As I lay in bed in the dark on Saturday morning, listening to the rain running off the roof, tinkling into the gutters and onward, on it's relentless journey back to the sea. I thought to myself "that's another weekend lost to the weather" so I lay there for a bit longer, debating whether to get up or not! Eventually, boredom got the better of me (I'd been awake for at least 10 minutes by then) so decided to get up and make a cup of tea. A quick look at the weather forecast whilst I waited for the kettle to boil confirmed my fears, drizzle, leading to showers, leading to cold enough to freeze the balls of a brass monkey. Great! So I took my cup of tea and retreated back to bed, planning to sulk and possibly hibernate until spring. Unfortunately the great hibernating plan didn't last long, by the time I'd supped my brew I'd remembered that A) Sitting in bed's pretty boring and B) I'm somewhat lacking in body fat stores to see me through 6 months of hibernation, so decided that I had better get up and have some breakfast. And thus began the typical, wintry, rainy, Saturday, inner argument with myself; What am I going to do today then? It's grim, wintry and wet, go back to bed. No, that's a waste of a day, lets play bikes. Errr, it's still dark and it's wet out. It won't be dark for long and I won't melt, come on lets go me. Nope. It's grim. Right inner monologue, I'm not arguing any more, let's go. Ohhh let's just have another cup of tea. Nope, put it in a flask, lets go. Ohhh, let's just get a different jacket, change socks, put some washing on, anything that will delay going out. Nope, lets go, But it's raining. Come on! Get out of the house me!!!! Eventually, after an eternity of arguing with myself, at a smidgen before 08:00, I managed to drag my lazy arse out of the door. Only to discover that it wasn't actually that cold, it was only drizzling and it was almost light, things were looking up! Another 10 minutes of faffing around trying to find reasons not to go; Better pump up these tyres that I pumped up yesterday, better put this spanner away that's been sat here for 6 months, etc. COME ON ME, LETS GO! And you know what. When I finally swung my foot over the saddle, clipped in and pushed down on the peddles for the first time, I thought, well that's not so bad is it. As I pulled onto the still deserted roads and started picking up speed, I felt that familiar grin start to form on my lips. By the time I reached the end of the road, with the drizzle dampening my face and the sound of the tyres swishing through the puddles on the wet road I was as happy as Larry (whoever he is). 4 1/2 hours and 55 miles of damp, deserted, wet and muddy roads later, as I rolled to a final stop back at home, I still had a smile on my face. Granted it was a bit of a damp one, but luckily, I didn't melt or turn into a pumpkin! I'd sat and watched the boats, runners and dog walkers on the canal, when I stopped too drink that brew that I put in my flask. I'd seen a few other cyclists, a few horse riders, plenty of wildlife and lots of puddles. I'd slogged up a few hills and sped down the other side, and all in all, had a great morning, as I knew I would once I got out there. So, why oh why, is it so hard to find the motivation to get up and go out to play in the winter? It's a constant battle with your inner self, it's cold, it's dark, it's wet, lets just stay in and watch TV. No, stay strong and keep getting out there. Not only do "winter miles equal summer smiles" but winter days are often some of the best cycling and running days going. The roads are quieter. No ones going to go for a drive in their unnecessary 4x4 in the winter are they, it might get muddy! A cold and crisp day can be stunning, and on a wet and miserable day, there's a great feeling of satisfaction in being one of the few idiots who are stupid enough to be out and about. The cold is invigorating, and being out helps keep the bugs at bay, maybe. I don't think there's any science in this claim, but coming in out of the cold and wet is always great and it makes me feel better! There are bound to be a few more inner self arguments over the next few months, but just remember and remind yourself, that the hardest part is getting out the door! Once your out the door, it's great to be out, no matter what the weathers throwing at you. Oh, and apparently, there's no such thing as the wrong weather, only the wrong clothes. Which is easy to say if you don't mind spending the entire budget of a small country on a jacket or sleeping bag, but maybe not quite so true if your a normal person. Guess I'd better get out and get some value for money out of that jacket then! Some days you can happily run effortlessly for hours on end, other days even a mile is hard work and Sunday was one of those days. I'd taken the van down to Alresford after tea Saturday night, with the plan being to get an early 18 mile trail run in on Sunday morning. That part of the plan worked a treat and I was up early after a great nights sleep. Eating breakfast sat on the van door step, listening to the birds signing in the damp mist that enveloped the world, I couldn't think of anywhere I would rather be and I was raring to go by 08:00.
