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!
0 Comments
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”?
I’ve come to the conclusion that I must either have a very short memory, or be a glutton for punishment.
If I’m honest, I suspect that it’s a bit of both. But you’d think that having put yourself through hell once, that you wouldn’t think to yourself “Oh, that was a good idea, lets go and do it again” would you? Well, it would appear that I do! What am I on about? Well, Friday night saw me in the van heading up to Oxford ready for an early start on Saturday morning for the Poor Student 200Km Audax. The weather had been atrocious all week, and whilst the forecast was for it to be dry on Saturday, it looked like it was going to be colder than it had been, and there were certainly some pretty big puddles (lakes) still filling the roads in numerous places. The thing that concerned me most though, was my memories of this ride from last year. Memories which came flooding back as I made the short journey up to my overnight stop. I had a quick look at last year's mileage tracking spreadsheet earlier, and for the day in question it just says “Brutal - See blog”. So I had a look at the corresponding blog entry, and my memories of last year's event appear to be correct. It was Brutal! Surely It can’t have been that hard can it? I mean, at the end of the day it’s only a 200Km ride through the hills and valleys of the Cotswolds at the start of January, when it’s traditionally, cold, dark, wet, and muddy! Maybe my mind had been playing tricks on me and I’d imagined the whole thing. There was only going to be one way to find out though, and that was to do it again! Arriving at the start on Saturday morning I was surprised at the number of fellow lunatics who had decided to brave the cold January morning to loiter around a dark, damp, car park, waiting for someone to unceremoniously say “well, off you go then”. I’ve seen far less people on the start line of rides on beautiful days in the middle of summer, so the number prepared to get out there at the start of January was certainly impressive.
Bang on 07:30 we were off, a string of red tail lights shining brightly in the dark as we rolled out of Oxford, slowly spreading out into a long line of cyclists as everyone settled into their own pace.
The first leg up to Shipton-Under-Wychwood was flat and fast and I made good time, arriving amongst the front runners and missing the worst of the mad rush as the poor man in the small village garage was inundated with riders looking for a receipt as roof of passage (I’ve no idea why this is a control point which needs a receipt, it’s a crazy situation and would be far better as an Information (question) type of control. Receipt in hand I didn’t hang around, and was soon back on the road, heading for the next stop at Chipping Campden. The Climb out of Shipton-Under-Wychwood set the scene for the next few hours, long dragging climbs with the views across the Cotswolds from the hill tops obscured by low lying cloud, with only the occasional church spire poking bravely through the moist, rain heavy sky, to betray the location of the villages hidden in the valleys below. By mid morning Chipping Campden, had been and gone and I was onto the long (41 mile) leg taking us towards lunch at Malmesbury. This is the section that my memory recalled as hard from last year, and that memory was certainly correct. A long, steady drag of a climb from Chipping Campden soon became a series of ever steeper, ever longer, climbs, as we progressed against the lay of the land, across the Cotswolds. Slowly winch yourself up one side of the valley, lowest gear, lungs bursting, legs screaming, heart beating hard. Until the top is reached at which point it’s straight down the other side. Destination valley floor. The roads are damp and covered in gravel which has been washed from the surrounding fields in the previous days, the potholes deep and water filled, hiding their extent and location from the unwary. So it’s not a fun filled fast descent, more a hang on for grim death whilst trying to slow a bike that gravity insists should be accelerating on the slippery surface. And when you safely reach the valley floor and slowly uncurl stiff, cold, aching fingers, from around the brake levers, it’s straight back uphill to do it all again. And so it goes on for mile after mile. This is better than last year though. Last year the wind was howling in my face and the rain lashed down, so I’m grateful for small mercies and make the most of the limited views from the hill tops. Enjoy the odd occasion when I can release my grip on the brakes and let the bike have its head for a few meters, and try to enjoy the sound of my heart trying to make its escape from my rib cage on the next climb! Eventually, as I start to wonder how many more of these killer climbs I can manage, the terrain levels out, as we leave the steep