The beauty of our sport seen from a different angle

Running, by its very nature, is an insular sport.  There is no passing of the ball to a teammate; calling your partner for a run; tackling your opponent; or reacting to a volley from across the net.  Just you and the distance to cover as fast as possible and ahead of as many as feasible.  This insularity means that although we chat about each others performances over tea and a bun, or a pint, we are really only interested in our own result and next race.  Being injured and old (maybe even wise now) I've been able to see the sport from a different aspect in recent times.  I've watched races; cajoled willing athletes to train hard, both on Tuesday nights through the winter on the Chesterton circuit and the odd Saturday on the Royal Agricultural College's manicured lawns; helped a few people with some sage advice; and even written some bits & bobs for Cirencester's website and Facebook pages and for Ranelagh (readers, await my piece on how running has changed over 25 years, it will be published soon ...).


Today was a classic example: with Claudie away in France for a week visiting her mother, I had some spare time so offered to support Ed Morris in his annual attempt at the Marlborough Downs Challenge, a 33 miler taking in some fabulous countryside, including the Ridgeway, Tan Hill Way, the famous White Horse, Kennet & Avon canal, Devizes, Avebury's ancient stone circle, and the venerable Marlborough College.  I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.  I first saw the athletes come through after just a couple of miles, by which time they were already well spread out: as well as Ed running with his brother, down from Yorkshire, at this stage, Cirencester fielded Andy Hindson, Rupert Chesmore and the evergreen Liza Darroch ("I just hope I don't get lost" she uttered to me), seen here running up through a bluebell wood.  For me it was an exercise of logistics not of running - at the same time I had a real desire to be out there running in the beautiful surroundings whilst also knowing that I didn't envy what lay ahead - as well as numerous big climbs the early morning sunshine was forecast to turn into squally showers on an already windy day.

Apart from a few strategic arrows, the course is not marked so the onus is on the runner to navigate around (there are nine checkpoints, so no short cuts).  Despite not running in the race and having plenty of time to study my OS map, Wrighty made a navigational error!  I decided to watch the leaders drop down to the canal just north of Devizes, in a village called Horton.  Sure enough I found the village and the bridge on the canal, so parked up, checked my map, filled my pocket with jelly beans and took Ed's water bottle.  It was a mile jog along the canal to the swing bridge where I'd pick up the runners, the idea to be then to run the mile with Ed back to my car.  I waited at the bridge for the three leaders coming through after about 13 miles, they ran over the bridge and turned right along the towpath - I'd run from the path going in the opposite direction!  Had the leaders gone off course?  I almost signalled for them to turn left but thought better of it - good decision Wrighty as I'd picked the wrong bridge, there are two in Horton!

I didn't want to get involved in any traffic in Devizes, so whilst the leaders negotiated that stretch before the long haul home, I took the opportunity to find another excellent spot to watch the others coming through at 12 miles.  Thence to Avebury by car before turning back along the A4, parking up and walking a good couple of miles back up towards the monument atop Cherhill Down.  Eventually the lead runners could be seen as dots on the horizon: despite being 23 miles into the race there were still three runners within a couple of hundred metres, although it appeared that one had gone off course whilst in the lead.  Soon enough Ed appeared over the hill, smiled for the camera (see shot) and we ran together for a couple of miles, his metronomic pace helping him to pick up one runner and close in on another.  I saw him once more with just a couple of weary miles to go - a few jelly beans passed between us - before I departed desperate for the mundane need of fuel for my car, what a metaphor for what I'd seen today compared to the lives we lead.

Bobbing head & Iron Lady

So it appears that the great Paula Radcliffe's (PR) racing days might be over.  It's always sad when such an iconic figure bows out; especially so when the timing isn't all it should be because of injury.  PR's career was pretty special, winning World Championships on the track, road and cross country; competing in five Olympic Games (with a best of 4th); European and Commonwealth gold medals and records; plus sundry world records on the road, the stand out performance being her amazing 2:15:25 at London 10 years ago on 13 April 2003.

Sadly, of course, she'll be remembered for all the wrong reasons.  The Athens Olympic Games of 2004 was the start of the vilification of PR after she dropped out of the marathon.  The gold medal had been virtually hung around her neck before she started the race, such was her domination of the sport at that time, but an injury just before the Games, together with her reaction in her stomach - the runners nightmare - to the anti-inflammatories and the intense heat of the Greek summer, all contributed to her not finishing.  She got a hammering from the press and public, most unfairly in my view, and in many ways was never quite the same again.

