It’s been a bit of a milestone this weekend, not only is it mine and “The Emma’s” 14th wedding anniversary on Monday (God only knows how she’s put up with me for that long), but more importantly it’s ten long years since I ran my first half Marathon, and it’s all “The Emma’s” fault in the first place. You see, back in the dark mists of time, when I was only running just for a bit of fun and to keep fit, we were sat on the bus going into town one afternoon for a few beers when she said, “Why don’t you run a half marathon”. Obviously, I replied with “Don’t be stupid, do you know how far that is”. But the seeds of an idea had been sown, and a couple of months later I’d signed up for the Reading half, and instantly started regretting it. Roll on a few months later and on a chilly, but dry, early spring day, there I was lined up on the start line ready for my first ever competitive run. I still remember it like it was yesterday. The pre-race nerves, the excitement, the exhaustion, the exhilaration of finally crossing the finish line, the stiff legs the next day, the feeling of having done something a little bit special, and the thought at the time of “I’m never doing that again” which was soon replaced with “What next”. My time that day of 1:44:15 was nothing to write home about, but at the same time, I think it was quite reasonable for a first attempt at that distance, in an organised race. Obviously, I’ve learned from that, and put that learning into practice at numerous races, over ever greater distances, over the years, but the Reading half still holds a special little place in my heart. Which is why, I found myself once again taking to the start line on Sunday morning for a tenth anniversary reminder of what a great little event it is. I’d been looking forward to this one ever since I signed up back in the dark evenings of January, and the weather God’s appeared to be on my side for a change too, as Sunday morning dawned clear, still, and dry, with the promise of a cracking day ahead for a change. An easy drive up to Reading, followed by the short shuttle bus journey from the park and ride to the start area at the Madejski Stadium, left plenty of time to cheer on the kids competing in the Green Park Challenge as they raced for the finish line in the stadium, some with parents in tow, some running on their own for the first time, all of them an inspiration. It's the little things like the children running the Green Park Challenge that give me hope that the world isn’t quite the crazy, messed up place that it often appears to be. Maybe if those kids keep on running then they won’t end up following the rest of us in believing that the only way to get anywhere is by car, and we can end our reliance on “King Car” and start making the roads, and great outdoors, a safer, more pleasant place to be. While I’m off track and talking about things that bring me hope. I often used to see a family out horse riding on my cycle to work. The Mum was always at the front on the biggest horse, with 3 children of decreasing age and size, all following on, each riding a horse to reflect their size and always in size order. I’ve not seen them for a while, so I hope that they are all still riding and all still well, but every time I saw them it brought the biggest smile to my face and filled me with joy. What a beautiful sight! Anyway, back to the task in hand. It's been a long time since I’ve run a half Marathon on the road, I think we’d have to go back to pre blog days, so I had no real idea what I was capable of running time wise. Looking at last week's Southampton Marathon where I ran the first half quite comfortably in 1:45, I guessed that I should be more than capable of cutting a chunk of time off that for a half, but 1:30 seemed a bit too fast, considering that it’s been a long time since I’ve done any real fast training. 1:35 seemed a bit more realistic. 1:35 needs an average of 7 minute 15 second miles which is far faster than my average Marathon pace, but probably just about achievable. So, with that goal in mind, I lined up behind the 1:45 pace runner in my appointed start group and awaited the start (see last week's blog for my rant about people starting in the wrong start group!). With little fanfare, the elite group of runners set off bang on time at 10:15, and we moved forward to the start line, setting off a matter of seconds later. As expected, our wave set off fast, with the normal jostling for position as everyone tried to funnel smoothly past those who still insist on starting in the wrong place. The only advantage out fast is that you don’t tend to have to deal with the chancers for too long, as it soon becomes clear if you can’t hold the pace being set, and they soon get left behind. The 7:15 mile pace seemed pretty fast to me too, compared to what I’ve become accustomed to running at, and as we climbed the first of the day's ascents the group was whittled down further and the pack spread out, leaving plenty of space to settle into a steady rhythm. The first few miles passed quickly as we found our pace and formed a small group, all aiming for the same finish time, all equally matched, all fighting our own battle against the clock and not each other. With the sun shining down from a clear blue sky, the crowds were out in force, lining the streets and cheering on not only their own runners, but all who passed. The cheers from the crowds joining in with the ladies choir in the university grounds, the steel drummers in the underpass as we made our way into the town centre, the pub patrons, eagerly handing out samples to thirsty runners (not today thankyou) on the climb back out of the city centre, and the hundreds of children with their placards cheering on Mummy or Daddy or offering their little hands for a high five as we passed. How can you not give your best or be encouraged when everyone has turned out to cheer you on? By the time half way had come and gone I was in my stride, holding the pace well and actually having a good time. The second half of any run can go one of two ways though. It either becomes a slog, as your legs and stamina fade. Or if you've paced it well, it’s just a case of counting down the miles until the end, whilst enjoying yourself. The last of the uphill sections came at mile 9, and I pushed uphill, trying to hold on to the magical 7:15 pace required for that 1:35 finish. Legs screaming with lactic acid, lungs bursting with the effort of trying to get enough oxygen in to work those tired muscles, heart beating hard to try and propel those red blood cells round to where they are needed most, and all the while the crowd cheering us on. Eventually the top arrived and with it the relief that it’s all flat or downhill from here. Surely, I’ve got this one in the bag now? There’s still the small matter of 3 miles to go though and they're not easy miles either, so there’s no time for complacency. After all, “it’s not over until the fat lady sings”. Concentrate, hold the pace, watch for the man weaving around in front as we pass, mind the drain grating and the drop, watch the kerb as the person beside moves over to try and cut a corner edging me out, catch back up with those in front as we accelerate back out of a corner, but most of all keep pushing. I’m not going to get that 1:35 unless I want it enough! The last couple of miles at Reading are always hard. It’s a straight run along a dual carriageway, and whilst the road is wide, allowing everyone to spread out, it’s also dead straight, meaning you can see how far there still is to go. It’s pan flat, leaving no respite for tired legs, and there’s never anyone to cheer you on as they're all either in town or at the finish, where the facilities and best views are. It’s just a case of head down, enjoy the feeling of the tarmac moving smoothly under your feet, share the moment and pain with those around you, and push on. After what seems like weeks on the never ending dual carriageway, the sound of cheering slowly increases as we swing off to pick up the final few metres to take us to the finish in the Madejski Stadium. One more small climb with a hypnotic techno beat reverberating through the air and push on round the back of the stadium to enter via the back entrance. And then you're in the stadium, skirting round the edge of the pitch where a thousand dreams have come to an end at various football and rugby matches over the years, and the crowds roaring you on as you push for the finish line. Across the line, stop your watch and check the time. 1:34:54! That’ll do for me. I set off to do 1:35 and I’m 6 seconds inside that time. No wasted effort, just a job well done. Even more impressively, the 1:35 pacemaker that I set off with crosses the line a matter of seconds behind me. He might have been tasked with doing a 1:35 as the pacer, but I don’t think that he could have done a better job than that! It’s been a long time since I’ve run a road half, and what better place to do it than Reading where it all started 10 short years ago. And what a brilliant day out it was too. The sun shone, the crowds were brilliant, my fellow runners considerate, and enjoying the day out as I was, and the 1:35 pacer couldn’t have done a better job if his life had depended on it. Just out of interest I had a look at my previous Reading half times and they’re surprisingly consistent. Obviously the slowest I’ve ever ran was 2014 during that first momentous day, and I’ve got a feeling that 2019 is a personal best for the half (I can’t think that I’ve ever been quicker than that). But either way, it’s pretty consistent, and considering that I’m 10 years older than I was in 2014, I’m more than happy with that.
2024 – 1:34:54 - https://www.readinghalfmarathon.com/pages/results 2019 – 1:28:36 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2019_v3&r=5939 2017 – 1:39:26 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2017_v1&r=8060 2016 – 1:40:05 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2016_v2&r=1419 2015 – 1:30:06 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2015_v5&r=9870 2014 – 1:44:15 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2014_v2&r=8543 What I do occasionally wonder, is what I could be capable of if I actually took this seriously? When you consider that I ran a respectable Marathon 7 days before, and did another 20 miles training through the week, plus did 70-mile efforts on the bike on both Friday and Saturday, so was already starting from a fatigued state. Then what could I do if I focused on some speed work, focused on only 1 event, instead of punishing my legs every weekend, and trained specifically for one big effort? I could probably do quite well? But where’s the fun in that?
