Race review: Belper Rugby Rover 30k trail race

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2 weeks ago I was planning on embarking on a long run. It was going to end up being a relatively boring street-pounder from my front door, until I heard about the Belper Rugby Rover; a race organised by the Belper Rugby Union club. 30km (18.5m) entirely off-road around Derbyshire and a 1.5 hours drive from me. It seemed perfect. Why not?! Oh yeah, maybe because the furthest trail run I've ever done is 6 miles and the furthest I've run recently is 13.5 miles. Ah well, what could possibly go wrong? Storm, plague and death knowing my luck.

If you haven't worked out that this is the route, then stop reading my blog and go away

I contacted Dom to see if he would be up for this at very short notice. To my surprise, he was. Plans were made for me to stay at his in Hull on Saturday, then travel from there to Belper the following morning.

On Saturday night, after a too-speedy 8km around Hull (it's impossible to get Dom to do our "warm up" runs slowly), we popped in to the Rugby Tavern for a couple of pints. Wonderfully it's a Samuel Smith's pub, which is some of my favourite beer. And it was in the pub, whilst playing pool that I had my oddest injury ever.
Suddenly, with no warning, my left knee began to hurt. A lot. A small spot on the inner aspect of my knee, just above the knee cap began to hurt. I hadn't twisted it or walked in to anything. It just started hurting, apropos of nothing. I did a deep squat to try to stretch it out thinking it might just be an odd muscle spasm, but that just made it hurt even more. 5 minutes later it began to ease off. I could put full weight through it without any problems but the actually site of it was very, very tender to the touch. I have suffered no knee pain since my chronic (2 decade-old) knee pain disappeared 2 years ago when I received some decent physio.

That night in bed the knee pain woke me up at about 3am. I began to wonder if I would actually be able to run.

In the morning the tenderness was still there. I decided not to think about it and set off. The drive went smoothly, (Although pressing the clutch was interesting) until we arrived at Belper. We had looked up the postcode of the rugby club where the run finished and started. Somehow, however, we had managed to get the post code for the address for postal entries and arrived at someone's house. Cue quick googling whilst Dom's stress levels began to rise rapidly. Luckily we were close to the rugby club as Belper is pretty small and arrived in good time whereupon we parked next door in a hospital car park where we were directed.

We quickly sussed out our "competition" also known as, "checking out what everyone else is carrying and wearing"
Most people seemed not to be carrying water or wearing too much. A lot of people wore road trainers.
I selected a vest, my Salomon trail shoes and my shades from the pile of "everything-from-Arctic-to-tropical wear". I reasoned that my trainers were good on the road too, so they should be fine. It was a mistake, but more of that later.

 The race director gave us a pre-race briefing and the police escorted us around to the road where the race was due to start. I spotted Dom on the line after losing him between signing up and getting my race number and listening to the briefing.

Off we went and the field set off at a sprint. I wondered why? Did they know something we didn't? The answer was a resounding yes. During the first mile there are lots of bottle necks, mainly in the form of stiles.
Dom and I ended up queueing on more than one occasion. The sprinters had avoided most of the queueing.

You can just see me looking down starting the GPS watch

The usual discussion had taken between Dom and I about race pacing the night before and continued on the drive there. It went as it always does. I talk about taking it easy because of the previously mentioned reasons. Dom agrees. Then over the next few hours Dom talks himself from taking it easy, to running it fairly hard, to naming a very tough time that he would like to beat and finishes off by wanting to beat everyone.
I reiterate that I will be taking it easy.

After a few fields and queuing at the stiles the race took a dramatic turn up an extremely steep hill section, which turned out to be the steepest of the day. At this point my recent fell running experience took over and I passed Dom for the 1st time, who squeaked, "I thought we were taking it easy?!?!"
"This is easy Dom..."
I had heard genuine terror in Dom's voice. He was obviously worrying that my fell running and his doing all his training in entirely flat Hull,  might mean that I would beat him for the first time ever, bearing in mind his 10k PB is 3 minutes faster than mine, and his marathon PB 22 minutes faster.
He needn't have worried.

As soon as the track levelled out again, Dom passed me with ease. At about 5k the track began to descend and I sped up. I find that I can descend a fair bit quicker than the majority of people who finish races around me.