My legs didn't seem to share my enthusiasm today though, and it took a while to get into a steady rhythm, my legs feeling unusually stiff and heavy. The first 6 or 7 miles are generally uphill heading from Alresford towards Basingstoke and I made steady progress, gently plodding along in the mist, enjoying the cool damp air and the feel of the soft wet earth under my feet. As the miles progressed and the birdsong was drowned out by the drone of the M3, still some miles away, but clearly audible, even through the mist, things got harder. My legs feeling heavier and heavier and it becoming harder and harder to maintain a steady pace, particularly uphill. I suppose every day can't be a good day and today was going to be one of those bad ones. By the time I'd got to 14 miles, I'd lost the mental battle, slowing to a walk on the uphill sections, and once the mental sides gone the game is up! A slow plod back to the van, walking the uphill's, saw me back in under 3 hours for the days 17.5 miles, so I suppose I shouldn't complain too much. And, whilst it wasn't a particularly enjoyable run, it was still good to be out in the fresh air and undoubtedly better than sitting on the sofa, drinking tea, eating biscuits and watching repeats of Saturday Kitchen. I suppose every day can't be a good day, and running on tired legs, whilst not being much fun, is all part and parcel of training. It's loosing that metal battle that's the most frustrating part. If you can stay focused and ignore the parts of your body that are begging to stop, then you can do anything. As soon as doubt starts to slip in, or you even consider cutting the day short, or start looking for an easier option, then you might as well stop as its only a matter of time before you loose the battle and quit!
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Well, at long last it seems to have temporarily stopped raining and that means normal service can resume. So, with Saturday dawning dry (well it wasn't actually raining, although it had rained for most of the night), it was winter cycling gear on and out for a few chilly miles. I didn't go far as I had bigger plans for most of the day, but still managed 60 miles, out via Kinsgsclere, up to the edge of Hungerford and back via Whitchurch, nothing to strenuous, but a good leg stretch none the less and good to be out. With the cycling fun over for the day by lunchtime, it left me plenty of time to put part B of my weekend plans into operation. So, say hello to "the Emma", a quick shower, bit of lunch, sort out of the walking and overnight Bivvy kit, say goodbye to "the Emma" and I'm good to go again. OK, it wasn't actually that quick, but by 15:30 I was on my way to the station, with the plan being to get the train to Winchester and walk back home again, via Alresford, taking the opportunity of a dry night too try out my new winter sleeping bag. The 16:00 train from Basingstoke got me into Winchester for half past and I set off, aiming to pick up the start of the South Downs Way, for an easy start in the right direction. I must confess that I did have a moment of "what the hell am I doing" as I walked through Winchester, passing all the pubs full of people enjoying a post shopping pint, or getting started on their nights out, as I set out for a few hours of walking in the dark and the prospect of a possibly cold night. It didn't take long to put those fleeting thoughts to the back of my mind though and remind myself that I was more likely to remember my night out in a years time than they were their's, and this is far more fun than another wasted day, feeling shabby from a few too many the night before! Quickly out of town and onto the South Downs Way proper, I made good progress, the path here was wide enough and sufficiently well trodden that I could find my way without resorting to a torch, the background light being sufficient to see the way and I plodded steadily on for a couple of hours before stopping for a brew and a tin of hot Mulligatawny soup for my tea. You could say, and you would probably be right, that it's not haute-cuisine, but that tin of soup, sat in the dark, in total silence, with just the stars for company, was up there with some of the best meals I've ever had. Anyone can go and eat in a top notch restaurant, but it takes a special kind of idiot to eat soup out of a saucepan, with a cut down desert spoon, in the middle of nowhere, in November! By 20:30 I was a mile or so from Alresford, with 12 miles under my belt since leaving home and having just had a bit of a navigation blunder, getting disorientated in the dark, whilst looking for a path, decided to call it a night and get my head down. Bivvy up, tucked away under some trees, I was tucked up in bed by 21:00, laying, quietly listening to the owl's calling and some church bells tolling the time away in the distance, as I drifted off to sleep. I stirred a few times in the night and the sky had cleared, with less light pollution, the stars were bright and clearly visible and being clear the temperature had rapidly dropped (not that it was very warm to start with). I slept well though, the new sleeping bag performing better than expected, and, whilst the temperature must have dropped to close to freezing I stayed warm and snug. Early to bed and early to rise, I was up again for 06:00 and on my way by half past, with a frost on the ground, the sun just coming up and views like these to speed me on my way, I couldn't have asked for a better start to the day. A brief stop for breakfast just before Alresford, and the chance to stock up on some cookies for brew o'clock on the way through, saw me picking up the Wayfarers walk path for the journey home, cutting steadily through the Hampshire countryside with just the birds, sunshine and a couple of mountain bikers for company. Home again by mid afternoon, with 28 miles of enjoyable walking and a late Autumn frosty night out under my belt, I don't think that's a bad way to waste 24 hours and hopefully a bit more memorable than a few pints, a kebab and a hangover!
