Why can't we British learn to be proud of ourselves?

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The mere posting of this picture will have caused many English people to flinch then shake their heads at me.

In Britain one does not simply "Blow one's own trumpet".....

A while ago I posted the offending picture, above, of my home made medal display on to facebook. I couldn't decide whether it was naff or not so I thought I would shout the question in to the huge empty hole that is facebox. Of course, I managed to forget that most of my friends are English. This means that my posting the picture was seen as huge, in-your-face boasting.

Cue the ribbing....

"Don't be that guy"

"Home-made"

"Show-off"

"Impressively naff"

Of course, being English, the ribbing was good natured leg-pulling that wasn't meant to offend, but it did bring up an interesting issue: Why can't we British be proud of our achievements? And of course, this isn't confined to running; academic achievement or in fact, any sort of personal accomplishment is right in there.

(I should also mention that a couple of people did say well done and there was nothing wrong with being proud, but the overwhelming response was mickey-taking)

Hardly anyone I know displays their medals, and if they do, they are somewhere very inconspicuous. Most people I know put them in a drawer, never to see the light of day. Even wearing a race t-shirt is seen as boasting by some. 

When I started running again I charted my improvement on facebook especially each time I lowered a PB. At first that was ok, my times were slow enough that people didn't see it as boasting, but as I got faster, that changed. I, of course, didn't notice this subtle change. If I had to have a guess, I would say it started about the time I got down to 45 minutes for 10k.

Eventually someone told me that I "Wanted people to know that I took my running seriously" I didn't know what they meant. But apparently mentioning my times was interpreted that way. As I was finishing over 10 minutes behind the winners in any given race, it didn't occur to me that people would see it as boasting. To me, my times are nothing special and I maintain that. My 10k PB, although one I am very proud of, saw me finishing outside the top 500 of the race I set it in! Dominic, my frequent race day buddy's PBs are far faster than mine and even one of my best friends, Mark, who isn't a runner, but just very fit, can kick my arse in a 10k. These are the sort of people that are interested in my times and if I don't mention them, they ask, as I do with them. We take pleasure in each other's progress.

I "won" these for running up and down a big hill twice. Not the socks, I just wore them, that'd be weird

Then I discovered something really odd; people don't mind you saying that you broke your PB on facebook, providing you don't mention the time, but if someone asks you your time, it's fine to mention it.

I know, weird eh?

Another odd thing is that if I posted my garmin page link to a training run and mentioned it didn't go well, I received messages along the lines of "I'd be really pleased to run that speed, you should be happy"

It seems if you are faster than someone else, you are supposed to be happy with your time, even if it doesn't represent an improvement on your times or is even a step back. The funny thing is, they clearly judge themselves against me and my times, but I don't judge myself by the many people who finish in front of me. I simply don't care. I race against my own times only, and occasionally another runner if they are finishing near me and that's about it!

So I have learned to be self-deprecating about my times and my running, that way people don't misinterpret me and think I have suddenly decided my times are somehow good despite never finishing anywhere near a podium!

So it's an odd situation. I work very hard to keep my running progressing. This month has been one of my hardest ever, I am still coming back from the rib injury caused by falling and am not back to where I was. I have run 40 miles in the last week, garmin informs me, which is my most ever, that's how bad I want to get back to it. My PBs, race t-shirts, gummy bears, beer, mug, scars, flatter stomach and medals are hard won. Why can't I be proud of these without people thinking I am boasting? It probably explains why it's not easy to buy things to display your medals in Britain and it costs an arm and a leg for the ones you can get without economy of scale.

So here it comes, catharsis; let's break that wall down. A list of my PBs: 

5k- 19:26

10k - 39:27

1/2 Marathon 1:34:33

Marathon 3:17:45

And I am proud of these times.

And I am almost certain that lots of people now think this whole blog entry is just an excuse to post my PBs. I shouldn't bother to defend this, but I will mention that links to my garmin page are all over this blog so I wouldn't need to go to the trouble as they're all on there!

Wow, that was hard, and lots of my friends hate me now. (Don't worry, none of my friends read this, I know it's only you out there, spambot)

So what is wrong with mentioning these times? As long as I don't bring them up every 2 minutes or interrupt you telling me about your heart operation to tell you them, what is the harm?

The next step- moving my medal display out of the corner in the kitchen where it is seen by only me. I'll never move it over the mantel piece though!