I passed Dom again. I didn't see his face, but I bet it was a picture. But of course, when the track flattened out again, Dom cruised back in front of me with consummate ease.

Not long before the first water stop at about 7k I heard two people catching me. They were busy chatting and one voice was a woman's. I was going to be chicked... At the water stop I paused and drank 2 full cups of water; it was a hot day and I had decided not to carry any water. I grabbed 2 of the proffered jelly babies and ate them as the couple passed me. I saw them many times throughout the run as they caught me each time I paused to drink and eat jelly babies at the water stations. The lady was in her mid 40s I would say, the guy around 30 in a Kirkstall Harriers vest, and he seemed to be pacing her.

Dom had now long disappeared and I was thoroughly the meandering route through beautiful countryside.
My GPS watched bleeped off the kilometres and the sun shone away with few clouds in the sky. The field had spread out and I saw few people.
At the third water stop, another couple caught me, this time a pair who were probably late 20s. There was something like 10k to go, but don't quote me on that because as usual, my post-race memory is pretty poor.
The soles of my feet had now started to get pretty sore and I was regretting my choice of footwear. This new couple passed me with jelly babies stuffed in my mouth. I trotted behind them on one of the few sections of road and started to catch them with the help of the jelly baby-buzz.

We followed another large red arrow in to a field which was steeply down hill and I rapidly caught and over took the couple, a de-chicking! I then realised the couple had been heading in to the wrong corner of the field, the tell-tale red and white striped tape was in the other corner. I quickly changed direction and called out, "I blame you!" at the couple.
"I blame me too!" the female half said.
"Who let the woman navigate?" I said.
"Just for that I am going to beat you!" she announced.
I should point out that this exchange was all in good humour!
In to the next field and the descent continued with me pulling away with each step. By the time we entered a forest section I was flying and sore feet aside, felt great. Thankfully, I didn't see the couple again so she was unable to make good on her promise to beat me.

This was taken earlier in the race, but I thought I'd best break up all this waffle

As the last 10k wore on my feet were starting to be a real problem. I had to face it, there were almost certainly blisters in there. With about 5k to go, I could feel warm liquid in my left shoe and I really wondered what I would find in there at the end...

Now I was really ready for the end, if not ready to stop "racing". I pushed on harder. Despite this I was passed by a man at least 10 years my senior, "Is there anyone else to catch?" he asked.
"Don't think so, the guy in front of me was moving pretty quickly"
I was wrong, 5 minutes later I went past a runner who was clearly examining grout.

With 3k to go, I was amazed to hear the Kirkstall harrier and his friend catching me. Something awoke in me.....

"Oh hell, No!"

I put down the hammer (ok, I put down the mini screw driver) If I was to keep in front of Kirkstall harrier's mate and avoid a late chicking, I would have to work hard.
I recognised the trail we were on as being back on the start of the route. I paused at a bridge to contemplate the route and Kirkstall Harrier and I decided we needed to go over the bridge, thankfully, we were right. Now I knew exactly how far I had to go. A quick run through an industrial estate, along the main road, down the drive to the club house and in to the field to finish.
The pause at the bridge had given my nemesis the chance to catch me up again but I found enough energy to speed up down the main road with her following close behind me. The drive appeared and I started to sprint, such as I could manage anyway, and I heard her fall away. Triumph! (which is exactly the same as disaster, Mr Kipling) I rounded the corner in to the field and crossed the line. As always, I was way happier than I should have been to finish in 73rd place out of close to 300 runners, one place in front of a woman probably 10 years my senior, but hey ho, I'd won another tiny, tiny, insignificant battle.
My legs which had felt ok(ish) suddenly announced that they had actually just been keeping quiet and uncomplaining (which is very unlike them) and quickly deposited me on to the floor, refusing to pick me up again without a struggle.
The orange segments provided by the rugby club were extremely welcome and the outside taps provided tasty cold water.
I found Dom who had finished around 9 minutes in front of me, a phenomenal performance for someone who has never run off-road and rarely on hills. Predictably, he had crippled himself and was walking much worse than me. Good job he doesn't drive really!

The race had been great fun. Really relaxed and friendly with a beautiful, fun route. It was anything but flat of course, but that was part of the challenge and one of the reasons I wanted to do it.
When I eased off my shoes to check the damage to my feet, I was amazed to find there was none. There was only reddened sore sections and none of them too bad. I had been convinced there would be blood and blisters in there!