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What are we going to talk about this week then blog followers? Well,I know for a fact that whatever I’m on about won’t be exciting as last week's adventures, but then every week can’t be spectacular can it, and to be honest, I think I actually got the best weather over the Easter weekend, because it certainly hasn’t got any better over the last week has it. As I mentioned at the end of last week's update, I was actually off work last week, and whilst I didn’t get up to anything special, I did manage to get a few odd jobs wrapped up and made some progress on both the allotment and the MX5 project. The MX5 stuff isn’t really worth mentioning and certainly isn’t worth any pictures, but I have spent more than a few hours over the last week on my back, scraping underseal and rust off the bottom of the car. Dirty, horrible work that will never be seen again once the rust has been repaired and it’s all been repainted and re-undersealed, but if it’s going to be saved, it's a necessity. In more interesting news, I’ve finally got round to replacing the fruit trellis on the allotment. This one's been on my to do list for a while, but I’ve been waiting on an opportunity to get the metal delivered when I was actually at home to take delivery. That opportunity appeared over the Easter break, so before I went on my adventure I ordered the stuff which arrived Wednesday night (typically having been in all day, I went for a shower at 18:30 and the delivery guy pitched up as soon as I got naked). Anyway, having used wooden posts for the trellis since I got the allotment, I’m now on at least the third set of posts, and some of these have rotten away already or are loose, so I’m giving up on the wooden post front and whilst metal posts are more expensive I’m hoping that they’re going to last far longer that the wooden ones do, and therefore over their life the costs will actually be better. Besides the metal ones look far better and are now at least 3ft in the ground so are solidly planted, something that you never seem to be able to achieve with the wooden ones. On other allotment news, the greenhouse is now in full Spring sowing mode and the benches are starting to fill up with seed trays. I’ve now got, Broad Beans, Sweetcorn, Spring and Winter Cabbage, Sprouts, Kale, Broccoli, Sweet Peas, Normal Peas, Summer and Winter Squash, Leeks, Spring Onions, Lettuce, Courgettes, Carrots, Beetroot, Parsnips and a selection of flower seeds in the greenhouse, with Tomatoes, Chilli’s, Cucumbers and Peppers all doing well on the window sill at home. All we need now is for it to stop raining for more than 2 seconds at a time to allow the ground to start drying out a bit and I’ll be able to get the Potatoes into the ground to join the Garlic and Onions, which have been braving the never ending rain out there all winter. I suppose we can’t have a blog update without some running or cycling fun though can we. So to that end, I’ve been running, and it wasn’t even my favorite sort of running. Sunday saw me lining up on the start line for the Southampton Marathon and if there’s such a thing as a good Marathon, then in my book, a road Marathon certainly isn’t it. That’s not to say that I wasn’t looking forward to this one. Just that 4 hours running round housing estates, industrial estates and other assorted city center infrastructure, doesn’t have quite the same appeal as 26 miles through glorious countryside, along muddy trails, out in the peace and tranquility of the countryside. Oh, and there’s always the little issue of 26 miles of running on tarmac being viciously hard on your knees and feet to contend with. Why do it then? Well to be honest, it was the only thing I could find to do on Sunday, to satisfy my need to punish my body on a weekly basis! I could have gone and run the Test Way Ultra, but I’d foolishly promised the day to visiting family months ago, so it was going to have to be either the Southampton Marathon on Sunday, or nothing for the weekend, and we can’t be having that can we. And besides, it’s good to do the odd road Marathon every now and again to remind me how much better trail running is! That said, and as I’ve already mentioned, I was actually looking forward to this. My late entry required an early start on Sunday morning as I had to get to Southampton to pick up my race number before the start. Expecting it to be busy I made sure I was there well before start time and had picked up my number and had plenty of time to get myself ready, wander around for a bit, and have a good warm up, before taking my slot on the start line ready for the off. If there’s one thing that I really hate about the bigger road races, it’s people's inability to start in the right group. Every big run always asks for a predicted start time when you enter, and then goes to a lot of trouble to try and sort out the start so you depart with runners that are capable of running at the pace required for your predicted finish time, which should lead to a smooth start and give everyone time to settle down, spread out and generally enjoy the first few miles. What actually happens, is the organisers go to all the trouble of trying to sort everyone out, but people are either incapable of being honest with their predicted time (I’m going to run sub 3 hours when my fastest ever time is 6 hours 30). Or just totally disregard their allocated start position in an effort to start at the front, despite the fact that your time goes on when you actually cross the line, and not when they say go, so it’s irrelevant where you actually start (you could be the last person over the line and still win, if you're the fastest runner). All of which means that instead of everyone getting smoothly away because you're all running at the same pace, there will be some idiot trying to do 6:45 pace in amongst those doing 3:45 which brings everyone to a halt while they try to get past and just leads to mayhem. Why do they do it? It happens at almost every big run, with Sunday being no different. As such instead of getting smoothly away when the man and the mayor with the big hat and loudspeaker said “Go” we spent the first couple of miles trying to get into a steady pace, whilst jostling around trying to get past those that are incapable of actually starting in the right place! While I’m having a rant the other big bug bears are the people that are incapable of running in a straight line (these will be the same ones that cant walk down the pavement in a straight line, and spend their time on the motorway endlessly going from 30 MPH to 90MPH and then braking before repeating the whole episode again). If they just ran in a straight line then everyone else wouldn’t have to keep swerving and slowing down / speeding up to get out of their way! And the idiots that think they need to stop in the middle of the road to get a selfie, or just as bad, swerve across everyone as you approach a drinks station, pick up a drink and then stop dead to take a sip from it (these will be the ones that stop dead in shop door ways, escalators and other inconvenient places or swerve across 7 lanes of traffic at the last second when they finally decide to pay enough attention to realise that they are about to miss their exit on the motorway too). Strangely, all of these phenomena appear to be specific to road running. It may just be that the average trail run has less participants, so it’s not so obvious, but knowing that you're going to spend half your run weaving around people, trying to avoid being tripped up, and generally having to try and pre-empt what those around you are going to do, tends to put me off road running (as if the boredom and smashing your knees isn’t enough). For me, it’s a bit like cycling in a group, it’s fine if everyone knows what they’re doing, but if not, it’s best avoided, or it’ll probably end in tears. That said, once everyone sorted themselves out and settled down, the first few miles, through a quiet Southampton, in the early morning spring sunshine was quite pleasant. What wasn’t quite so pleasant was when we turned into the wind, which was absolutely howling in off the sea. The crossing of the Itchen Bridge was particularly nasty, with the wind swirling around strongly enough to trip you up as it surged around your ankles, and the stretch along the promenade with what should have been views of the spring sunshine glinting off the Solent, was downright viscous, with the wind straight in your face, trying it’s best to push us back the way we had come. I settled into a fairly comfortable pace quite quickly though, falling in with the 1:45 half marathon pacers. A pace which whilst undoubtedly too fast for the full distance, felt fairly comfortable for the first half. Being a 2 lap run, it’s hard to know how you're doing in the big scheme of things. But, as the half way point approached and we peeled off for lap 2, it became clear that there weren't many runners doing the full race, as the majority went the other way! With the numbers considerably thinned down, and 1:45 on the clock for the first 13 miles, the second lap was going to be a case of trying to hold my pace for as long as possible, whilst trying to enjoy the endless city center roads for a second time. If anything the wind had picked up as we crossed the Itchen Bridge for the second time and battled our way around the promontory, a task made all the harder by having no one to hide behind and already having 16 odd miles in my legs. Having already been round once, I had a pretty good idea of what to expect on lap 2, including the long climb, at what would be mile 22 or 23, just when the mileage would be really starting to bite! Bite it did too. A long slog of a climb, which unsurprisingly hadn’t seemed quite so hard on the first lap! No pretty scenery to distract myself with. No distractions from the task in hand. Just an endless stretch of tarmac reaching ever upwards in front of me. Eventually though I reached the top of that endless slog, and turned onto the flatter terrain of the last few miles. Miles which ticked slowly down, until with 3:37 elapsed, the finish line hove into view. And I’m happy with that. I think that 3:37 is a fairly respectable time, and is actually slightly faster than I was expecting, having set off with the goal of 3:45 in mind. Maybe, I went out a little fast, and if I could have maintained the pace from the first half I’d have been closer to 3:30, but that was going to be a big ask.
Road running isn’t really my thing, so it’s hard to know how competitive you actually are until you put yourself against a measurable crowd. But I would say that considering the strong wind along the coastal section and the route. That 3:37 here compares favorably with my last road marathon, where I did a 3:34 at London in October 2022. So, I may be older, I’m certainly no wiser, but I don’t seem to have lost that much pace in the last 18 months either, despite having spent most of last year out injured, and I’m more than happy with 3:37. Maybe in another 2 years I’ll do another road Marathon and see how I’m getting on. But I’m certainly in no rush to repeat the experience. It’s much more fun off-road!
Right, if it won’t stop raining, then I’m just going to have to get wet (again). To that end, I’ve been getting wet this weekend, although maybe just getting wet isn’t quite descriptive enough! In fact, I think “and muddy” needs to be added to that for the full effect! “Wet and very muddy”, yes that’s far better.