An incident in 2001 tells us a lot about PR and helps to show what went wrong in recent years.  Straight after finishing 4th in the Edmonton Commonwealth Games 10,000, missing a medal by less than a second, she and her husband Gary Lough, a top athlete himself, had a raging argument on the track in front of the whole crowd and millions watching on tv.  He wasn't happy with the way she ran her race, having effectively ignored what had been discussed in advance and paid the price.  PR was stubborn ...

This might seem a bit radical but in many ways PR became the sporting equivalent of the late Maggie Thatcher in politics.  They both ended up being more important than those around them and thus decided to do everything in their own blinkered way ... with disastrous consequences.  On the face of it distance running is not a complicated sport, it's not rocket science as someone once put to me.  Granted, that is true in many ways - although in that case why are there so few decent runners around these days compared to the past - but at the highest levels just slight adjustments can make all the difference.  The job of a good coach / mentor is to monitor this balance, it can't be done by the blinkered & driven individual who can't see the wood for the trees.

One example to finish: last summer before the Olympics (and before she'd withdrawn from the British team), PR ran in a money-making half marathon handicap race in Vienna against Haile Gebrselassie - she started about seven minutes ahead of him, based on their pb's - her only race in 2012, a crazy decision made even worse by the fact that she was still on antibiotics following an infection.  Somebody in her team or UK Athletics should have told her not to run but she did and suffered accordingly.  That was the story of her career for most of the last few years.

Rarer almost than a hen's tooth

When I first joined Ranelagh in the mid 1970's - I was, of course, very young at the time - I found it hard to understand why we raced against Orion Harriers every season in a mob match.  The races were so one-sided, in our favour, that it felt like the All Blacks up against Nether Wallop's extra 'C' team.  It didn't matter so much for our biannual home fixture in Richmond Park but in the days before the M25 was built, it was a real trek across London on a Saturday, via such salubrious spots as Leytonstone, to reach Epping Forest and then find it was a no-contest as Ranelagh invariably had the first 10 finishers home.  (This was on the basis that said 10 runners had managed to stay on the course, never easy when it was marked by bio-degradable orange paper in the midst of the forest's autumn fall; one year the top six all arrived at the finish from different directions).  The one saving grace to me at the time was the always enjoyable supper in the evening washed down with beer, risible jokes and singing.

The fortunes of running clubs are cyclical however; in recent years Orion have been dominant, not just against Ranelagh but the other mob match clubs as well.  That's the beauty of long standing contests like mob matches.  Take Ranelagh v Blackheath for example ...

In February Ranelagh won on Blackheath's tough course at Hayes in Kent.  Scoring 28 a side we prevailed relatively narrowly thanks, in part, to a great start with nine of the first 11 finishers, led by my fellow Cirencester man Chris Illman, who thus defended the F B Thompson medal as first man home (see picture, I'm on there in the deep and distant past).

There was something special about this win, it was Ranelagh's first on Blackheath's course since 1971.  No, I didn't run that year but Steve Rowland, Ranelagh's current president, ran both races and Alan Hedger, who always attends mob matches, was there having run 42 years ago.  There had been an even bigger celebration in 1971 as that was the first away win since 1922!  Yes, Blackheath have always been the dominant club and still lead the overall series 70-23, the race having started in 1907.  But Ranelagh is slowly turnng this round with an 8-6 lead since 2000, so it could be said that we are doing an Orion on Blackheath.  That's why I run mob matches despite only having one functioning leg.

This picture appeared in Athletics Weekly
the week after the race; my second image in
the magazine in 45 years of running.

Sadness and hope

Sadly the year started with another death of a friend from Ranelagh.  Mike Rowland was a lovely man who shared my love of cricket and running.  We also had something else in common, race walking: when I wasn't good enough for the 1500m team at school, my long legs were drafted into the 1500m race walking event instead and I promptly won the borough and county titles.  I know, most will say that I still race walk given my lack of knee lift - just being efficient folks - and sometimes I wish I'd kept at it because I'm sure there would have been openings at the highest level.  Trouble was that I never really enjoyed it.  Mike drifted into walking after running cross country.  Having run a couple of London Marathons, he then proceeded to race walk them each year, collecting 26 finishers medals for his troubles and leaving plenty of "runners" in his wake.  His daughter has been granted a late place in this year's London in memory of Mike.  He'll be sadly missed.