I'd heard some good things about Phoenix running and the events they put on, so decided that I had better go and find out for myself if it was true. A cheeky Sunday marathon it was going to have to be, and, from the write up on their website, their next event looked like a good one, possibly one of the most unique events around, the Remembrance day marathon. This is billed as a marathon built around the 2 minutes silence (not a marathon that just happens to have a quiet bit in the middle) and I wasn't to be disappointed. The route follows the River Thames footpath, from Walton on Thames up to Molesly Lock and back again, with 4 loops for marathon distance and 2 for the sensible people who only opted for the 1/2. The Pre-race briefing covered the normal bits and bobs and explained that at 11:00 the marshal's would give a long blast on an air horn, followed by 3 short blasts at 11:02 and these 2 minutes would then be deducted from your time at the end of the race, although not a mandatory stop, it went without saying, that it would be pretty bad form to not show your respects. And so at 09:30 sharp, to the sound of a 1st world war whistle (that alone is enough to set the hairs on the back of your neck alight) we were off. There isn't much to say about the course, except it's quite narrow in parts, was full of big muddy puddles from the ongoing monsoon and is pretty much pancake flat, so we'll cut straight to the chase. 11:00 sharp and the sound of the air horn rang out loud and clear, followed seconds later by the retort from the cannon at Hampton Court palace being fired. I'd just passed Sunbury at this point and I don't know why, but something deep within, said I should turn and face the church visible on the far bank to pay my respects. The most striking thing though, was that from my position I could clearly see back along the route for quite a long way and every person, runner, cyclist, families out enjoying the Autumn sunshine, et al, was not only stood totally still, but had also subconsciously turned to face the church! The silence was as breathtaking as it always is, on this, the most special of days, but for me, on this occasion, made even more so by the way every person had turned, without heed, too face the same direction and every single person in my line of sight, rich man, poor man, Englishman, European, Man, Woman and Child had stopped what they were doing to pay their respects. Two minutes later and a further blast on the air horn and we were off again. One of the most wonderful things I've ever seen and something that's bringing tears to my eyes, just trying to put it into words! The other thing that stands out from today is that I've had the chance to see a part of the race I don't normally get to see. Somehow, I seem to be able to run quite well, so tend to be towards the middle to front of most runs, stuck in among the good club runners, where everyone knows what they are doing, can hold their own and has their own goals their focusing on. I never get to see the back end, I've gone home before most people are finishing, having done what I came to do, without looking back. Today was a bit different though, being 4 loops out and back, I got to see the people at the back, struggling along and fighting their own battles to get round. Now I don't want to diminish anyone's efforts, but if your ever going to spectate at a run, don't bother cheering the people at the front, save your energy for those at the back, they are the ones that really deserve your applause. When you've been lapped by the racing snakes and are reduced to walking, before you've even got 5 miles under your belt, you must know that your in for a tough day. To see those same racing snakes come past 3 more times, making it look effortless, whilst you struggle on must take real courage and determination. Yes, it hurts for everyone, but I've got to get through less than 4 hours of suffering on a good day. Today's cut off was 7 hours, that's double the time I had to work for and even then some people might not get in under that. To borrow a cycling term chapeau to them I say! There seems to be a different vibe further back too. The further you get towards the front the greater the sense of competition, every man's out for themselves and there's not much love lost if your in the wrong place at the wrong time. Don't get me wrong it's not a cut throat affair, but it's more of an individual effort, your not going to drag your direct competitor around the course. I'll hold a gate for you if your close enough, but I'm not going to let you shelter out of the wind behind me for 26 miles whilst I do all the graft and they come past at the line. It's all seems a bit slower and more pleasant further back though, friends out for a run together, supporting each other, words of encouragement for each other, and a more relaxed atmosphere. Maybe it's time I took a leaf out of my own book and slowed down a bit? There's not much else to report from this weekend, rain stopped play Saturday. Although the day dawned cold and clear and I managed a couple of hours on the Allotment cutting back the hedge in the morning in a effort to try and gain a bit more space for the fruit cage plan, it was back to tipping it down by lunchtime, so I braved up and scampered off home quick!