I suppose I’m going to have to elaborate on “wet and muddy” though or this is going to be the shortest blog post ever. I’ve actually been running, or more accurately that should probably be “slip sliding around in the mud” because the conditions were what would be termed "Heavy" in horse racing circles, and as such there wasn’t actually that much running going on. Sunday was a new event for me in the form of the Sevenoaks Circular, a 30 mile route through what is undoubtedly some glorious North Kent countryside, hosted, fabulously, as ever, by our friends at the Kent LDWA. I’d been looking forward to this one ever since I’d signed up for it back in the depths of winter, and despite the gods of road works trying their hardest to stop me getting there by closing the M25 ,I was determined to have a good day out. Hearing about the planned M25 closure a couple of weeks ago I'd actually considered pulling out of this event. But a look at the map showed that it should still be possible to get there, even though it may take a while, and I’d warned “The Emma” that if the traffic was bad on the way down then I’d just stay Sunday night too and go direct to work on Monday morning, thus avoiding the road closures. As it happened the M25 closure had little effect on my journey (in fact it was probably better than it normally is) and I had a good journey in both directions. Having planned on being delayed I’d set off early Saturday afternoon, and thus found myself with a couple of hours to kill before bedtime Saturday night. A situation which was easily remedied by a wander round Sevenoaks and a quiet pint, whilst watching the world go by, before bed. A later than normal start on Sunday (09:00) meant for a leisurely start, and as I sat in the van having a brew, I actually thought that I might have got lucky, and the forecast rain hadn’t materialised. How wrong could I be though, because by the time I actually got to the start, the blue skies had moved on and a steady rain was falling from the skies. Checked in, rain jacket securely fastened, one last biscuit, shoes tightened, and route loaded onto my sat nav. Just before 09:00 I was ready to go. The rolling start and need to reach the prescribed checkpoints within their opening / closing times, meant I set off alone, the slower walkers having already departed, and the faster runners, still thinking about getting out of bed. Just me, the sound of rain falling all around me, the squelch of wet feet underfoot and the joy of being outside, I can live with that!
From the off it was incredibly muddy. A 2” deep layer of slippery mud coated most of the paths. Mud which had been churned up by multiple feet through the winter, and made worse by the never-ending rain over the past months. Mud which made running almost impossible, as the gloop filled the treads of my trail shoes and left a smooth, slick, surface, which was impossible to gain any traction from.
Slow progress wasn’t a problem through, the footpaths were deserted, the road crossings quiet, and the steadily falling rain, bought a peacefulness to the countryside, as I progressed slowly along. Church bells rang in the distance, calling the faithful to prayer as they have for a millennia before. Sheep, their fleeces wet, matted, and dirty, from the weeks of rain, gazed intently from the fields either side. Magpies called from the trees, Blackbirds hunted through the wet leaves underfoot in search of a tasty morsal, and squirrels scampered back to the safety of the trees as I passed. None seemed overly bothered by the falling rain though, so why should I?
By the time I reached the first checkpoint approaching the 9 mile mark, the rain had eased, leaving a steady drizzle in its place. I could have gone into the checkpoint, had a brew and a chat with the lovely volunteers manning their station, but would I have come back out to face the mud and rain again?
Probably, but why tempt fate. Besides, I was only 9 miles in, there’s no need to stop yet, so I had my number noted down to prove my passing and pushed on.
The next leg was a loop, reducing the need for additional checkpoints and adding miles to the route without additional support requirements. Not that that detracted from the beauty of the area and the outstanding views from the high points (not that you could see far in the drizzle and general murk, that still pervaded).
By late morning the drizzle had abated and by the time I got back to the checkpoint the day was slowly warming up. Jacket off, water refilled and a marmite sandwich from the large spread on offer, courtesy of the volunteers manning the checkpoint to enjoy as I pushed on, and I was soon on my way again.
Surprisingly the next few miles were really boggy. Picking up the North Downs way and following the high ground, I had thought that this section would be fairly dry. Those hopes were soon dashed as I started what turned out to be the first of a few miles sloshing through waterlogged fields. The water oozed between my toes, cold, muddy and wet. My soaked socks clung to my feet, and the water was pushed and pulled through the thin fabric of my running shoes with every step. The views from the top of those hills provided distractions from the discomfort of running with wet feet though, and whilst progress was slow as I sloshed through the endless puddles, I was making progress and the miles left to go, were slowly ticking down.
Leaving the high ground of the North Downs Way behind, the waterlogging actually improved, and a few miles along better drained trails and quiet country roads provided the opportunity to make up a bit of time.
Time that was rapidly lost again as I approached the next checkpoint and struggled with the routing. I wasn’t the only one though and within a few minutes there was a small group of us, discussing where we should be going. “The GPS says this way”. “Seems about right, from the route sheet”. “But why would we be going this way, the checkpoints over there"? A short diversion to get back on track, a slog up a really muddy path, and finally the checkpoint hove into view, along with the opportunity to grab a biscuit and a slice of fruit cake (purely for sustenance) and a few seconds admiring the expansive view from the checkpoint, before pushing on for the final few miles.
One last push to the finish then, and after the mornings rain the sun tried valiantly to make its presence felt, as morning turned towards afternoon. More miles along mud heavy footpaths, the sticky gloop pulling at tired leg muscles, as I slipped and slid around, arms flailing for balance, knees and ankles protesting at the endless twisting.
I was making progress though. One final long, steep, climb, and then back onto the familiar, muddy footpath that I had followed in the opposite direction hours earlier ,to take me back to the start, and the bitter, sweet, feeling that the conclusion of every brilliant day out brings.
Not a fast day out by any stretch of the imagination at 6:20 for 30 miles, but a time that I’m happy with considering the conditions of the day. And whilst the conditions underfoot had been pretty dire for most of the day, it had still been a brilliant day out. A day out that I’m raring to complete again when the weathers a bit more beneficial, and the going's a bit better, as I really don’t think that I saw this route in its best light.
In fact, if it was that good when the weather was against it, imagine how brilliant it will be when the sun’s shining, the woods are full of Bluebells and spring fills the air. This is definitely one to come back to again.
And just before I sign off for this week, we've got new neighbours at home, and they've evicted the wildlife that lived at the bottom of their garden.
I might have mentioned before about the family of Sparrows that live in our roof. They shouldn't be living in our roof, but I haven't got the heart to evict them, and in fact they seem to be doing quite well up there and have managed to expand their family over the last few years. Due to their rapid expansion, half of the family moved out from our roof and moved into the bush at the end of next door's garden last year, and continued to flourish in their new home. Flourish that is until the new neighbours moved in and proceeded to cut down their home. I'm not sure why they've cut it down, as it's now in an unsightly pile in exactly the same pace as it was when it was growing and providing a bit of colour, but dead and decaying instead of green, verdant and full of flowers in the summer. The Sparrows though are looking lost, having lost their home for no apparent reason, and to that end "The Emma" suggested that they might need a new home, and suggested that I might know where to find one.
It’s that time of year again, the evenings are starting to draw out, the weather has no idea what it’s doing (as if it ever does), and that means two things. Firstly, it’s time to start thinking about sowing the first seeds in the greenhouse, and secondly it must be time for the Steyning Stinger.
With the greenhouse clean, shiny, and looking better than it has done in many a year, I had a very pleasant couple of hours on the allotment Saturday morning sowing the first of 2024’s seeds. With the sun trying valiantly to break through the clouds, the birds singing from the hedgerow which borders my plot, and the Squirrels which inhabit the same hedge looking intently on, I dug the seed trays out of the shed and set too. 4 trays of Sweet Peas, a tray each of Spring cabbage, Sprouts, Broccoli, Kale and Winter cabbage, and two trays of Broad Beans. Followed closely by a packet of Leeks and a good sprinkling of Carrot seeds into an old recycling box, which will start off in the greenhouse and then get moved outside once the weather warms up a bit, got things off to a good start. I should probably have added the first of the Peas to that list too, but for some reason I omitted to pick them up with the other stuff and didn’t realise until I’d got to the plot and couldn’t be bothered to walk all the way back home again (which was extremely lazy of me), but there’s plenty of time yet and I’ll get a tray of Peas in when I go up next weekend instead. I really need to start thinking about sowing some flower seeds and the Chilli's and Peppers too, but they’ll have to live in the house for a month or so yet, which means I really need to wash some pot’s and trays before I can bring them home, and if there’s one thing I really hate (apart from painting) it’s washing seed trays, so that job can wait until next weekend too. The important thing is that were off to a start, and from here on in the growing season will pick up pace and my focus of attention will need to slowly move from hiding in the garage and workshop, to more allotment and garden related activities, and if I’m honest I really can’t wait. It’s been a long, damp, dreary winter, and finally seeing things starting to come to life, hearing the birds singing again in the mornings, leaving the house in the dawn light instead of the dark to cycle to work, and seeing the early spring bulbs bursting to life has been like a rejuvenating breath of fresh air in my life.
