olympics 1948 torch. As a consequence the start was fast, like a cork popping out of a bottle the runners were desperate to get going. I was thus enveloped by these fast starters but just trotted along in my own way.

Once things settled down I got into a decent rhythm and locked into the same pace as the ultimately 3rd lady, Rachel Tewkesbury, who was down from the Isle of Man (IoM) - many memories there for me, having done the Easter athletics festival there five times ... oh dear, best not to get into that now - and we ran together for a few miles, overtaking many faster starters.

"Is this you?" the lady asked. "Well it has my name on it." I retorted.

After about four miles we caught a Newbury runner (I recognised the vest of the club that pipped Cirencester to the Oxford League title this winter); he looked across at me and said "hello David how are you?". I was rather taken aback but quickly recognised him, his name was David Wright. We then entered into a conversation that must have totally bemused my lady friend from the IoM. "You collected the wrong number ..." he said, "it was mine." He then proceeded to tell me that he'd received a cheque for £100 from the Reading ½ Marathon a few years back, as first V50 in the race. As he is now only 46 it was clearly a mistake and he'd returned it saying that David Wright from Cirencester was the winner (I duly received said funds). We'd met a few times over the years and chatted away for about half a mile before he told me to clear off, which I did with IoM alongside. Trés bizarre.

The rest of the race was truly enjoyable, the course was flat apart from a slight rise at eight miles, I'd got into an excellent rhythm and I just kept picking off runners. A negative split resulted (31:25 / 31:12) thanks to a 6:06 last mile. It's frightening to think that I've run well over a minute per mile faster over 10 miles but I didn't care, this was my first race back when I felt I was competitive.

Tight calves afterwards and for the next few days were a small price to pay for the enjoyment gained from a lovely morning out in Berkshire. I ran 62.37, IoM did 63.24 (I pulled away at six miles) and my namesake 63.49.

Sixth in the National

Lies, damn lies and statistics ... sometimes a headline can be misleading by not quite painting the picture the reader thinks it portrays ...

No I didn't run last month's 125th English National XC Champs at the iconic Parliament Hill Fields in London, although I have many memories of the place, from the sublime (Ranelagh's team medals in the Jan 1976 Southern Junior - yes, 36 years ago!) to the ridiculous (a shuffling road runner like me should never be subjected to the tortures of nine miles hard labour through deep mud as endured in Julian Goater's 1981 National - he glided across the glutinous stuff to win by two minutes ahead of such luminaries as Dave Moorcroft, Steve Jones and Mick McLeod). And I certainly didn't finish 6th there.

Where's the mud?

My National was the Masters National at Bath University last weekend. Why, given my poor state of fitness? Well I knew the course was flat(ish) and bone dry, thus could wear trainers; it was 8km, a nice distance to contemplate; there would be lots of fellow old timers to talk to about the old days and all our current ailments (!); Claudie fancied a trip to Bath; and I'd had it in my mind that at 55 I should start doing some of these events.

The start line on a beautiful sunny day was full of contrasts, eager youngsters (why are V35's now accepted?) at the front and knarled old veterans hiding at the back, most with various bits of tape, knee bandages and supports holding them together: I was definitely in the latter group and felt very at home with Kinesio tape holding both Achilles' together.

The course was dull as dishwater, three laps with an out and back within the lap, all on mainly flat grassland with a couple of drags, but good for spectators. As anticipated, I struggled to sustain a decent pace throughout, sharp turns tending to lose any momentum I'd generated. With age groups pinned on the back of vests it was easy to see one's opposition; I appeared to be surrounded by V55's throughout. I managed to outlast some of them but was taken in the last mile by old adversary Mick McGeogh from Cardiff (lovely man, has run every London Marathon bar one with a best time of 2:17; he often used to run alongside the lead woman in the 80's (usually Grete Waitz (RIP) or Ingrid Kristiensen) so got lots of tv coverage for the most ungainly of running styles - he and I running together must be quite a sight!).

So, as the headline states, I was 6th? Well no, not really. I actually finished 80th (of 159) but if you take out all the fast young boys (at least I have more hair than Adrian) I was classed as 10th V55. Still not 6th, I accept that, but when you get to my age you try to dress things up as best you can ... ahead of me in my age group were three Irishmen and one Welshman (the aforementioned MM), so elimate them and I was 6th in the English National. I rest my case, never believe a headline.

Onwards & upwards for Cirencester

The regularity or otherwise of my postings is a good barometer of how many miles I'm running. This is the fourth such missive in 2012 so there must be something to write about. Last Sunday saw my first road race since the World Masters Marathon Champs in Finland in July 2009, a pancake flat 10k in the delightful Cotswold village of Bourton-on-the-Water just 20 minutes from home.

