The Passage of Time

Athletics Weekly did a piece this week on Steve Jones breaking the world marathon record in Chicago as it is now 30 years since he famously ran 2.08.05.  For reasons that will become apparent this kick-started my memory bank.

Here's a statistic that will be mind blowing to all.  Firstly, bear in mind that it took 15 years for the world record to come down a mere 28 seconds, from Derek Clayton's 2.08.33 in 1969 to Jones' mark. Now digest the fact that in 30 years Jones' 2.08.05 has been beaten 615 times and the world record is now 2.02.57 (Berlin a couple of weeks ago).  Nearly all of these times having been run by either Kenyans (about 90%) or Ethiopians.  To say the event has been hijacked by East Africans is an understatement in the extreme.

The feat of Jones breaking the WR was big news and featured highly on all the main news bulletins in 1984. It was therefore quite an event when a bunch of us from Ranelagh stumbled across him just seven days later.  We had a decent pack of runners in the early 80's and we often used to pick races some distance away for the chance of picking up a team prize and having a few beers.  Thus a bunch of us we trekked down the M4 to run the Swindon Half Marathon.  We arrived at the school registration hall to a buzz of excitement, had our arrival been leaked to the local press, did our reputation go before us?  No, Steve Jones had decided to run the race.

from left at a race in Holland: Collingridge, Wright, Hedger, Pautard

It was a most surreal experience running around the bleak industrial estates of Swindon with the newly-crowned world record holder.  There were six of us in the lead pack for the first few miles before Jones eased away to win in around 66 minutes.  The team race was very exciting as we (Ranelagh Harriers) won by a single point with 3rd (Simon Collingridge), 4th (DW chasing down my flatmate) and 6th (Steve Pautard) ahead of Swindon Harriers (2nd, 5th, 7th).  Jones was running for the RAF; not only did he do the Half just seven days after Chicago but he'd also run a xc race for the RAF in the week.

Commonwealth Games & Piriformis Syndrome

With my piriformis syndrome injury (look it up) and subsequent two broken toes (don't ask) keeping me off the gallops, there was plenty of time to take in the Commonwealth Games on tv.  It has been quite a summer of sport on the box - Test cricket, Tour de France, World Cup, Open Golf - but it's hard to beat the raw nature of competitive athletics, that's if the BBC had deigned to actually show some, rather than dwell on labourious studio chat with inane grinning and ill-informed comment (the magnificent Michael Johnson aside).  Steve Cram was clearly annoyed when not being able to introduce the 800m athletes, even though they were on screen, because gobby Gabby was talking up the 'unbeatable' Rudisha.  (I say again ... ill-informed.)    Whilst on the BBC subject, I switched across to the red button a few times, in the hope of actually seeing some live athletics, only to have to listen to the appalling commentary of Kathryn Merry, who I'd have expected to be far more lucid.

Highlight for me was Shelley's superb pb win in the marathon, leaving a trail of Africans in his wake down the road.  Ever since the late George Thomas took me under his wing back in the 1970's, I have been an advocate of the Australian training methods.  They don't over-complicate things down under but merely decide what best structured weekly training suits the athlete and then stick to it 12 months a year, every year.  Sessions are hard, long runs are long but the other mileage-filling runs are at a very easy pace.  The top runners then prepare for specific races - Shelley shied away from the big city spring marathons this year - and perform at their best when needed.

On the track it was a bit worrying that no Britons won a gold medal (I don't count relays although where did Hudson-Smith appear from on that last stage?) at what is generally not the highest standard, notwithstanding the Jamaican sprinters and Kenyan distance runners.  There were some cracking races, though, with the men's 10,000 and 800 being particularly good to watch.  Where the BBC (not Cram or Johnson) got the idea that Rudisha only had to turn up to win the latter race is beyond me.  Amos had not only thrashed Rudisha in the recent Monaco Diamond League event in an impressive 1.42 and bits but was also only just behind the great man in his world record at the London Olympics (a race I viewed again this week as I watched the fascinating BBC3 documentary on Rudisha).  I was astonished to find out from old chum Rob Wise afterwards that Amos was a ridiculous 6-4 odds to win, money for old rope.

Glasgow seemed to put on a good show overall; the great British public never cease to amaze me with their attendance at sporting events.  In any other country the morning athletics would be sparsely populated with paying spectators, the events after all are just clearing out the dead wood before the main event, particularly in championships such as the CG where the standard drops alarmingly.  Yet each morning the stands were full.

One final thought: in the cycle road race on the last day of the Games, Geraint Thomas had a puncture in the last couple of miles, having opened up a big lead on the last lap.  It took an age for the neutral supplier to fit a new wheel but eventually he got going again and held on to win a thoroughly deserved gold medal.  The silver/bronze medal cyclists closed within 20 seconds or so of him before he got going and I wonder whether they would have let him win had they caught him.  It would have been a wonderful way for the CG to finish and I have a feeling that this may have happened, such is the mutual respect of the cycling fraternity.  Sadly we shall never know.