With the admin out of the way, I took the van down to Steyning on Saturday afternoon and took advantage of being that way by dropping in to see “Kathryn Stinks” and her tribe for tea, before settling in for the night, ready for an early start on Sunday morning.
I’ve run the Steyning Stinger marathon a few times before (2020, 2022, 2023) and if there’s a theme running through each run, it’s that it’s a hard, hilly route, with loads of ascent, and it’s normally muddy, slippery and wet underfoot. With the rain we’ve had in the past few weeks Sunday’s efforts looked like they were going to follow the same pattern, the only difference being that when I arrived at the start it wasn’t, raining, foggy, blowing a gale, but cold, crisp and still, with the promise of a glorious day to come. The Stinger’s unusual for an organised Marathon in that it has a rolling start, with the option to set off whenever your ready between 07:30 and 08:00, which to my mind makes for a relaxing start to the day. There’s no waiting around for the off, no jostling for position and no getting cold at the start, just turn up and go when you’re ready. Brilliant!
As expected, things were muddy from the off, but in the early morning sunshine, with a light frost glistening from the grass, conditions were pretty good considering the rain we’ve had over recent weeks.
The first few miles are fairly benign compared to what’s to come and provided the ideal opportunity to warm up stiff legs and settle into a steady pace, before the path goes steeply uphill for the first ascent onto the South Downs. The muddy, slippery path climbed steeply through the wooded hillside, hiding the view until sufficient height had been gained to reveal it in it’s true glory. Heart beating hard, lungs fit to burst, slip sliding through the mud, the trees came to an abrupt halt and the view opened up. Low laying mist littered the countryside, church steeples poking bravely through. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys far below as families went about their morning chores, and all was well in the world. I’ll take weeks of rain for the odd day like this. It might take some effort to run up the steep hillside, but it’s so worth it, and mid race or not, stopping for a few minutes to take it in in its full majesty was more than worth it.
I can’t spend all day taking in the view though, so reluctantly I pull myself away and continue onwards, slowly catching back up to, and gradually overtaking the runners who came past as I stood and stared. I can live with losing a few places and a bit of time though, there’s more to life than racing through it, and there’s no point in going to these places if I’m not going to take in the surroundings and make the most of the opportunities offered to me.
Another steep climb follows and then a flatter section and a long descent to reach the first checkpoint. On the flatter part I pick up another runner and we fall into conversation for a few minutes, discussing future plans, past adventures, and generally enjoying each other’s company to pass a few minutes as we progress steadily on.
I push straight on through the first checkpoint and loose my companion as I slog up the next long, steady, climb. He comes back past as I reach the top, and again stop for a few seconds to take in the view, and from there we spend the next few miles leap frogging each other, in a classic case of “The Tortoise and the Hare”. I’m slightly faster but quite happy to stop whenever an interesting sight catches my eye or a view requires my attention for a few seconds, whilst he pushes on, head down, pacing well, and then the cycle starts again as I once again tear myself away from whatever had my attention.
By the halfway mark the early morning frost had been burned off by the low laying sun, and despite steadily stripping off hats, gloves and layers, the day was warming up into a beautiful early spring day.
On the top of the downs, with the skylarks singing, the sheep grazing happily, and the sun beating down it’s hard to imagine that you’re only a mile or so from the traffic locked, congested, South coast. Look to your South from the hilltops and the entire stretch from Brighton to Worthing is one sprawling mass of housing and roadworks, wedged in between the South Downs and the Sea. Whilst a glance to the North is almost all open countryside until you reach the North Downs, some 30 miles to the North.
Contemplating peoples housing and living options, wasn’t getting the miles done, although it was certainly helping to pass the time. But as we drew closer to the urban sprawl and came into staggering distance from king car, so the paths became more churned up and muddy, where a thousand feet had turned the surface from hard packed soil to a slippery quagmire, reminding me again of our proximity to civilisation.
Mile after mile of slippery mud bought my average speed down, made my shoes heavy as it clung to the soles and sides, and tore at my calf’s as I plodded steadily on, slowly wearing away at my resolve and wearing at already tired muscles. The mud’s all part of the fun though, and somehow, it’s often easier to run on the slippery stuff, than it is to walk. An unfortunate slip on a particularly muddy section sent the person just in front sprawling, emerging seconds later from their unfortunate slip looking like the creature from the black lagoon, caked all down one side in wet mud. A quick check that they were OK and a double confirmatory “you sure”? Confirmed that no harm had been done, and once they were back on their feet we pushed on through the quagmire.
By the time the 22-mile mark had come and gone, the worst of the mud was behind me and all that remained was one more long hard slog to regain the high ground, followed by an easy couple of miles downhill back to the finish.
Twinges of cramp rippled through my calf’s as I slogged up that final ascent, paying testimony to the efforts of the day and possibly reflecting a lack of fluids over the previous miles, but as the slope slowly eased, I knew that the worst was over, and it was all downhill from here.
Plunging back down the slippery hillside through the trees, most of which have attained the size they have today in the past 35 years, having been flattened in the “Great Gale” in the late 1980’s, required some extra concentration to keep my footing on the slippery slope. One careless step now as I sped downhill could spell disaster and the phrase “more haste less speed” seemed apt.
Another mile across muddy fields and a final sprint to the finish and that was job done. 4:10 of muddy fun in the early spring sunshine, does it get any better than that? In this case, yes, because the real draw to the Steyning Stinger is that not only is it a brilliant route through glorious countryside with outstanding views around every corner, but you get a cooked breakfast at the end. And it really doesn’t get any better than that!
I’ve tried this year I really have, but I’m finally, and somewhat disappointingly, going to have to admit defeat. I’m not giving up and I’m going to keep chipping away at it, because at some point in the future I will get back on track. But for the time being, I’m going to have to surrender to the inevitable, and admit that I just can’t keep on top of the weekly blog updates at the minute.
There’s about 3 years’ worth of weekly waffle within these pages, and I’ve had a great time relating all my tales on a weekly basis, but for some reason, this year, I just can’t seem to keep on top of it. I think the main problem over the past few months has been work related. Being the idiot that I am, I can’t just sit back and do as little as possible, as many people seem quite content to do. If I see a problem, and I’ve got a solution, I feel compelled to try and sort it out, no matter how much extra work that creates for myself. That often comes back to bite me on the backside through, and recently I’ve bitten off a big old challenge at work, which has massively bitten me back. I’m winning now though, and starting to make a real difference, but over the last few months my work life has been one long fight to get things put in place to try and help the people that I’m supposed to be helping, whilst half of the people I have to deal with have tried to stop me, or make my task as difficult as possible, in order to make their own lives easier. Like everything in life, that has a knock-on effect, and I suppose the biggest knock on from that, is that having spent all day up to my neck in e mails and spreadsheets, the last thing I’ve really wanted to do is sit down in front of another keyboard and start tapping away at my bolg. Which is a massive shame, because, sitting here putting my thoughts into words is massively therapeutic, and without doubt, helps to clear my mind, and work through the trials and tribulations that daily life throws my way. There’s no point in struggling to keep on top of something which at the end of the day is only a vanity project though, and at the end of the day, I never set out to create a blog with multiple pages and weekly updates. I set out on this journey to update ‘The Old Cheese’ and a few other friends and relatives on what was going on in my life. To share a few pictures without having to resort to Facebook or such like, and generally make note of what I had been up to over time. to that end the self-imposed weekly update has really become a bit of a millstone around my neck at the moment. So, for the time being, I’m not even going to try and keep on top of the weekly thing, I’m just going to dip in and out, as, and when I’ve got time. And instead of weekly updates, it’ll just be a bit more irregular. I still love writing, and there’s nothing more satisfying than looking back at the older posts and remembering what I was up to at that point in time. So, I’m not going to give up, far from it, this little Blog project has become an important part of my life over the past few years. I’m just going to take the pressure off, be a bit more realistic in what I can achieve and do with my limited time and add updates as and when I can. So, to that end, let’s have a quick catch up on what I’ve been up to over the past 3 weeks.
Well, for a start there was the Punchbowl Marathon. That’s always a good little day out and despite the heavy rain shower, this year didn’t disappoint. 30 miles through the glorious Surrey countryside is always a treat, and rain or shine the long slow climb up to the Devils Punchbowl at Hindhead is always worth the effort. Even this year when the top was shrouded in mist and drizzle!
Despite the rain shower the distance felt good, and as with the Winter Tanners I managed to pace my efforts well, maintaining a steady pace throughout and covering the 30 miles in 5:22 which is a time that I’m more than happy with. I can’t just leave that there without saying a big thanks to all the marshals, who as usual went out of their way to make the day brilliant. It may not have been wall to wall sunshine, but a smiling face at the checkpoints as they check your number through, a big slice of cake and a refill of your water bottles and a cheery ‘Good Luck’ as you depart for the next one, more than makes up for a bit of drizzle.
