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 ...