Christmas cake making took up the afternoon, although I've no idea what it will turn out like as we didn't have half to stuff and what we did have was out of date. Currents swapped for Raisins, Cinnamon that went out of date in 2010, shove it all in a big pan and stir it up. This is my sort of baking, none of that careful measuring or gently folding in egg whites, just a big spoon and a strong wrist. I guess we'll have to wait until Christmas to find out how it tastes, but once it's had a good dowsing with home made Blackberry Brandy I'm sure it will be fine. I really thought we had got away with it when I arrived at the start of the Upper Thames 200KM Audax on Saturday and the sun was shining. It had rained all night and the forecast was for more, a whole days more to be precise, but I tried to convince myself and anyone else that would listen, that they were wrong. I mean look at it, the suns shining and there's hardly a breath of wind. How bad can it get? 07:20 There's just about time for a quick brew and a chat before the start. 07:29 Route loaded on the Sat Nav, Brevet card in pocket, Pre ride briefing done. 07:30 We're off and the suns still shining. 07:31 Bugger, It's pissing it down and the winds picking up! And that's how it stayed for the first 2 1/2 hours, the rain came down in sheets, driven relentlessly into your face by the strengthening wind as we picked our way from the start at Chosley, through the Chilterns, to the first stop at Waterperry gardens. I'll grant you it did stop before Waterperry and I had almost dried out when I sat down to my second breakfast of the day, courtesy of the lovely cafe staff, but it wasn't looking good. It stayed dry for the second leg to Chipping Norton via Bicester, but, it was still far from ideal cycling weather, with a howling wind that threatened to blow you clean off the road on the exposed hill tops going through the Cotswolds. Not to be put off though, I pushed steadily on, arriving at the second cafe stop for a welcome brew and massive scone with jam and clotted cream by mid afternoon (there are some advantages to this stupidity, cake, biscuits for breakfast and comedy tan lines to name but a few). And that unfortunately is where the good luck ran out. 20 minutes later as I left Chipping Norton the rain returned with a vengeance and continued constantly until I got back to the start some 3 hours later, somewhat putting the dampeners on things as they say! I'm not complaining though, there's something oddly satisfying about being out when the weathers really bad. There's always a great sense of camaraderie at any of these events, and that's even more evident when the going gets tough. Your all in the same boat and a small grin or raised eye brow from a fellow rider when it's lashing it down, starting to hurt and maybe not as much fun as it should be, instantly bond's you together into a pretty exclusive club. It's you and your fellow riders against the worst the weather can throw at you, and the weathers not going to win! When your shoe's have been full of water for 9 hours, the rains running down your sleeves into your gloves, your fingers have gone all wrinkly, it's dark, and you've just nearly broken your wrists by riding into a pot hole you couldn't see as it was full of water, you start to wonder what your doing. 1/2 an hour later though, when your sat in a warm village hall, having a brew, scoffing a bowl of pasta someones taken the time to make you, washed down with a slice of cake someone else has made, chatting though your day and comparing puddles and pot holes with a fellow rider you soon remember what your doing. Your creating memories that will hopefully last a lifetime and having great fun doing it! No matter what the weather this is a great ride, the Chilterns and Cotswolds are beautiful at this time of year, showing some stunning Autumn foliage. The route's great, with a nice mix of little lanes and bigger, quiet country roads helping to keep the pace up, and, like all these events, it just wouldn't be possible without the lovely people that give up their precious time to make them possible. It's only a bit of rain, it's character building stuff and it's a damned site better than sitting at home watching TV. As I was out anyway, it made sense to take advantage and stay out Saturday night, getting an early morning run in somewhere new on Sunday morning. So, microwave curry warmed up on the hob for post Audax tea, and an early night in the van, tucked away in a quite spot in Streatley, set me up nicely for an easy few miles along the Thames on Sunday morning. Up early, breakfast, and a couple of miles of gentle downhill to warm up legs that were feeling more than a bit stiff from yesterdays efforts was a fine way to start the day. And when you've got a view like that at the start of your run it's hard to feel sorry for yourself for long. With the early morning sun peeking through the clouds I soon settled into a steady rhythm, the sound of my feet landing rhythmically in the wet grass and the call of a Red Kite out looking for it's breakfast the only sounds breaking the still morning air. Pausing for a few minutes in Goring, standing on the deserted bridge, admiring the Thames in full flow as it plunges over the weir it's hard not to pity the poor folk who may only get to experience this view from the seat of a car, stuck in traffic as it crawls over the bridge in the middle of summer. Today though it's still too early for the masses and the view belongs to me, a solitary fisherman on one bank and a Heron on the other, both preoccupied in their own pursuit of happiness, with no interest in the runner interloping on their peace. Pushing on along the Thames path I couldn't have been happier, muddy in places at the start, the path churned up by the dog walkers and day trippers who never get past the first half mile from town, conditions soon improved. The path doesn't religiously follow the river bank here, being diverted away and climbing after a couple of miles to run further inland, improving things in my view by offering tantalizing glimpses of the river through the trees as the path follows the contours of the river valley. I only pushed on as far as Pangbourne, where the path crosses over to the other bank, via Whitchurch toll bridge, before turning and retracing my route back to the van. Some days less is more and whilst I'm back to a full running schedule my dodgy ankle that ruined my summer of running is still not 100%. I really don't want to push to far too soon, on tired legs and end up injured again, so in this instance I was more than happy with 12 miles and another run in a new location, courtesy of the van.
As always, it was lovely to be out early, with the riverbank to myself and the time to stop and take in the environment around me. Sometimes it's good to just stop and stand, soaking in the sights and sounds around you, refreshing your soul and recharging your mind. Life's to short to not just stand and stare sometimes. |
Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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