Questions for you:

1) What PB are you most proud of?

2) Have you been accused of boasting?

3) Where do you keep your medals and other winnings?

Race review: Stirton fell race 10th of July 2013

Google earth really fails to capture the elevation of this route. That's 2D pictures for you.

On a hot day in July I entered my 2nd ever fell race at Stirton, near Skipton organised by Keighley and Craven AC. Like a lot of fell races, it basically involved this:
"Ey lad, see ' big hill over theer?"
"Aye"
"Run up it"
"Reet"
"Back down it"
"Aye"
"Round the back"
"Ok"
"Back up it again"
"Yup"
"Then back here"
"Reet, Ah'll see thee later, get me one in"

Once again I wasn't fully fit, the ribs aren't getting worse, but they aren't getting fully better either and on Wednesday mornings I finish a 9 hour night shift at 7am, so I wasn't full of high-hopes, I was just going to enjoy myself.

After much to-do involving meeting in a car park, facebook messages from Fellandalers pulling out and a lovely drive through Yorkshire, Carl and I arrived in Stirton, a tiny village that was now taken over with fell runner's cars. I queued up for my number and paid £3. I chatted briefly to another runner who wished me well and asked how I did after the race, a lovely, friendly touch.

A while later, with absolutely no to-do, we set off up a country lane towards the hill that would be our torturer. It's name is Sharp Haw (no childish giggling now) The starter didn't give us any spiel at all, there was no starting line and no air horn. Off we went.

The first part on the road isn't very steep so I maintained a decent pace as we trotted along. As always, I decided I needed to get in some decent speed while I could. The route turned off the road and Sharp Haw loomed in to view, looking menacing. I knew next to nothing about the route of the race, which was perhaps for the best. I over heard someone say the second ascent would be hard. A least I now knew there was going to be a second ascent.

I managed to keep running until I was about half way up the first time, but then slowed to a walk. I was the first person around me to start walking, and this time, it wasn't as fast as the people around me who were still running. I tried to maintain as quick a walk pace as I could, but I was already dying and sweat was dripping off me like a faulty shower.

Mercifully the top of Sharp Haw arrived and I threw myself in to the descent. The runners in front of me had opened up a substantial gap of a few hundred metres, but I slowly reeled them in and by the time we started the second ascent, I had over taken a few of them. They returned the compliment soon after when I had to walk up hill again. Each time there was a flat or down hill section I would catch the runners in front with relative ease, but they would then pull away on the up hill as I just couldn't keep running. 

By the time the top of Sharp Haw arrived again I was desperate for some down hill and off I plunged, once again catching the runners in front. We didn't have to return right to the start point in the village so the finish arrived quickly, in a field, next to the van they had used as the race office.

My prizes for finishing have to be the favourite race rewards I have ever received and here they are with the once-white socks I wore on the day:

One of the most fun parts of the day was chatting to Simon afterwards, who, unbeknownst to me, had been hot on my heels the whole way around. He had nearly caught me on each ascent, but had watched me pull away on the descents. He had witnessed my not-quite-long-enough leap over a bog that soaked my right foot and blackened my socks as I staggered and spluttered my way around.  It's an odd and pleasing feeling to know a good runner like Simon sees me as a target and to know I am spurring him on to faster running.
We also chatted to Carl and Christine, other members of Fellandale about their races and the upcoming Leeds 10k after cheering them through the finish.

I had gone out a little slower in this race than at the Otley fell race in an attempt to keep running up the hills, but it hadn't even nearly worked. I like to think I am a brave descender and able to move quickly when going downhill but I really need to keep working on the ascents. If I can get to the point where I am running up hill for the majority of the time, my overall pace is going to improve dramatically.
I finished 46th out of 98 in a time of 47:37 Simon finishing a minute and 22 behind me. The winner clocked 37:04. At least I was in the top half, and they kindly knocked 3 years off my age too. I must look young. Yes, that's it. I look young.

Here's the run on Garmin connect. As is my recent tradition, I forgot to turn my GPS off at the end so ignore the time.

All in all a really enjoyable and friendly no-frills fell race, just the type I hope to be doing for many years to come.

Run review: The classic Malham round with an extra twist

The stunning Malham Cove.