I’ve had a couple of weekends of Audaxing too, to break up the running a bit, one of which went exactly to plan, and the other, well, maybe the less said about that the better.
First, we had the Chiltern Grit 200Km Audax from Aylesbury. I’ve ridden this one a couple of times before and it’s normally a good day out. From Aylesbury it’s a fast run down to Reading and back on major B roads to allow for the winter weather, followed by an afternoon loop to the North of Aylesbury, and I’d been looking forward to this one for some time. At the start I was still well up for the day’s adventures, but as soon as I set off, I knew that it wasn’t to be. I don’t know why but I just couldn’t get my head in the game. Within the first 30 minutes the time was dragging, and the lumpy, potholed, road surface was getting on my nerves. When you’re feeling good and the legs are working like they should, you can block out the relentless battering from the broken chip seal tarmac, the cars screaming past inches from your elbow, and the endless thumps and jarring on your wrists as the front wheel descends into yet another pothole that you can’t avoid because there’s a car sat right beside or behind you. When you’re not feeling it, those same things that you can normally ignore, by immersing yourself in the beautiful views, the birdsong and the joy of being outside, quickly become all consuming, and there’s no escape from the endless monotony of peddling ever onwards towards your fate.
The first few hours of Chiltern Grit , as I made my way towards Reading were just like that. All-consuming self-pity and the endless desire to stop.
I pushed on towards Reading, through the morning mist and drizzle, but by the time I got there with 33 miles in my legs I wasn’t having much fun. That fun was further eroded by a route change from previous editions which took us right into the center of Reading, along a mixed-use footpath for no real reason, and required an proof of passage receipt. On my arrival at the advertised checkpoint there was no shops (apart from a coffee wagon and a supermarket with no bike parking) to get a receipt, and that as far as I was concerned was day over. I really couldn’t be bothered hunting round for somewhere to provide a stupid receipt, just to prove that I’d cycled into the middle of Reading for no real reason. The 33 miles back to Aylesbury would give me a 100Km day, and that would do, my heart wasn’t in it, I wasn’t having fun, and I couldn’t be bothered hunting around to try and find somewhere to get a receipt from as ‘proof of passage’. By the time I got back to Aylesbury again a couple of hours later, I felt a bit happier, and was actually enjoying myself a bit more, but my mind had been made up at Reading, so I called it a day at the halfway point. That’s an unusual decision for me. It’s unusual that I don’t finish something I started, but cycling is supposed to be fun, not a chore and I wasn’t having fun, so why put myself through the pain of continuing? And that’s always the risk of routes that pass back through the start / finish on the way to somewhere else too. It’s just to easy to give up!
You’ll all be please to know that I’ve made amends for my miserable Chiltern Grit failure by getting out and actually finishing what I started this weekend though.
Saturday saw me on the start line for a new ride in the form of The Winter Warmer. A slightly easier endeavor, in that it was only 100Km. But, being along new roads I was looking forward to this one, and getting up Saturday morning after a cozy night in the van, I felt good and more than up for the challenge. I’ve said it before, but it’s surprising the difference a week makes in your mind set, and with the sun shining, frost on the roadside verges and the promise of a good day out, I rode up to the start from my overnight hideaway with a spring in my step.
A later than normal start and a shorter route seems to attract a bigger crowd (I’ve no idea why) and the village hall at the start was thronged with people getting ready for the days adventures when I arrived. Still slightly early, there was just time to grab a brew and a bit of toast, before the obligatory pre ride “mind the potholes” brief and the off.
There’s not much to say about this one, apart from the fact it was a brilliant day out. The early morning sunshine didn’t last long, with the skies soon clouding over and by lunchtime some heavy drizzle falling, which put a bit of a dampener on things, but did little to hamper progress. Without doubt the best bit about Saturdays ride, and why it will remain firmly lodged in my memory wasn’t the scenery, the weather or the route, good as they all were, but the catering and welcome at the controls. The first stop atop Winterfold hill had what can only be described as the best spread of goodies ever to grace a remote woodland car park. It may have been a wet car park in the middle of nowhere (not quite nowhere, at the top of a bloody great hill is where it was), but no expense had been spared. Hot brews, cake, bananas, more cake, and yet more cake, was being used to weigh down the gazebo that it was all sheltered under, and I can tell you for a fact, that with that weight of cake holding it down, a hurricane wouldn’t have moved it! The finish control was outstanding too. A warm welcome, hot brew’s, bacon butties and yet more cake. Exactly what’s needed after a long morning in the saddle, and an outstanding effort all round from all involved in organising Saturdays ride. I may have got wet, it may have been a cold, dreary and drab winters day, but a ride like that and the effort made by everyone involved in putting on a superb day can’t help but put a smile on your face, lighten your mood and leave you hungry for more. Roll on the summer is all I can say, if I’m having this much fun in the middle of winter, just imagine what’s to come as the weather gets better, the evenings get lighter, and the days get longer!
And finally, before I go, lets have a quick look at project MX5 and the allotment. There’s not actually much to report on the allotment, although I did spend a full day up there last weekend removing all of the glass from the greenhouse and scrubbing it clean. It’s amazing how dirty it gets, and it’s not had a really good clean for a few years, so it was well overdue.
It’s not the best of jobs to be doing on a cold winter’s day. But it’s the only time to do it when it’s not full of plants, and it’s a good job out of the way ready for a start to the sowing and growing season, which is fast approaching. It’s surprising how much difference a good clean makes to the amount of light coming in too. While were talking about things growing, I notice that the daffodils are in full bloom when I’m out and about (and in the garden), as are the first of the polyanthus, and the roses have got plenty of new growth showing too. There’s no doubt about it, springs just around the corner and hopefully I’ll get the time to sow the first seeds in the shiny and clean greenhouse on the allotment next weekend.
There’s been some progress on the MX5 over the past few weeks too.
Originally, I’d bought this knowing that it needed a load of work doing to it, the plan being to scrap most of it and use the running gear as the basis for a Kit car. Once I started driving it, I got a sort of soft spot for it though, and whilst the suspension and underside is in a sorry state, I kind of think that it’s worth saving as opposed to stripping for parts. The bodywork is in surprisingly good condition for its age, and it’s clearly had some love and money spent on it over the years. So maybe it deserves a reprieve and a bit of a restoration, and the chance to bring a few more smiles to someone’s face. To that end it’s now in the garage on axle stands with most of the front end removed and the R/H suspension stripped out whilst I have a good look at the work that’s going to be involved in saving it and make a final decision on what to do with it. My head says Kit car, but my heart says restore it, and heart normally wins! Whatever the final outcomes going to be, it’s going to be here for the long term in one way or another. But disappearing out to the garage for an hour after work to chip rust of a rusty car is a great way to unwind and quite therapeutic. Plus, it gives me a challenge to get my head into and something to think about on all those long, wet, runs and cycle rides, whilst I try to figure out my next step or problem. And as we all know, if there’s one thing, I love it’s a challenge.
Well, we seem to have survived the big freeze last week and now it’s back to situation normal. I’m not sure what’s worse though. Freezing my bits off despite wearing all my clothes all of the time, or nearly being blown off the face of the planet during my cycle commute this week, whilst trying to dodge the massive puddles which have reappeared.
Last weeks cold temperatures were a bit extreme. I ran the ten miles into work on Friday morning and it was cold enough that the water in my camelback had frozen by the time I got there, which is pretty extreme. (Especially as it’s right next to my body, with the associated heat that gives off whilst running). It’s all part of the fun though, and the variety adds to the experience. The sudden temperature change between Friday / Saturday and Sunday morning caught me out a bit this week though as we’ll see in a minute. Sunday saw a long-awaited return to some proper running, in the form of The Winter Tanners 30 mile Ultramarathon. It’s been a long, often depressing, slog, to get back to a position where I thought 30 miles was possible again and what better way to do it than The Winter Tanners . The Winter Tanners is always an excellent day out and the lovely people at Surrey LDWA who put the event on manage to come up with a different route every year, which always showcases some of the best scenery, and walking / running routes in Surrey. Having done this event a couple of times before I had a rough idea of what was to come (2022, 2023) although the route would be new, the organisation was likely to be superb, as was the welcome at the checkpoints, and I wasn’t disappointed. A comfortable night in the van, meant that I was up ready and raring to go for an 08:30 start time, although having gone to bed with the thermometer hovering just above freezing, it seemed a bit strange to wake to rain falling on the van roof, and the feeling that the temperature had climbed somewhat overnight. Getting dressed and sorting my kit out after breakfast it dawned on me that the temperature change may be a bit of a problem. Having packed for the Arctic, I had a down jacket, but no waterproofs with me, and plenty of thermals, but no thin tops. Not an ideal start to the day, but with a bit of ingenuity I managed to gather up enough sensible clothing to cope with the changed conditions and set off hopeful that what I did have would see me through the day.