The pint in the club afterwards was incredibly cheap of course, as was the burger and huge portion of chips, all of which tasted brilliant after 18.5 miles.

All in all the Belper rugby Rover turned out to be perfect training for both my upcoming Oslo marathon in September and my desire to run ultras which are usually off road. A highly recommended race.

My Runner's love letter to my body

You've read the title of this post and you're wondering where I am going with this one. Don't worry, I'm not about to boast about my decidedly average body, but yeah, it probably is a bit hippy. (The post, not my body)

That's right, it's possible to be really happy whilst running! (I'm in the white GB vest)

A few years ago, I became totally fed up with my lack of running. GPs and surgeons had told me my knees were knackered and that I should avoid impact. The surgeon wanted to poke a camera in to my knee but he "managed my expectations" by down-playing any possible benefit that I might have. He dismissively mentioned physio but gave it little chance of success (he couldn't have been more wrong) .
That was when I decided to spend all of the tiny amount of disposable income I had on a specialist physio and give him the long, long list of my aches and pains that started at the soles of my feet and made a slow, painful journey up my body and ended at my shoulders. Best money I have EVER spent.
For the next year, whilst the physio and I worked hard, chasing the pains around my body with various exercises and stretches, I really only managed to run a couple of 5ks a week. Any more and my shins would start screaming, but at least the noise from my shins would drown out the shouting from my back, hips, ankles, etc. etc, etc.

In frustration I posted this status on Facebook:

Dear body, I feel I have been very patient with you over the last two years. All I really want to do is be able to run for long distances. You, however, do not seem to want to let me. I have pampered you in every way I could. How can you forget the two stones I lost for you? I now feel it is time for you to wind your frigging neck in (not literally) and just let me run. Please. I beg of you. With affection, Scott

Now, I feel that it has relented, so it is time to write to my body again......

Dear Body,

I've been meaning to write to you for a while, but this time, it's to thank you.
A couple of years ago we were going through a really bad time together. I began to fear that we would never see eye to eye; that communication between us would forever be strained and that we would never fulfil my dream of running freely.
I had neglected you, I admit it. I had put poor quality fuel in to you and failed to maintain you properly. I let you grow out of shape. It was a shameful period and I apologise. No wonder our relationship suffered. It was my fault and I am sorry.

2 years later and my Manchester marathon medal hangs in the kitchen and I couldn't be more proud of you.
Time and again I have asked you to rise to a challenge and despite the problems, the set backs, the blood, toil, tears and sweat, you have achieved each one.
Many times I thought this day would never come, so I can barely begin to tell you how very grateful I am.
Allowing me to run 18.5 miles off road for the first ever time on Sunday was a real high point. Truly, you were fantastic!

3 years ago I plodded around the Leeds 10k in 48 minutes (albeit beating my 50 minute target) with painful shins, bursting lungs and burning muscles. Today, I run several minutes faster than that in training and with little to no pain. From where we started, this seems incredible to me. I never dreamed I could reach this point, but together we worked towards this goal and discovered what we could accomplish. I am immensely proud that we put in this work despite the problems.

Look what I put my body through, and yet it forgives me!

I doubt you will ever grace the cover of "men's health" because let's face it, we like beer and pizza too much to have 6% body fat. But! The moobs are gone, clothes fit properly and I would no longer scare Gok Wan in a changing room.We may never win a race (then again who knows? Maybe we will) but that's not the ultimate aim anyway and I am very grateful for the progress we have made and the improvement I feel in all things.

Now we seemed to be in sync. We like each other, we talk and the recriminations are gone. I can now believe we have a long and wonderful relationship to look forward to. Even better, we now have a brilliant and dirty ménage a trois going on with Running and it's amazing to think how well this little threesome gets on these days, especially considering just how much you two used to bicker.

I know that I have to keep you happy too. I don't mind forgoing some of the food and alcohol that I would otherwise consume and I don't mind buying you special clothing, corn plasters for your nipples and paying for your massages. These are small prices to pay considering what you do for me.