A Friday off work and with the world my running lobster, I decided to set off for Malham, a truly beautiful corner of the world. I have walked the classic Malham round on many occasions and the appeal of running in "the wilds" without navigating was very appealing. The classic round is not much more than 6 miles however, so I decided to extend it somewhat. A trip round the back of the tarn seemed to fit the bill.

Usually, the round is thus: From Malham to the cove. Up the 300+ steps to the top. Along one of the valleys to the tarn. Lunch at the waterside, then down through Gordale scar, along past Janet's Foss and back to Malham. I didn't feel that 6 miles would justify an hour's drive so I decided to add on a little "getting lost" session behind the tarn to extend the run to about 10 miles. I know my way around part of the back of the tarn (It's only one path, it'd be tough to get lost) but didn't know exactly how to keep going right around the back then join up with the path back to the cove. Still, it didn't look that hard. I decided to do the route in the opposite direction to usual, that way I would be able to take the path I knew around the back of the tarn and then find my way from there. What could possibly go wrong?

I could forget my map.

But I would never be stupid enough to do that, would I? Hmmmmm, good job I committed it to my photographic memory before I set off *cough*

Malham: Yorkshire cliche No5.

 Having avoided the wooly "traffic" in Malham, I set off for the Janet's Foss. This involved a run down a track that follows the side of a lovely stream and through a forest. Even though I wasn't running fast and the way was easy and flat, I was already blowing quite hard soon in to the run. It had to be due to there being some actual heat for once!  I started to receive the first of many odd looks I got from the walkers that day. It wasn't that long ago I was one of those walkers looking with incredulity at the runners. I didn't pass a single other runner the whole day.

On my way to Janet's Foss. The wild garlic was out in force

It's not far to Janet's Foss but by the time I got there I already needed a rest, so I stopped and took some photos and had a drink.

Janet's Foss is a little waterfall if you didn't know. Faeries live here. Yes they do.

The next stop was Gordale scar, also, not very far away. I have never climbed up the scar, only down, so it would be a new experience. The scar is very dry at the moment, so I knew that it wouldn't be too difficult.

Shame there is nothing in this pic for scale; to give you an idea, the bottom waterfall is probably about a 30ft drop

The climb proved quite easy with the lack of water and was great fun as always. 

The view from the second, higher waterfall looking down through the scar.

On reaching the second waterfall there is a long set of rough-hewn steps to negotiate before running along a valley to the tarn. The climb up the scar and the steps isn't for the faint-hearted and I have scared the life out of several people with it, but in reality, it's really not very hard; if you've ever climbed at all, you wouldn't struggle and I have got several people down through it who have never climbed before.

The run continued through the gorgeous countryside in glorious sunshine and it wasn't very long before I arrived at the tarn.

It wasn't actually dull, but I can't be arsed to correct the light in photoshop

As I got around the "back" of the tarn, I stopped at a beautiful viewing point and had a bite to eat and a drink. The clif bar went down especially well. The deuter waist pack is just large enough to carry the things I need on a warm day.

Nom, nom, as they say, nom

Now it was time for the adventure to start; find my way around the back of the tarn with only the magnets in my head and a vague recollection of a map to go by. I basically navigated by heading in the direction I thought the cove was. Amazingly, it worked and I soon found the road I needed and headed down the valley towards the cove.

The valley isn't very long and I soon hit the famous limestone pavement.

The limestone walk is slippery as the Devil's banana skin in winter, but this day it was dry and easy to run on. The cove itself is, essentially, a giant cliff. Once upon a time it was a waterfall bigger than Niagara, but that was a few thousand years ago, so I missed it.

The view from the top of the cove is stunning.

The looks of incredulity increased tenfold as I ran down the steps of the cove but everyone was very kind in making sure they gave me enough room to get by.  

 Looking back up from the bottom of the cove steps. These are just the first few....

 Always nice to linger at the bottom of the cove.

A quick trot across the ancient stone bridge and I was on the path back to Malham, which was getting a bit over grown.

I was happy to provide a moving buffet for a variety of flying insects as I moved along the path and they certainly dined out. Hope I was tasty.

The run back to Malham flew by and I settled down in one of the local cafes after discovering it wasn't possible to buy a newspaper in Malham!

The moist carrot cake was absolutely delicious and even better, the waitress decided the last 2 pieces of it were too small so gave me both to make one giant slice. Maybe I looked like I need it after 10 miles.

The local wildlife is very friendly/cheeky.