It didn’t take long to realise that it was actually even warmer than I had first thought, and within the first couple of miles I’d had to stop and discard the jacket that I’d started in, which wasn’t an ideal situation as it wouldn’t fit in my small pack, so it was going to have to be tied around my waist for the day, where it would generally annoy me as it flapped around. You’d think that by now, I’d have learned to prepare for every eventuality, but it would seem not, and in fact, the opposite is probably true as familiarity sets in.
Poor dress choice wasn’t going to stop me having fun though, and I set off at a nice steady pace, planning on just taking the day easy. If I could just get round on my dodgy knee, then that was going to be the result that I was looking for, and if that meant running the first part and then walking the rest, then so be it. But the first few miles passed fairly easily, and I was feeling surprisingly good as the first of the days climbs loomed out of the countryside in front of us. The climb up past Denbies vineyard with its views over Dorking and back towards Box Hill is always a delight and today was no different. It’s a long slog but eminently run-able, and I slowly made my way towards the top at a steady pace, gradually catching up with the walkers and slower runners who had set off ahead of me, passing each with a cheery good morning, and an “enjoy your day” as I made my way slowly past. A checkpoint at the top of the climb ensured that no one had sneaked a shortcut, and then onward along the hilltop towards the pretty church at Ranmore, before dropping off into the woods to make our way towards the first of the day’s proper checkpoints at the 7-mile mark.
The first checkpoint had not long been open when I arrived and there was already a queue of people waiting patiently in line to get their cards scanned as proof of passage in front of me. That’s another joy of these events, because they’re not timed and there’s no results published (just a finished or not) there’s no pushing and shoving to get scanned and on your way as fast as possible, no bad tempers at the delay, no rushing!
It’s all far more civilised, no rush, stand in line and have a chat with the person in front, hold the gate open for them if they’re close enough, have a chat with your fellow runners and walkers on the way round, stop to admire the view if you’re that way inclined. That’s my idea of a good day out, you can keep your results and jostling for position, I’d rather have this any day. A couple of minutes later (not long enough to get cold) I was back on my way. Card scanned, water topped up, and a couple of chocolate digestives in my hand as way of reward for the efforts so far. With only 7 miles down it was going to be a long 10 mile stretch to the next checkpoint across unfamiliar ground, but I was still feeling good, the sun was trying valiantly to make an appearance, and although the wind had a cold edge to it when it caught you in its blustery grasp, I was still having fun.
Steady progress through the morning saw West Horsley come and go, and the dry tracks underfoot saw a marked changed to the same event last year when I seem to remember spending the middle miles wading through flooded fields.
The old airfield at Wisley can as a surprise out of nowhere as the footpath spat us out right into the middle of the old runway, before heading back into the woods on the other side, a different proposition from the days when the airfield was built as a satellite to the aircraft works at Brooklands where they were busy building some of the most iconic aircraft of WW2 and the 1950’s and 60’s (Wellington Bomber, VC10, parts of Concord, Hawk, to name but a few). Another delight awaited just as we approached the next checkpoint too, in the form of a Semaphore tower at Chatley Heath. It’s hard to comprehend in this modern digital age, where communication is almost instant, that less than 200 years ago, this iconic building formed part of a chain of such towers and was used to relay messages via Semaphore from the Admiralty in London down to their ships in harbours around the coast. How the world has changed in such a short time frame.
Maybe I could have sent “The Emma" a message via the semaphore tower to let he know that I was doing ok and with 17 miles down, was now heading back in the right direction. Mid Ultra marathon probably isn’t the best time to stop and learn semaphore though, and at the end of the day, she’s got better things to do than get messages from an idiot that thinks running 30 miles is a good idea. So, I made do with a chat with the nice people at the checkpoint, a sausage roll and a biscuit from the table groaning under the weight of their goodies, and pushed on.
The next few miles were a bit of a slog if I’m honest. The miles seemed to pass slowly, with little of interest, except for a few minutes chatting with a nice man who was running his 100th Ultra and was happy to chat for a while as we plodded along, and, just as interestingly a collection of pretty little bridges carrying farm tracks over the footpath (someone did mention a name for these as we passed but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was).
Despite the miles passing slowly I was progressing, and gradually, 23 miles became 24, which passed on to 25 and the milestone of 26 just before the next checkpoint at Tanners hatch.
The good news was that with only another 4 or 5 miles to go and it was mostly downhill from here, and good news that was too, because the miles were starting to take their toll (or more accurately the lack of miles in the preceding months were taking their toll on unconditioned legs). Sore feet and stiff muscles played a constant reminder over the last few miles, of the miles already covered. But I was still moving well and more importantly I was still running, and my knees were holding up ok. In fact, my pacing strategy had obviously paid off as I was still slowly gaining on, catching, and overtaking plenty of people in front of me, many of whom were coming towards the end of the shorter 20-mile route, whilst I had an extra 10 miles in my legs.
Coming back into the outskirts of Leatherhead all that remained was the last few hundred meters along the road back to the finish, and with tired legs, but happy at the days outcome I scanned back in at 13:50, 5:28 after setting off.
And you know what, five and a half hours for 30 off road miles in the middle of winter is a time that I’m more than happy with (and that compares well with previous efforts). Although, I’m most happy with the fact that after all those months of not running last year, I’ve finally managed another Ultra, something which for a long time I didn’t think was going to be possible. Yes, my legs are sore today and my knees feel a bit tender, but I was straight back on the bike for my normal commute to work on Monday morning, and despite feeling a bit stiff, my knees feel none the worse for Sundays efforts, so fingers crossed, now I’ve “broken my duck”, I can continue getting scores on the doors and my Ultra running career isn’t going to be over with a miserly 62 Marathons. I mean, surely there’s a few more in me yet, and there’s the small matter of the LDWA Punchbowl Marathon in a few weeks’ time. So, watch this space and let’s see what happens over the coming weeks, maybe my running career isn’t quite over yet!
It looks like winters finally arrived, or at least it certainly has here, it’s blinking freezing! In fact it’s been a “double gloves” week all this week for my ride into work, and I’ve been sitting at home in the evenings with 2 jumpers and a wooly hat on!
On a more positive note, it’s surprising how quickly the evenings are drawing out. The week before Christmas it was dark by 16:30 as I got home from work, this week it’s 17:00, and I’ve noticed that the first of the spring bulbs have broken the surface in the back garden. So, better days are certainly on their way.
While we’re talking about better days, I managed to get in a good solid week of running last week for the first time in many month’s, clocking up 41 miles for the week, which included 16 on Saturday morning. Considering that a few months ago I was wondering if I was ever going to run again, I’m really happy with that. Obviously, it’s too soon to make any predictions for the coming year, but if things keep moving forward, maybe I’ll be able to get some decent running come the summer.
Running wasn’t the main focus of the weekend though, that was the Watership Down Audax. It’s only a 100Km, but this is one that I’d been looking forward to for a while, and had been trying to tie into my calendar for a few years, but had never managed before, as it always clashed with something else.
Starting from Winchester it’s not a million miles from home, so it made sense to extend the day a bit by riding to the start and back, which took the 100km up to a nice round 100 miles, making it an ideal winter's day out. Starting from home also had the added bonus of a full weekend sleeping in my own bed. Not that that’s necessarily a good thing, and I will confess that I love my nights out in the van. If I have too many nights at home I start to get itchy feet for a bit of adventure! On a cold, dark, winter’s night, sitting in front of the fire seems like a pretty good option sometimes though.
An 09:30 start from Winchester meant a sensible start from home too and it was nearly 07:30 by the time I got on the road, which is a nice relaxing Sunday morning by my normal standards.
Quiet Sunday morning roads made for a pleasant ride down to the start, and with the added bonus of the sun coming up as I made my way through the quiet countryside, it was an ideal start to the day. Arriving at the start with plenty of time to spare, I was greeted by a village hall full of people, and the offer of a hot brew and slice of homemade cake. Homemade cake, for my second breakfast? Well I suppose I’ve already put 20 miles in my legs, and I’m sure I’ll burn those extra calories off without too many problems today, so why not?
By the time we set off from Winchester, the weak winter sun had made an unusual appearance, and the temperature had climbed to just above freezing. Cold, but not too cold, dry, and wind free, you can’t ask for much better cycling weather in the middle of January!
Not being that far from home, many of Sunday's roads were familiar, although joining them up in a different order always makes for a different ride. As does traveling the same road in a different direction. In fact there were quite a few times on Sunday when I thought, “I’ve no idea where I am” only to come to the next junction, or turn in the road, to realise that I actually knew this road well but had only travelled it in the opposite direction previously.
For a 100Km it was a pretty hard day out too!