So many people questioned my faith in you. They told me you were too old, that you had too many issues, that you would let me down in the end. They were wrong, very wrong. You have stepped up to the challenge. We still have some way to go before I achieve everything I want to, but I now know that we will get there, rather than just hoping that we will.

So thank you body. Thank you for carrying me to places I feared were beyond me. Thank you for learning to live with my ever-increasing demands. Thank you for learning to work with me instead of against me. Thank you for listening to me and giving me feed-back when needed.

Thank you. I can now honestly say, I love you.

Your faithful servant,

Scott

Me and my body, working together, having fun. Smiling like Grommit

Race Review: The York Jane Tomlinson 10k 4/8/2013

Be a twit: @scott_leach

The last Jane Tomlinson (JT) 10k of the year crept up on me from behind this Sunday. I think it was planning on giving me a pretty serious wedgie but it only succeeded on twanging the band of my pants. Nice try JT, nice try.

The Minster viewed from the top of Clifford's tower

Those of you who avidly check your in-boxes for the latest instalment of my blog (So that's my mum and errrm, no one else) you'll know of my love-slight annoyance relationship with the JTs and last year's York 10k was a bad one for 1 HUGE reason: The 50 asda corporate runners that they herded in to the very front of the field with about 2 minutes to the start. Since then, Run For All, the wonderful charity that organises the run, has been listening and trying to improve, and I was interested to see how they would get on in York this year.

As I've mentioned before, the JT race routes are always very carefully chosen to take in the sights of the area and of course York has sights that people travel across the whole world to see, and today, they would witness the magnificent sight of 4600 runners pounding the ancient streets. Well, ok, maybe about 1000 runners, 3000 fun-runner/joggers, 300 waddlers a few hundred walkers to make up the numbers.

But my story starts last Friday.....

My friend The Jaunty Hipped Girl, was bemoaning her running, or rather, the lack thereof, so I offered to help her find the joy by taking her in to the woods (Keep your minds out of the gutter) Worst case scenario: if she really annoyed me, there'd be somewhere to hide her bludgeoned body.
The excellent premise for her blog came thus: She has been reading books by ultra runners who often seem to mention that on their first outing running, managed only to get to to the end of their street before collapsing in a heap. Then suddenly, in the space of a couple of paragraphs, they're running marathons. Where was the in between bit? The struggling to run a mile?; the constant fight to swim through the tide of misinformation given to new runners; the injuries; the pain; the chafing!!
So she's trying to write that blog. All the way from couch, to wherever she ends up.

So far, there has been pretty much nothing but frustration for her. I won't go in to it all as that's on her very funny blog. I have tried to help her before, but my main contribution has been lending her running books and persuading her to go to the physio. This time though, I fared much better....
I decided to do the run in barefoot trainers as I need to do very short and slow runs in them at the moment or risk being crippled for a week.
The minute we set off through the Chevin I spotted the first of Debi's problems. She was skittering along the ground whilst barely lifting her feet, despite being a forefoot runner. "Bend your knees" I told her, "Bring them up"
"What, like this?" she said, beginning to bounce, "Like we're playing horsey?" She was of course, being silly, but I assured her that was exactly what I meant. A minute later, she told me it already felt better. A little later in to the run she told me that the discomfort in her calves had been greatly reduced.
The next problem was speed. She set off at faster then 5m/per k pace. Way too fast for her current ability. The obvious conclusion was that she very quickly got out of breath and had to walk. Not getting very far and having to walk has been her main cause of frustration.
Anyway, this all sounds like I am blowing my own coaching trumpet, and I am. It gave me a great deal of satisfaction to help!

And now back to narcissistic me.....The barefoot run was great fun on my part. We covered something like 3 miles (I might have cocked up with the GPS again so the next picture isn't totally accurate)

Of course, as it was my first barefoot run in a while, it left my calves a little on the sore side. I knew this would happen, and I decided that it wouldn't really matter too much at the York 10k as I knew that I wasn't going to trouble my PB, I was just going to have fun.