To finish, a snap from my last race.  I was already struggling with my hip problem but as it was a local race and I wanted to at least use the fitness I'd garnered over recent months before another lay-off, I decided to run, starting slowly and moving through the field.  It went well, especially overtaking Wendy, also taking it easy, after 3km.  My last run for a couple of months.
 



 

Back on the roads

The awards were presented by ascending age groups, eventually the moment came ...

The winner 

"first V55 and overall race winner ..."

there was an audible gasp from the assembled throng as I edged through to collect the trophy, grey hairs flowing in the wind.  Yes, an outright road race victory, my first in 20 years, well past my sell-by date but all the sweeter for that. I'd won the Horton Spring Bull Run, a lovely 4.3 mile race through undulating country lanes near Chipping Sodbury.

Two youngsters went haring off at the start, they told me afterwards that they clocked the first mile in 5.10, which is why I was nowhere near them.  I ambled along in their wake but quite quickly realised that one was quickly coming back to me; once I'd gone past him and got into a good rhythm, it was clear that the leader was also coming back. Sure enough I caught him at two miles, ran straight past him and didn't dare to look back for the rest of the race.  I won by two minutes!

Prior to Horton I ran two hard races on the roads.  Having enjoyed some off-roaders, I wanted to see how my fitness translated into standard distances.  The Maidenhead '10' has been going for 61 years and attracts a good field; this was going to be an excellent test so I decided to go out at a good pace rather that ease into the race and play 'catch-up'.  The plan worked well; it was so good to be in a competitive group early on - albeit a little frightening as I was unsure about whether I could sustain the pace - and the competitive juices flowed.  A final time of 60.54 was far better than anticipated (albeit a long way from the old training run adage of 'if it's an hour it must be 10 miles') and a real boost.

Two weeks later I lined up for the Worcester ½ Marathon at Sixways rugby stadium.  Recovery from Maidenhead hadn't been easy and I felt weary from the outset on a bumpy, rural course.  Apart from struggling on a couple of the hills, I maintained a fairly consistent pace and finished strongly for 6th place overall and another age group victory.  It's sad that a time of 82 minutes can be so high up in such a large field (c 800 finishers) but this old man isn't complaining. 

Where were the bluebells?

To get back into racing mode I thought a couple of off-roaders would set me up nicely.  Thus the last two weekends have involved some of the best countryside this fine land can produce.

Showing a clean pair of heels (literally) to Keith & Ed
at the start.  Gibbet can just be seen.

I last ran the Combe Gibbet to Overton '16' in 1990, yes 24 years ago.  It's a beautiful course taking in the Wayfarers and Test Way plus Watership Down, with some stunning views from the mainly high level tracks before dropping down into the Berkshire village of Overton.  Fellow mavericks Keith Firkin and Ed Morris - both building towards the Marlborough '33' in a few weeks - took the opportunity to join me and both appeared to enjoy it as much as I did despite some muddy conditions in places and an easterly head wind.

I did my usual thing with an easy start that saw me, according to later pictures, about 25th early on. Gradually picked off the faster starters, reaching my final finishing position of 9th by about halfway. Sixteen miles was a bit of a push for me but just when I started to struggle at around 12 miles a lady, to whom I will eternally be grateful, was dispensing jelly babies.  One of those sustained me through to the finish with muddied legs and blood pouring from my knee (no, no idea).  A highly recommended race.

A hundred metres left and both
feet off the ground!

Although it took a few days for my legs to recover - what a pleasure to be suffering from fatigue after a race, its been a long time - I was determined to have a go at the Bluebell 12km at Collingbourne Ducis, south of Marlborough, not least as Claudie is away in France for a week so I had time on my hands.  Good decision.

Heavy overnight rain plus a dose of logging by the Forestry Commission meant that the course was quite demanding, with deep muddied ruts making maintaining balance difficult at times.  It quickly became evident that the standard wasn't high as a threesome pulled away and I eased into fourth after my usual easy start.  I soon picked off the third place man although the top two were well clear at this stage.  By halfway I couldn't see another runner in front or behind, nor could I see any bluebells!  Sadly the wood had been decimated by the logging.  I felt stronger and stronger as the race progressed; I don't remember ever feeling so relaxed in a race.  Having caught a glimpse of the second man up ahead with a couple of miles to go I kicked on and pushed hard but was not quite able to catch him.  A real confidence booster none the less.

This weekend was made even better by hearing that my old running chum Rob Wise, making a comeback after many years away from the sport, cracked 20 minutes at a Parkrun yesterday and that Rachel Barber-Brock, whom I've been giving a little bit of advice recently, ran 3.05 at today's Manchester Marathon, a pb by 14 minutes.

