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.