On Sunday morning at twat-o'clock, I picked up Jaunty Hipped Girl and drove over to York with my calves complaining every time I put my foot on the clutch.
Same as the last two years, the traffic started as soon as we left the York by pass but it really didn't take long to pull in to the vast and rapidly filling York race course car park. Last year I had had to abandon my car on the slip road and dash in to the bushes as the caffeine kicked in, whereupon I nettled the crap out of my legs. I suppose I should be glad it was just my legs that got nettled considering what else could have got it. This year I have reduced my pre-race caffeine hit and don't tend to get these problems any more. Phew!
Now I have a confession to make; although I know the science says that we store enough glycogen in our livers to fuel us for around 2 hours (depending on which research you pay attention to) and that sports drinks, gels, etc, in fact, anything designed to boost energy are a waste of time when you're only running for 40 minutes. I used to down a sports drink before any 10k race, my logic being that if my energy stores weren't quite full for whatever reason, then this would top it. Either way it couldn't do any harm. I know this is almost certainly me fooling myself and  I know that it's almost certainly placebo effect, however, when I've run races without taking something to boost energy before a race, I seem to have run badly. So I've started having a couple of blocks of these before each race:

I find eating energy gels is like consuming liquid raw sugar and not very pleasant, but these taste like wine gums and I highly recommend them!

We walked to the race start down the back of the main stand to the Knavesmire, the beautiful park land that surrounds the race course. As usual, the JT village was set up.

And then we spotted it. Out it snaked, long and curving, disappearing in to the distance with seemingly no end. Like a leviathan, biblical in size, it inched forward whilst growing in length every second. It looked like it would never end and extended in to infinity. It was the queue for the toilets. Last year there had been a veritable abundance of toilets; for once, the actual amount that was needed for the size of the race. But obviously, convenience with your convenience is not something race organisers believe in, so this year they had cut the number down by at least half. Gigantic mistake.

Not a great start. Dozens of people were running off in every direction in to the bushes. The "Urinating in public" law was temporarily suspended for the day.

The York race route; Ooooooh, twisty turny

Thankfully, that's where the bad news started and finished. To my total delight, they had completely sorted the corporate runner/slow runners-in-front-of-everyone problem. They had set up proper pens for each standard of runner and what's more, they were making a large point of asking slow runners to get in to the right area. It all worked extremely well, so by the time they walked us around to the start, pretty much every one was in the right area. Brilliant!

The wheel chair athletes set off, then a couple of minutes later, off we went.

I was determined not to set off too fast this time. I had no idea if I had a sub 40 minute run in me, but I was going to see how it would go. The route took us around the defunct Terry's chocolate factory after passing back past the race course and I found I had dropped in to a reasonable rhythm, comfortably inside 40 minute pace. It felt fine, but I had to wonder if I would be able to keep it up.

Although I have done this race twice before, I rarely remember a route as I am too busy concentrating on not collapsing, so I had entirely forgotten that you soon end up on Micklegate, via a quick trip along the river bank. I was pleased with this turn of events as I know Micklegate to be a very long down-hill slope. Here we go, I thought, free speed! But no, we turned right off the street and jagged out around a couple of streets before rejoining Micklegate at the bottom to cross Ousegate bridge. Yet another sharp turn brought us on to one of the main pedestrian shopping streets, Spurriergate, which soon becomes Coney street and it was then, at exactly 5.5k in to the race,  that I was well and truly chicked  for the first time in a long timewhile.

And what a beautiful, glorious chicking it was....A vision of beauty appeared along side me. Oozing and flowing like mercury she effortlessly passed me, her natural dark red hair only adding to the vision. For the next 2 kilometres I was entirely distracted by her perfect running form. Honest, it was nothing to do with the short, tight lycra shorts she was wearing, I swear. It was simple admiration of an excellent athlete. 20 years ago if I'd have seen her in a pub...well.......I would have probably spent the night trying to work up the courage to speak to her and if I consumed enough alcohol to actually say hello, no doubt I would have been getting turned down sharpish. But still.

Soon enough we arrived at the world famous York Minster. Apparently this is some sort of building built to worship a magic sky faerie hundreds of years ago, when people were much more simple in the head. Whatever though, it's spectacular and a great sight to be able to run past. It's probably the only time of year you could do this without the danger of sending tourists flying in all directions like skittles.

On to Goodramgate and it started to get hard and I began to slow down. By the time we passed Clifford's tower I was talking to myself, trying convince myself to run faster. I mentally prodded down my body and found no problems, slight calf soreness excepted. Certainly nothing to slow me down. But wait, my lungs! They hurt don't they? But when I checked, no, they didn't really hurt that much. So what was I waiting for? I speeded up, but was it too late? I had put in a 4:21 kilometre, the damage to a sub 40 minute time was substantial.