Despite only running 13 miles in January, I feel a corner has been turned.  Some long standing issues appear to be getting resolved and although my Achilles problem is still and, frankly, always will be with me, I feel mentally fresh and positive.  I'm enjoying taking the Tuesday evening sessions at Cirencester AC - despite the bitter weather - and got a lot of pleasure from watching the club utterly dominate the Oxford League cross country fixture at Swindon Lawns, a technical testing course full of twists & turns, hills and mud. Our ladies embarrassed the opposition with 1st, 2nd & 4th (Wendy Nicholls, Jo Emery & Jane Wassell) in the three to score event; the men also swept to victory led by Chris Illman and Adrian Williams.

Despite a theoretically dry month in January - I had, after all, to try to fend off impending weight gain as a consequence of aforementioned 13 miles - wine and beers did pass my lips.  There were two birthdays to celebrate on the same day, although I spread them out somewhat.  January 20th was the big day with the joint celebrants being my lovely, long suffering, lady wife Claudie and epic Facebook blogger Paul Barlow.

Claudie and Cathie Cowell enjoying

Cirencester Park in mid-winter

I also had a glass or two with Natalie when in London after she'd given me the grand tour of the ITN studios.  It was quite surreal to see and be introduced to a number of reporters and news readers who are normally faces on the screen but here were just like any other office workers going about their daily jobs.

Onwards & upwards!

Basta!

My old running mate Gavin Jones is a sensible chap. A few years back I cajoled the old boy back into the sport after too long in the wilderness; he ended up winning the World Masters V50 marathon title in Sacramento in 2011 and has rewritten all Ranelagh's V50 records.  He even ran a 100km race, on a whim (!), this year "because he'd never done one before and he wanted to know what it was like".

None of the above sounds that sensible but he's now seen the light: Gavin lives in Rome; Basta in Italian means 'enough is enough'.  Over the last few years, the pair of us have been swapping messages about the ravages of time and how our bodies are breaking down.  We've had remarkably similar ailments: Achilles, adductors, abdomen (the good old AAA's).  I keep trying to make comebacks; he's made one and is now packing up his racing shoes for good (or so he says).  As I say, what a sensible chap.

I am not sensible, if I was then Basta would be in my vocabulary by now and I would be on the golf course.  With immense patience - certainly more than Roman Abramovich ever reveals - my training has been built up very carefully over the last 18 months: just small incremental increases in weekly mileage; no speedwork; good warm-up/down with each run; regular stretching and specific exercises etc.  It brought results, with a modicum of race fitness returning, but it couldn't last ...

Despite a prevailing ache in my Achilles, there was a mob match to be run just before Christmas.  I turned up at a very sodden Richmond Park, started very slowly alongside Andy Bickerstaff who was complaining of one of his worrying irregular heart rate episodes - makes my problems banal in the extreme - and started to enjoy the run.  Sadly, Andy called it a day early on (Basta!) but I ploughed on, picking off faster starters despite two weeks of idleness ahead of the race, and without putting in any effort.  My only aim was to get round, time and position were irrelevant.

With less than two miles to go I was cruising along in contemplation of my imminent first pint of London Pride at The Roebuck on Richmond Hill, when suddenly I felt what seemed like a stone had been hurled at the back of my ankle.  My Achilles had 'popped'.  I had no choice but to walk to the finish, or rather limp, stopping at each deep, cold puddle to immerse my ankle in the icy depths.

My fear was a partial rupture, such was the intensity of the initial 'pop' and ensuing pain, but my trusted and experienced physio in Cirencester, Helen Hall, examined me carefully and was convinced that it's only a scar tissue problem that should be sorted by ultrasound, deep massage, Kinesio tape and heel raise work plus some steady exercise bike work to maintain general fitness.  Three weeks down the line, my mileage for 2013 stands at zero but I have completed 150km on my bike, burning off a lot of the Christmas excess.  I'm certainly a lot more comfortable walking around and might even try to jog for five minutes in a week or two.

Next is Blackheath's tough course, can I get round?

And so the process starts again ... 

So who is the sensible one: Gavin or Wrighty?

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!"