Malham is a truly beautiful place to run and navigation is pretty easy, which is always a bonus to me! I picked a lovely, if rather hot, day. Bonus! If you haven't been to Malham yet, why not?

Here's the run wot I did, as seen in google earth.

My Garmin had a strange freak-out and decided that I had also run back to Leeds afterwards and drew it on the map, yet didn't add the distance. Odd. But here's the run on Garmin connect

Race Review: The Humber Bridge Half Marathon 30th June 2013

We ran over this. Jealous? You should be.

Awesome- In the true sense of the word

If you've driven east along the M62 until it becomes the Clive Sullivan way, in Hessle, near Hull, you will have experienced the sense of awe as the Humber bridge appeared in the distance, filling your vision, and dropping your jaw open.
Majestically, this breath-taking structure strides out over a mile across the Humber estuary, landing (or taking off, depending on your point of view) in Barton-Upon-Humber in Lincolnshire. Finally finished in 1981, 7 years over-due and millions over budget, I stood on the approach to the bridge as a 6 year old watching the Queen shuffle past me, close enough to throw some rotten fruit at. Unfortunately I didn't have the presence of mind to shout "Get a job you tax-dodging, inbred sponger!" but still.

Each of the 2 towers of the bridge climbs to over 500ft, scraping the very sky and visible for miles around. My favourite statistic about the bridge is that the towers are 2 inches further apart at the top than  the bottom, because of the curvature of the earth. That's how vast it is. Weighing over 500,000 tonnes in total and with 44,000 miles of suspension cable, it sways up to 10ft in high winds (Don't worry, it's supposed to!) Jeremy Clarkson once famously said of the bridge, "It's just like the Golden gate bridge in America, only bigger."
When driving towards Kingston Upon Hull, where I grew up, and for all those people who also did, the sight of the Humber bridge announces that you are home. And what a truly magnificent sight to greet those lucky East Yorkshire folk.
When built, the Humber Bridge was the longest single span suspension bridge in the world and remained so for the next 16 years. Although it has now been relegated to number 7, it is still the largest bridge in the world that you can walk and cycle over on the purpose built paths ether side of the bridge.

Perhaps now you've grasped some of the excitement I felt at finally being able to take part in the Humber Bridge half marathon. I had been meaning to enter for years but something had always managed to get in the way. One of my motivations for taking running up again a few years ago was wanting to emulate my brother who has 2 Humber Bridge medals. My Dad also ran the Humber Bridge marathon twice before the event was consigned to history.

No race of halves

The race itself starts at 9am as an attempt to avoid the worst of the heat (if there actually is any) so it was a very early start from Leeds to arrive in time. I assumed that the Clive Sullivan would have a queue down the slip road to Hessle so didn't want to risk missing the start. As it turns out the queue started much farther up, but I avoided it with my local knowledge and parked up 10 minutes away to enable my legs to warm up with a brisk walk.
Underneath the bridge is a very large country park and a vast, under-used car park area where the race village had been set up. It's traditional for me to complain about the toilets at every race, but this was a particularly large "intercourse at height". The queues for all 7ish (not an exaggeration) of the loos was huge. At least they'd had the forethought to put in some urinals for the men to ease the congestion a little. I hate to imagine what it would have been like without them. After waiting in the queue for 10 minutes and realising that there was no way I would reach the front in time, I nipped in to the thankfully plentiful bushes. I know, I know, TMI.

I had been warned about the notoriously tough course for this race with the killer hill at about 9 miles and adding this to my lack of training due to the still-sore rib injury, I knew a PB was never going to be on. The long-awaited summer heat would also be another toughening factor.
Eventually the runners lined up on Ferriby road that crosses underneath the bridge on the Hessle side. I turned around to look back and the dip of the road afforded me a fantastic view of pretty much all 2000 runners, apparently a record field. I had taken pain killers to dull the inevitable pain from my ribs and hoped they would last the race out.
The race is pretty much uphill for the first 3-4 miles. The course starts with a loop around to the approach road for the bridge before hitting the bridge itself, so basically, all uphill. Standing still on the start line I was sweating, so by the time I hit the not-so-subtle hill that is the bridge itself, I was already struggling. I have seen the amazing view from the bridge on many occasions and felt the feeling of vertigo when staring upwards from the bottom of the towers, so I perhaps wasn't as distracted by the setting as a first timer might be. I could do nothing to stop myself concentrating on just how difficult this was feeling and how my ribs still hurt.
Towards the south end of the bridge there was a brief respite from the climb before hitting what I felt was the worst hill of the day- the slip road up to the roundabout above Barton. It was interesting, as always, to see the way different runners took this hill, some over taking me and some falling behind me.
Left at the top of the slip road at the roundabout and down a long, long, looooooooooong hill in to Barton, followed by a loop around this pretty little market town. Usually a long descent like this would have me shouting, "Free speed!!" and hitting it as hard as I could to make up for the slow ascent, but today, I felt I had to save some for later and I just didn't have it in me. At this point the sun was really beating down and I grabbed water at every water stop, a thing which I don't usually do, but I needed to wet my mouth. Mercifully the route through Barton is flat once you've got down the first hill.