Definitely time for a whisky with Mahler's 3rd thrown in.

The Bard

"In the highly unlikely event of a plane landing on the course during the race, please take evasive action."

Thus spoke the race director at the start of last Saturday's Shakespeare 10km on an old disused airfield near Stratford-upon-Avon.  I've heard some pretty strange things uttered on race start lines over the years, usually by mayors in their robes and chains or Norm Lane on top of a ladder at Bourton, but this was definitely a new one on me.  Apparently the airfield is still registered as such so would come into play in an emergency - I half expected MH370 to make an appearance - although given the numerous potholes around the course any sensible pilot would enschew the offer.

This was certainly a race with a difference, in fact four races in one; all on the start line together: 5km (1 lap), 10km (2), half marathon (4), marathon (8).  Sadly the race numbers didn't differentiate between distances so it was hard to work out who one was racing against.  The 5km 'lap' made life even more interesting consisting as it did of a star-like structure with five 'arms'.  Thus course was, essentially, out & back five times with a u-turn at the tip of each arm.  Of course the wind blew hard, making conditions pretty tough for all on the bleak flat landscape.  But it was fun; second guessing who was running what distance was intriguing and something I got totally wrong.  A negative split gave me a respectable time especially as I'd been laid low once again in the week leading up to the race with the consequences of eating cream cake (lactose intolerance kicked in with a vengeance).

With the race being on a Saturday, it was possible to get out for a decent long Sunday run just like the old days.  It is understandable that most road races have to be on Sundays these days but it does make life difficult for runners.  We were very lucky in years gone by when all races were on Saturdays: a good social with a few pints after the race then a long recovery run on Sunday morning made for the perfect weekend.

Weekends are so key in the training cycle of most runners who work full-time that they need to be utilised as best they can.  When I was at optimum mileage, my training week was set-up by how much I did on the weekend.  Typically it would go something like this:

Saturday: easy morning 5 miler; afternoon 2 mile warm-up, 8 mile race (mob match for example) at tempo pace, starting slowly, easing into the race, then running as I felt, 3 mile warm-down.  (Although I raced most weekends, most events were treated as tempo runs.)

Sunday: morning lsd of around 20 miles; late afternoon 3 mile recovery jog followed by large whisky, the Sunday papers and Rachmaninov's piano concerto blasting out on the stereo.

So, before getting into the working week a good 40 miles had already been ticked off.

Slaughter of the Heathens

Yes, still here.  This rarity, a blog from Wrighty, is dedicated to a Ranelagh chum David Rowe.  Not only does he openly admit to reading my efforts but he has a trigger on his system every time that the blog is updated.  Wow!  DR is a serial blogger himself as well as being an excellent photographer - the two go well together - so I should flag up his site for avid blog spotters: http://rowerunning.co.uk/  His musings from last year's Hawaii Ironman (Kona Diaries) are definitely worth scanning, especially for any others who, in DR's words, 'move across to the dark side of triathlon'.

Including school fixtures, of which there were many, I've been racing in Richmond Park for 45 years now, yet I've never seen it as wet as it was for the last of this season's mob matches against old rivals Blackheath Harriers.  Add in gale force winds, which at least conspired to blow the rain clouds away and avoid further topping-up, and conditions were tough in the extreme.  With a turnout of 75 we well and truly thrashed the Heathens for our first hat-trick of wins against them since 1923.

After another difficult winter for me, not helped by a tooth abscess necessitating root canal work, I was just glad to be able to run round at a half decent pace on the first half of each lap, before the aforementioned winds and puddles, that were more like sink-holes, dictated survival rather than competitive running was the name of the game.  Was pleased to beat Chris Owens for the first time this winter, albeit afterwards the 2013 V60 World Triathlon Champion said that he's currently training hard but doing little running.

My only Wynne Cup victory, unlikely though it seems at this early stage of SLH mob 1982.
Other Ranelagh: Riley, Harvey, Currie, Forrest, Hedger, McLachlan, Wise, Peace
Click on picture for enlarged view.

Ranelagh has had an excellent season: the men finished sixth in the highly competitive Surrey XC League Div 1; the women won promotion back to Div 1 and the club won three out of four mob matches, only losing very narrowly (one runner would have made the difference) to Orion Harriers.  A lot of credit has to go to the new club captain Phil Killingley - an appropriate winner against Blackheath and therefore Ranelagh club champion (the prestigious Wynne Cup) - and his team for instilling a great team spirit.  Not only are numbers turning out to the mobs but there's also an enthusiasm pervading the start line mass and support for fellow runners finishing down the field.  Members are turning out because they want to not because they've been press-ganged into running.  Wonderful to see.