I pushed on as we headed back down to the river bank to some easy terrain on the well made path. We crossed the river over the millennium bridge; it's gentle curve feeling like mount Everest by this point.

Then suddenly a very weird thing happened exactly as I hit the 9km marker. I was hit with a massive influx of energy. And I mean massive. I have never felt such a huge surge before and certainly not with 9k gone. In the space of seconds I went from desperately trying to cling on to my speed, to flying forward with ease.
I flew past a tall thin, bald runner from Kirkstall Harriers (I recognised the vest) who looked ridiculously athletic.  He was clearly struggling badly, absolutely gasping for breath and rapidly going backwards. "1k to go" I said to him, "Keep it going" He managed to wheeze out an acknowledgement. I checked my watch and tried to work out what I would need to do the last k in to go under 40 minutes. Something like 3:30. No chance.

The final couple of hundred metres down the Knavesmire is really fantastic. The crowd is thick on both sides and for a minute or so, you can feel like a professional athlete. Sort of.

At this point I was now sprinting hard and making a lot of racket about it. A guy in a bright yellow vest was about 50m in front of me as I hit the straight. We had traded positions most of the way through the race. I was moving quickly enough at this point that I actually caught him. Amusingly though, as I drew along side him, he sprinted away, obviously not wanting anyone to pass him. It did make me chuckle. He's in the picture below.

As you can see, I checked my watch. For some reason I decided that my sub 40 minute time was on and kept the sprint going.

Jaunty took possibly my favourite running photo of me ever as I neared the line:

More cheese Grommit?

I crossed the line in 40:08. I wasn't disappointed as I had got a lot closer to 40 minutes than I thought I would. My 8th kilometre had been the killer. I covered it in 4:21 followed by 4:12 for the 9th. The last k was my fastest of the whole race at 3:48 (38 minute pace if I had done that for the full 10k) 

A few seconds after I crossed the line the Kirkstall Harrier who was struggling so much at 9k appeared, then collapsed on to the floor. He told me how he had been trying to go sub 40 for a long time and that he felt it was a psychological thing. I agreed that it had been with me to a large extend.

I finished 94th out of 4602 runners, and here's my result:

Jaunty and I headed towards the stalls in the race village and to my delight I discovered that the massage tent had a free table. This was unprecedented! On I hopped; no waiting! 

Next stop was the Sweat Shop stall. They sell off trainers that have been returned to the shop, often with little to no mileage on them. At the Leeds 10k I had spotted a pair of Brook's Green silence at the stall but had no money, so I was hoping to see them again. Amazingly, they were there and I snapped them up for only £30. 

What can I say? I'm a patriot! :P

I love the simplicity of these trainers. No fancy systems in the soles etc. There is just mild cushioning allowing your feet to do what they are meant to do. Nothing simplistic about the colour though...

3rd stop was to pick up my extra t-shirt, the reward for having completed all 3 Yorkshire JTs this year. Amazingly, the York t-shirt is a really nice deep red colour, my first ever JT t-shirt that I will actually wear! All the others this year have been vile, luminous hi-viz colours that I just can't bring myself to put on. 

Normal service was resumed when I picked up my extra t-shirt though, as it is the vilest of the lot. If I am ever hod carrying on a building site I will be sure to put it on. 

Summary:

The run for all foundation seems to take one step forward and one step back. Finally they sort out the corporate and slow runner problem, but they introduce a massive new one with the toilet situation. Sadly, I now have 4 identical medals from the JTs this year, save for the colour of the ribbons. The red ribbon on the York one gives it the unfortunate resemblance to a Jim'll Fix It badge.

But that's it for the negativity.

The parking is great at the race course, quick and efficient. The setting is fantastic. The route, though very twisty, takes you past some wonderful sights. The race village was further enhanced by the addition of a cafe set up in a large tent. You are unlikely to set a PB with the inclines all over the course and the amount of twists built in, but maybe the amazing setting will inspire you.

Here's the link to my Garmin page

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

Twit me @Scott_Leach  or for Bob's sake, if you get to the end of one of my articles, say hello!

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.