And so it continues

The miles ground on and the thought of the hill at 9 miles was playing on my mind. In my only other 1/2 marathon, the Great North Run last year, I had been wondering when it would feel hard. I had cruised along for mile after mile feeling fantastic. This one was the polar opposite. I wondered if it would feel easy at any point, if I would fall in to that wonderful rhythm-place where it feels so easy that I could carry on for ever. It didn't happen. But at least I knew about the giant hill to come and it wouldn't come as a surprise to me.

Hilly? Naaaaah

Turning down Far Ings road, a Barton resident had set up a hose pipe from the front door of his terraced house which many runners took advantage of- hope he's not on a water meter! A little further down the road another Bartonian shouted offers of "Magic beans for the hill" They were jelly beans, natch. I declined as I find it hard to chew on the run, but she did make me laugh.

Under the bridge again, this time on the south side when up popped Gravel Pit Lane, so named because when you've run up it, you want to be buried in a gravel pit. I heard the hill referred to by many scary names on the day - "3 hill mile", "Killer hill", "Cardiac hill" and some just referred to it in expletives.
As I started up this hill, the runner next to me looked up and exclaimed, "Oh shit! This wasn't in my training plan!"
"Don't worry," I said, "It gets worse"
I started slowly and turned down the proffered wet sponges half way up. 3/4 of the way up I suddenly realised I could run faster and I started to over take a few people, but I wasn't sorry to see the end of the hill. A quick jaunt back to the roundabout followed and down the other slip road and once again back on to the bridge to face the deceptive curve, with the end now in sight.
Once again I was trundling along very slowly, but as the bridge went on I got a little stronger. I started to speed up and began over-taking people who had sped past me ten minutes beforehand. There were people littering the path who had clearly "hit the wall" and were struggling badly, perhaps deceived by the "easy" hill of the bridge.

Excuse me Sir, but do you know your race route looks a little bit, erm, well........phallic

At the end of the bridge the route curves sharply left and I found myself running alone. The crowd on the corner gave me a huge, galvanising cheer and I could have hugged every one of them. Just the sprint back down to the car park and the finish to go. Pretty much all the crowd gathers at the finish and it feels good to run through them at the end.
My time at the GNR last year had been 1:34, pretty pleasing on my first ever half and at the Manchester marathon I had turned around at 1:35, so I had every reason to believe that I would do ok here. Sadly, given the rib injury curtailing my training and the fact it was still bothering me on the day, I came in at 1:37. Another race to put in to my all-too-bulging folder marked "Not too bad, all things considered."

The winnings

Here's me finishing at about 22:50 on the video, running like a hippo, only slightly less graceful.
http://youtu.be/ZZblY6nyElM?t=22m45s

Overall race impression:

I know I always complain about lack of loos, but this time it was ridiculous and really needs to be sorted.
The route itself is incredible, especially if you've never been to the Humber Bridge before, but it is challenging and don't expect a PB, it's just too hilly and the chances are it will be a hot day at the end of June.
The crowd is sparse and subdued, especially on the south side in Barton, but the finish makes up for it a little. The race village is excellent with a great atmosphere and plenty of stalls so you can fill your face with food afterwards.
I did wonder how the rotary club manage to undertake such a huge organisational nightmare for only 2000 runners and still make a profit, but the long list of sponsors on the back of the t-shirt explains that. And fair play to them for attracting that many backers!
It's a little disappointing that the t-shirt is cotton and not tech material, but the race is cheap to enter so you can't complain too much and the medal is more than acceptable.
All in all The Humber Bridge Half Marathon is a fantastic race to have under your belt.