Adrian Williams illustrating Bourton's Cotswolds attractions

It was certainly good to be around the buzz of a race after such a long gap, there's nothing quite like the nervous anticipation before competing. I felt like a complete novice, not knowing what to do and where to stand in the 500 strong pack at the start. Got a few 'welcome back' and 'why are you standing this far back' comments from surprised Cirencester clubmates before setting off in the pack. Race went reasonably well, my slow start presaged a somewhat suicidal increase in pace after the initial two 1km laps around the village, not helped by raucous encouragement from spectating friends. But I survived after a bit of a struggle, annoyingly pipped for the V55 title by a handful of seconds. More importantly my Achilles, although tight for a few days, seemed to survive relatively intact.

Best news of the day was an overwhelming team win for Cirencester's men in this prestigious race. Chris Illman, Dave Bell, Adrian Williams and Bill Leggate won comfortably and with the help of others not at Bourton are really starting to put the club on the map. To beat the major local clubs such as Cheltenham & Stroud is a real fillip to the boys and there's more to come.

Great to be back in the pack with a number on.

Ranelagh win mob match by 12 points!

Well that's another batch of mobs completed and what a finale to the 2011/2012 season! In rapidly deteriorating conditions - one always feels for the officials in these circumstances - an epic battle ensued between old rivals South London and Ranelagh Harriers over the hilly terrain of the cruelly worded Happy Valley near Coulsdon.

Both clubs were under strength in terms of numbers, a combination of the previous week's final Surrey League fixture; mob match 'fatigue' (an extra mob was included this winter to accommodate Orion's centenary celebrations); and the inexorable rise in the popularity of the iniquitous Parkruns which are impacting negatively on the traditional xc fixture list. Paradoxically this created the perfect menu for the closest mob match result and best atmosphere at the end of a race that I can remember in 37 years of competing*. Both at the finish where every runner in either blue or white was cheered home by clubmates, and back in the changing room where there was a buzz of conversation: "it's close, but I think we might have nicked it."; "they packed well but had a long tail."; "surely we've won it."; "a couple of their guys dropped out, that could make all the difference." were just some of the comments shared by both clubs' runners as we showered and changed.

We didn't have long to wait as SLH's efficient but bedraggled officials announced the result. Prefaced by the individual winners & times, age group leaders, SLH handicap result, the tension mounted ... a win for Ranelagh by a mere 12 points out of total scoring of 670 points. Those SLH dropouts had made the difference as had Ranelagh's Chris Owens' brave decision to plough on despite sustaining an injury. The Stubbs Cup retained by Ranelagh but a more telling statistic, the first win for the team in blue at Happy Valley since 1975, my 4th mob match (this was my 148th).

Personally I made a big mistake in wearing flats on what became a sodden course; spikes are out of the question these days because of my Achilles' problems, but I should have put on my trail shoes. Still, it made for some amusing moments on the steeply cambered top of the valley where for every 100 metres forward I slid 10 metres down the hill! Other than that a good comfortable run with no stress. This race was about the team. Sport at its best!

* I do remember one other close mob, it was against Thames Hare & Hounds on Wimbledon Common in the early 80's. Now Thames, the oldest club in the country, are reknowned for their intellect - being the host of the annual varsity match they tend to attact the best runners from Oxbridge when they graduate into their highly paid City jobs - but ask them to sort race results from a field of 100 you have utter chaos. This particular day it was clearly close, the huddle in the corner of the tea room were clearly getting nowhere so the runners from both clubs strolled across to the Duke of Cambridge at opening time (5.30 in the old days, folks). An hour and a couple of pints later the officials came into the pub proudly announcing a close win for Thames. Ranelagh's disappointment soon turned to joy when we spotted that one of ours had been missed from the results, and so it went on ... another couple of pints, a raucous supper with the infamous stories & songs from Thames' John Bryant and our Aussie Mal Cother, the bell for last orders, yet still no-one was any the wiser. The result kept changing and in the end nobody cared. To this day I don't know who won, but what a great evening.

Winter running

What a lovely weekend in the snow. Conditions were gorgeous last Saturday, as was evident when looking out of the window at home (see pic). The previous day's snow covered the countryside, the roads were generally clear, it was bitterly cold and the sky was blue. After being warned by Claudie to take care, I wrote my name and number down on a piece of paper and popped it into a pocket in case I fell or collapsed (again Claudie rightly insisted on this as well as asking what my route was - this should be done as a matter of course as previously blogged about), I set off in the sunshine.

To non-runners it is almost impossible to explain the pleasure of the sport, but on days like this I'm reminded of why I've battled to avoid hanging up my trainers for the joys of the golf course. One of Haruki Murakami's memorable quotes, which I've used on here before, also came to mind:

"I have only a few reasons to keep on running,

and a truckload of them to quit.

All I can do is keep those few reasons nicely polished."