From the start the route was “Lumpy”, but at the same time there was nothing too hard for the first few miles, and we made good progress through the Hampshire countryside. By the time the first checkpoint arrived at Upper Chute, “lumpy” had become “hilly” and I was starting to feel somewhat overdressed as I toiled up yet another long, steep, leg burning climb. I suspect those 16 miles of running that I put into my legs on Saturday weren’t helping matters, but I was certainly starting to feel those climbs. Revitalised by a couple of mince pies at Upper Chute the climbing continued as we made our way through the North Wessex AONB. (Why aren’t mince pies available all year round? Crumbly pastry, mince meat, hundreds of calories, they’re the ideal pick me up for a tired adventurer, although a hot cross bun comes a close second) A long series of relentless climbs through beautiful countryside, made for some slow progress as we toiled slowly towards the next checkpoint, which would signify the turn for home. But eventually, as we crested the top of the long, steep, climb to Combe Gibbet, the endless uphill gave way to flatter terrain and screaming legs got the respite they so desperately needed. With a respite from the steep, endless, inclines, the miles came quickly, along familiar roads. Roads which I must have traversed a thousand times over the years as I’ve made my way by bike on various adventures. No matter how often I travel these quiet countryside back roads, they still enthrall me, and invoke the same spirit of adventure and investigation as they did the first time I made my way this way all those years ago. The roads may be familiar, but the excitement at what lays around the next bend or over the next hill remains a constant. One last steep climb took us over the days namesake at Watership Down. Steep, twisting, loose gravel loosening the back wheels grip, lungs bursting, heart beating, the efforts always worth it for the view from the top, and today in the early afternoon sun it didn’t disappoint. No chance of photos today though, there’s no way I’m taking off two pairs of gloves and disturbing all those layers that are keeping me warm for the sake of a view we’ve seen before!
The final big climb of the day over, all that remained was the small matter of 20 lumpy miles back to the start. Miles which seemed easy on the way out appeared much harder on the way back, and hills which had hardly registered on my radar a few hours earlier appeared to have grown in steepness and length in the intervening hours.
As is often the case, the feeling of wishing for the road to flatten and the day to end is often replaced with a feeling of regret and disappointment when you do cover the final miles and the day does come to an end. Why did I wish those miles away, when all I really needed was ten minutes off the bike and a cup of tea and I would have enjoyed them? Today though was going to be my lucky day, because despite being back at the start there was still the small matter of the 20 miles back home to cover. A slice of delicious home made cake, a hot brew (and a refill), a few minutes of small talk with the other riders who were steadily coming into the finish, their days done. Another slice of cake? Oh go on then! And then back out into the late afternoon sun for the short ride home. A ride which was far pleasanter than those final few miles back to the start a few short minutes before. Considering I was traveling the exact same roads through identical terrain, it’s amazing the difference a short stop, and a few sugary calories can make to the way you feel! Arriving home as dusk descended, spots of rain fell on the garage roof, neatly bringing to a close a great day out. Not a drop of rain all day, and then a heavy shower as I got in, it was almost as if the weather gods had been looking down favourably on me. Or was it just a case of “Fortune favours the bold”? 2024 already. How has that happened? It doesn’t seem like 2 minutes ago that we were celebrating the start of 2023, yet 12 months have passed in a blur and now we’ve got another 12 to look forward too!
Who knows what 2024 is going to have in store for us, that’s the beauty of life, every day is the opportunity for a new adventure, experience, or the chance to learn something new, it’s just up to us to grasp the opportunity with both hands and make the most of it. To that end, I’ve started 2024 as I mean to go on, with the now traditional Knacker Cracker (2021, 2023, 2022 didn’t happen due to the Covid kerfuffle). I’ll have said it before, but I Love the Knacker Cracker, it’s the most ridiculous run of the entire year, and for that reason it’s bloody brilliant. It’s only 10 Km, but it’s a brutal 10 Km with multiple ascents of Box Hill, the majority of which are too steep for us mere mortals to run. It’s always muddy, it’s always slippery, most people get dressed up in fancy dress, it’s got a brilliant atmosphere, it starts with a rendition of the National Anthem, there’s always loads of families with small kids out enjoying their new years day walk, all of whom love the fancy dress runners and offer brilliant support, it’s a run that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and there’s always a piper dressed in full regalia to encourage you along. I mean, let’s be honest, how can that not be brilliant? Due to being dressed up as a Minion I haven’t got any photos of the fun to share (who knew that Minions don’t have pockets?) but there are loads of pictures of the stupidity (and a video) on the Knacker Cracker Website if you’re interested. Being New Years day, it was a sensible 11:00 start, so I got the opportunity of being rudely awaken in my own bed at midnight while the world decided to re-enact the battle of the Somme outside, before getting up at a more sensible time for the short, traffic free journey down to the start. I think that in 2021 I stayed in the van the night before as I was coming back from somewhere else, and fireworks right outside your door when your asleep in the van are even less fun than they are when you’re at home I can tell you! Either way, I was ready and raring to go, along with multiple star wars characters, a couple of gangsters, some top gun pilots, a bee, a man with a goose on his head, a group coupled together as a steam train, a dinosaur and a dragon, for the signing of the National Anthem at bang on 11:00. See, I told you this was fun! From the start it’s across a muddy field and then straight up the side of Box Hill for the first time, following a muddy path that’s so steep it’s got steps all the way up. Puffing and panting my way up, I managed to overtake a clown at the first bend, catch and pass a pirate halfway up, and then get overtaken by a lady dressed as a bumble bee as we neared the top. From the top of the first ascent, it’s immediately straight back down the other side, which should be a chance to get your breath back, but isn’t, because it’s almost as hard to go down hill as it is up, and anyway, we all know that I’m rubbish at going downhill (see any previous blog post for my inadequacies in the downhill department). Luckily enough, the downhill is soon over, and it’s a quick spin around a traffic cone, and straight back up the way we’ve just come down. This time though there’s a steady stream of runners still coming down as I work my way up to admire, encourage and share a smile with. There’s Bill and Ben the flowerpot men, Spongebob’s looking good, the dinosaur is just ahead of the dragon, and the jockeys are being closely chased by a Christmas cracker. It's rather warm running in a all-in-one fleece Minion suit though, and by the time I reach the top for the second time, the sweats dripping off me and I’m blowing hard. Luckily it levels off for a bit as we make our way from one side of the hill to the other and I get the chance to get my breath back and cool off temporarily. Families walking off the Christmas excess shout their encouragement. Father Christmas chasing a Pumpkin and Banana along a muddy footpath, probably wasn’t what they were expecting to see on their New Years day walk, but everyone’s in good humour and were all enjoying the spectacle. Although a see a few bemused looking dogs, suspiciously eying a Viking and a Ballerina as we pass. Halfway, and it’s another trip down the side of the hill to come straight back up again. This time though it’s a long slog of a climb back up. Not steep enough to justify walking, but steep enough to have me on the limit as I run back up. Sweat drips from my brow and I can feel it trickling down my legs. Legs which are encased in that fleecy all in one suit, in which I’m starting to feel like a bake in the bag turkey. I lose a couple of places to more sensibly dressed runners on the way up. A bearded man dressed in a flowery summer dress comes past, soon followed by Forest Gump and a man in Bavarian dress, complete with shorts and hat, now why didn’t I think of any of those instead of this sweltering Minion suit? Hot or not, I’m still having a brilliant time. Once more over the top and back down the other side. It’s only one more ascent to take us back up past the Trig point where the Piper is busy squeezing the life out of his bagpipes and we once again get to see those behind as we round the Trig point and push on towards the finish. Hot, sweaty, but still smiling I cross the finish line in 1:01:32 which was good enough for 24th place from the 212 finishers, which gives you a pretty good idea of how hard a course this actually is. As far as I’m concerned the Knacker Cracker’s not about time’s or positions though, it’s about having a bloody good time with some like minded runners and seeing the New year in in the best possible way, and it certainly manages that every single time. It's not very often I wish the time away, but roll on 01 Jan 2025, or Knacker Cracker day as I like to refer to it as!
Here we are again, fast approaching the end of another year and the start of another chapter in the wonderful world of me. But before we get too maudlin, there’s still another week left of 2023 and there’s a week’s worth of adventuring to catch up on before we get that far.