This was a glorious run in the delightful surroundings of Cirencester Park. Although the snow was fresh and wasn't deep, care was needed as each step crushed down on the white stuff. as a consequence my pace was even slower than usual. Since I've been back doing a modicum of training I've invariably run too fast and therefore tired very easily. Again to the non-runner this must sound bizarre but it is difficult to run slowly at times, especially when running alone. The snow forced the issue, so despite the extra effort needed underfoot I did not get fatigued at all. It was one of those all too rare days - other runners will recognise this - when running felt effortless and one could run forever.

As ever with this great sport we are always learning - in my case after nearly 45 years of trying to get it right - we all run too fast on our steady runs. Slow down!
The next day was just as bitter but cloudy instead of sunny; the snow was 24 hours older and therefore harder to run through and there was lots of dodgy ice. The park was, however, still at its majesterial best and for me there was the great bonus of bumping into two of my best running buddies, neither of whom normally run in the park on a Sunday. I therefore turned round and joined them; having done virtually all of my running alone since starting back, it was a pleasure to swap inane banter as we ran easily through the park. A very positive weekend.

Olympics and Max

Had a bit of time to kill at Paddington station on Thursday, so after checking out the sushi bar, replenishing my cash from the hole in the wall and having a surprisingly decent pint in the pub on the first floor (went in there as it was the only place around to have a 'free' pee), I strolled into the London 2012 Olympics shop. As expected it was full of absolute dross and was deserted despite a thronging buzz of humanity pervading the station concourse. Even in the unlikely event of finding something worth purchasing, I would have walked out because there was only one acceptable pay method: "we are proud to accept only Visa" proclaimed a sign near the door, enough to put anyone off. Spectators will find this when they flock to all the events in the summer (Visa & Cola being the dominant brands). What would Baron de Coubertin make of this rampant commercialism?

Some other recent headlines that make me angry that London bid and won the Olympics (my feelings have been made very clear, Paris had the infrastructure in place yet London won the bid due to politics ... wrong):

"Games venues likely to cost taxpayer millions."

"Recession blamed as Olympics fails to inspire youngsters."

"Olympic Park loses 75% of its value."

"Union chief crows about £2,500 Olympics deal for DLR drivers."

On top of all that, Cameron decides to double the budget for the pointless opening & closing ceremonies despite assurances in previous years that Britain would not try to match Beijing with wasted money and would mark these events with some prudence. So all this nonsense about China ramming their corrupt system down our throats with sick amounts of money is now being mirrored by Britain. Add in the Plastic Brits, mainly athletes who have competed for the US but realised they are not good enough so have found a way of ingratiating themselves into a GB vest at the expense of others more worthy, despite a broad American accent, then drape themselves in the union flag ... arghh! Plus the marathon not finishing in the stadium, the first time this iconic sporting moment will be lost at the Olympics, because London is embarrassed by its East End, why? Finally we have the sickening thought of an ageing David Beckham captaining the England - sorry, Great Britain - football team despite no longer being good enough to play for an English league team.

Anyway, despite all that I was mighty impressed by Mo's 1500m in Glasgow today, what an athlete thanks to Alan Storey. All the credit is going to Alberto Salazar but Farah was already on his way before they teamed up - I was in Barcelona to see him destroy the 5000m field in the Euro Champs in 2010, one of the most powerful performances I've ever seen.

Of course, if anyone does have a spare ticket - a good friend of mine this week got a call out of the blue and managed to purloin one for an evening athletics session ... for free! - I would be very happy to partake in the experience. Otherwise I'll just have to take Natalie on our annual father/daughter bonding session to a Diamond League meet somwhere in Europe - she's talking New York, I'm not!

Back on the domestic front, I attached a number to my Cirencester vest for the first time in over two years to take part in the Boxing Day 4m Challenge at Cheltenham Racecourse. It was great to meet up with some old pals - Paul Barlow, Dave Newport, Andy Prophett, Andy McCoy and a few others - as well as to trigger memories of the late 'Speedy' Pete Holmes who died so tragically at such a young age and whose name is on the trophy for the day's individual winner. Sadly, but not surprisingly, it wasn't me this year but I enjoyed pottering around and it was great to be in a mildly competitive race situation again.

After the race we spent the rest of Boxing Day with my sister Hazel and brother-in-law Max (pictured at our place) and others at their rented cottage in Whelford. We had a wonderful lunch, chatted about all sorts of issues, but mainly the state of the Euro, drank some wine, ate well and felt good about life. Two days later Max died at the age of 61. Puts into perspective all those silly little issues that we carry around with us all the time. RIP Max, I can still remember you cheering me on in the Olympic Trials Marathon in Milton Keynes in 1980 and being amazed that I then went on to party all night in St John's Wood with my Aussie mates!