So what’s been going on in the last week then? Well, not a great deal if I’m totally honest. The weeks leading up to Christmas are normally quiet, but this year seems to be even quieter than normal. I know it’s an easy scapegoat, but the weather’s not helping matters. In the weeks leading up to Christmas last year we had snow on the ground, but this year’s just been dull, damp and dreary. That's not stopped me getting out and about though, and I’ve been managing to get a fair bit of running in. In fact I was only at work Monday and Tuesday this week, and had planned on running in my lunch break on Tuesday. But, looking out as lunchtime approached, it was throwing it down so I did what I do best and reconsidered my options. The forecast predicted it would stop by 15:00, so Ok I’ll just run home instead. Which left the little issue of my bike and a pile of dirty washing being left at work over Christmas. There’s always a solution though. And in this case, whilst I wasn’t supposed to be at work on Wednesday, my solution to the little conundrum was to just run back in again on Wednesday morning whilst “The Emma” was was sleeping off her night shift, and pick my bike and stuff up that way. Personally, I thought that this was a brilliant idea. 20 miles of pleasant running, and an extra 11 on the bike for good measure, and all for free. It would appear though that everyone else just thought I was nuts. As I left work on Tuesday evening to run home I said to the lads at work “Happy Christmas, I’m not in tomorrow but I’ll probably see you when I run back in to pick my bike up”. 30 minutes later and I was still there explaining why I was going to run home and then run back again the next day when I didn’t need to, and trying to justify to the disbelievers that, yes, this is fun and that, yes, this is a good idea. Those 30 minutes were nothing compared to the look I got when I stuck my head round the office door on Wednesday morning to say hello before cycling back home again though. It was like I’d grown an extra head! “I told you last night that I’d pop in today to pick my bike up” “Yes, but we didn’t really think you would” And that my friends is the difference between me and them. I could have just laid in bed, or sat on the sofa, but there's better things to do with my time than that. It’s all about getting the miles in and taking advantage of every opportunity, no matter how small or how ridiculous the idea might seem, you’ve got to get out there and make the most of it. And anyway, I was still back home by 10:00 just as “The Emma” was getting up and I’d put an extra 10 running and 11 cycling miles into my legs without even thinking about it. Result!
In another attempt to squeeze as much into every day as possible I had another bright idea this week, involving going down to see “The Old Man”. I really needed to go down and see them before Christmas, but you know how it is, I hate driving, and, well it’s a long way, and, stop making excuses!
I could have just driven there and back in a day like any normal person, but where’s the fun in that. A far better idea in my opinion, was to drive half way, and then cycle the rest. Double brilliant, not only do I have to do less driving, but I get a bit of cycling in and see a few new roads and places too. To that end, I took the van down to Horsham after tea on Wednesday evening and had a quiet night in the van (I don’t know why but I always find that I sleep really well in the van) and was up ready and raring to go early on Thursday morning, for the short journey down to “The Old Man’s” and back.
It was a bit of a strange day Thursday. For a start there was a strong wind blowing, but more unusually it was really warm. I wasn’t exactly dressed for the Arctic when I set off, but even so, within the first ten minutes I was stopped, discarding my buff and thin hat, and undoing my jacket, and within 20 minutes I was cursing my winter gloves and wishing I had shorts on.
According to my phone, it reached 15 degrees by mid morning. I’ve already said that this time last year we had snow on the ground. But 15 degrees, we’d be glad of that in the summer, let alone December! Unusually high temperatures and strong wind, (which did its best to push me into the gutter most of the way), aside, I had a great ride down to Dad’s, and it was lovely to spend a couple of hours catching up on the gossip and enjoying their company. Heading back towards home in the afternoon was a bit harder going. The Wind that had been on my side in the morning was now a full on head wind, which made for some hard, slow, miles. I’d planned on being back at the van before dark, and very nearly got caught out, having forgotten quite how early it does get dark at the moment. With darkness fast descending and a dozen miles still to go, It suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t have a head torch with me. It’s not a major issue, I only need it to read the map and in case of emergencies anyway, so I wasn’t that bothered, but it’s always nice to have that safety blanket. (try fixing a puncture in the dark without a light). By 16:00 the light was really fading fast and I still had a couple of miles to go, when coming up a short, sharp climb I heard the unmistakable sound of escaping air. Bugger, puncture! Coming to a stop, there was still just enough light to see by, and it didn’t take long to identify the source of the problem in the shape of a bit of flint protruding through the edge of the tyre. If you can find the source of the puncture before taking the inner tube out it’s normally possible to fix it without taking off the entire tyre, which luckily proved to be the case today, and within ten minutes I was back underway. Those ten minutes made a big difference though and by the time I got going again, it was totally dark. Sometimes I think luck’s on my side. If I’d set off ten minutes later, or been that bit slower pushing into the headwind, or even just stopped for a few minutes on my way up. The chances are that I’d have got that puncture in the dark, then I’d have been walking the last few miles, because there was no way I’d have been able to fix it in the dark without a head torch. Or maybe I wouldn't have gotten the puncture in the first place? Either way, I’m looking at it as luck being on my side and I’ll take that as a win!
While we’re talking about luck. The fan on the oven at home has been making a bit of a racket recently. I’d been meaning to take the oven apart and have a look at it, suspecting that it was just unbalanced due to accumulated grime or rubbing on the back of the housing, but like everything, I only ever thought about it when the oven was on, and then it was a bit hot to do anything about!
Anyway, Friday I was busy making sausage rolls and Christmas ham, which reminded me about the noisy oven fan. I say it reminded me, the fact that I was standing in the kitchen with ear defenders on and you could hear the oven from the end of the garden gave me the kick up the backside I needed to finally have a look at it. Once it had cooled down enough to get it apart my guess that it was just greased up turned out to be incorrect and the bearings on the motor are shot. Not an ideal situation a couple of days before Christmas. A bit of googling found a replacement, but by the time I’d ordered it it was half past 5 on the Friday before Christmas, so there was no chance of that getting here before the big day. Not to worry though, I’d just have to cook Christmas dinner with my ear defenders on. Imagine my surprise then when at 15:00 on Saturday there was a knock on the door and the postman presented us with a parcel (that's unusual in itself because they normally only appear on special occasions). And what was in the parcel? The replacement fan motor for the cooker. That’s pretty impressive service. Less than 24 hours from ordering to delivery, and it wasn’t even ordered until after closing time on the Friday before Christmas! So now the oven’s fixed too, and we’ll be able to cook Christmas dinner without the fear of going deaf. Result! Worn out bearings seem to have been a bit of a theme this year, in addition to the various bike ones which I seem to spend half my life replacing, there’s been the washing machine, the oven fan, “The Boy’s” car gearbox, and the Peugeot rear axle, and that’s just the ones that come immediately to mind. Bearing that in mind we’ll see what 2024 brings. You’ll all be pleased to know that there’s not a great deal to tell you about this week, so this will be a short and sweet one. If I’m honest I’ve had one of those weeks where you're rushing around like a mad thing and achieving very little, which is never good for the old morale. But, I guess that I must have achieved something, no matter how inconsequential in the big scheme of things. I did run home, and then back to work the next morning, one day in the week, which is another step in the right direction and another increase in the miles I’m managing to sustain. It’s only 10 miles each way, but running home one evening and then getting up early to get back to work again, gives me 20 miles in a 14 hour window, so there’s not much recovery time there. And getting up at 05:00 to run to work in the rain can be pretty hard going sometimes. That’s all part of the fun though, and if it was easy everyone would be doing it, wouldn’t they! The best bit of news from the weekend is that I’ve finally got “The Boy’s” car back together and can confirm that it’s fixed, which is a massive result as far as I’m concerned. There was no way that repairing it would have been economical if he was paying someone to do it for him. But he’s back on the road again, and he’s got a well maintained little car there that will easily see him through another couple of years (I hope). If I’m honest, I probably got as much (if not more) out of fixing it than he will get out of it being fixed. But from my perspective it was a brilliant learning experience, and it’s been another one of those jobs where anyone you talk to says “You can’t do that” or “You’ll never be able to fix that”. But I have, and I’ve got a tremendous sense of achievement out of doing so. It wasn’t an easy job, and there were a few moments where I had to use all my ingenuity and cunning to overcome the problems that working on the floor brings. But the job’s done now, and it’s running as sweetly as a Swiss watch (not that I know anything about Swiss watches, so I don’t know if they run sweetly or not). Having got things back together on Friday afternoon, I took the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone and arranged to meet “The Boy” in Swindon Saturday afternoon. Meeting him half way not only gave me the chance to do a few miles in the newly fixed “Old Man Mobile” before I handed it back. But it gave us the chance to catch up over lunch too. And I must confess that it made a nice change for me to actually sit down for lunch, as well as it being really nice to catch up with “The Boy” with no other distractions for a couple of hours. There’s not much else to report from the weekend other than that. Sunday morning I dragged myself out of bed early for a bit of off road running fun. Managing to get fully muddy in the process, which was nice, and also managing to get ten miles in before it started raining, which is always a plus. And the afternoon was spent washing a couple of weeks worth of road dirt and detritus off my bikes, and generally catching up on a few odd jobs and a bit of bike maintenance (fixed a puncture twice and then gave up and put a new inner tube in (I think the inner tube was too damp for the patches to actually stick)) and sorted out a few other minor jobs. And that was that, another week done. I suppose that eventually I’m going to have to start thinking about Christmas, but for now, I’m sure I can have another few days pretending that it’s never going to get here and I’ll worry about that later! |
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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