sided valleys and progress onto flatter ground to take us towards Malmesbury where a sandwich and short stop awaits. As I sat in the village centre squashing crisps into a sandwich, I thought back to last year when I sat in the same place and poured rain water from my boots before wringing out my socks and putting them back on again. Now there’s a memory for you, and that’s what it’s all about. Making memories that will last a lifetime. It’s never easy, sometimes it’s really hard, but every time I venture outside my front door, there’s a memory to be made, an adventure to be had, and a new experience just waiting to be enjoyed (or not as the case may be). Even those awful days, when the rain falls from the sky like stair rods, your shoes are full of water, your wet, cold and miserable, often turn out to be brilliant in hindsight. If I’d said, “I’m not playing today” and just sat on my sofa eating biscuits, it’s unlikely that I’d have been able to tell you where I was or what I did on the 7th January 2023. But, because I got out there I can tell you that I sat in the middle of Malmesbury and wrung my socks out! Sofa, or wet socks? I know which one wins in my book! Anyway, enough about last year, let’s get back to this year. If the leg through the Cotswolds is hilly, from Malmesbury back to Oxford, is pretty much the exact opposite. Ok, I’ll grant you it’s not Norfolk flat, but it’s not exactly hilly. If I’m honest, I don’t know which is worse. Yes, the hills are hard going sometimes, but at least you get the downhills and the views as a reward. The flat though. Well, there's less to occupy your mind, there’s less to look at, and whilst there isn’t the uphill effort there isn’t the downhill reward either. In fact on the flat, you never get to stop pedalling. The miles came quick and fast as the afternoon progressed. A brief stop in Shrivenham where some mini pancakes provided a tasty treat and yet another proof of passage receipt and then as darkness approached the last few miles into Oxford. The approach to Oxford saw the first real puddles of the day. Nothing too serious, only just enough to get your feet wet, but still a daunting prospect when it’s dark and you can't see how deep it is. Should I go for it? Should I wait for a car to come along and go through to see how deep it is? Should I scoot over the fence and go around via the muddy field to the road side? Should I wait for another rider to catch up and go as a pair? Sod it, just go, the worse that’ll happen is I’ll get really wet when I fall off in the middle! Flood waters safely negotiated the final miles into Oxford were incident free, although another lake required a pavement diversion to get through and some roadworks necessitated the only walking of the day for a few meters. Another great day out then. Maybe not as memorable as last year, but a great day out nonetheless and another 200km (127 miles) in my legs. And that’s a pretty good way to get the cycling year off to a start in my book! 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! A bit of an unusual post for the end of 2023 - The words below aren’t what I set out to write. In fact I don’t really know where they came from. But the fact that they came from somewhere within my brain must mean that they’ve been playing on my mind, so they’re probably worth sharing. Another year done, another year older, although I’m not sure if I’m another year wiser, but I’ve definitely learned a lot this year, both in general and more importantly about myself. 2023 has been a funny year for me. Not in a side splitting, hilarious way (although there have been a few moments) but in a “that was a strange year” kind of way. 2023 seems to have been the year when my age finally caught up with me. I’m not old by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m not that young either, and the years of being injury and aches and pains free, seem to be slowly catching up with me. Apart from the first few months of the year I seem to have gone from one injury to another this year, and if I’m honest it’s knocked me a bit. The year started off well, with plenty of running and some really good cycling miles. I averaged almost 600 miles a month through Jan - March, which would normally be the worst months weather wise, and at the same time managed to get in 5 Marathons. But then at the end of March it all came crashing down when I hurt my Left Knee. The physio diagnosed it as overuse, (when I finally decided to go) and gave me a stretching and muscle building regime, with a slow build back up, which I followed. Just as that was on the mend though, I went off to ride Brevet Cymru, a 400KM Audax and I don’t know what I did, but 200 Km in my Right knee started hurting. Realistically I should probably have stopped and made my way back to the start by other means, but in the spirit of Audax I pushed on. Just as my left Knee was getting better, my right knee was 100 times worse, and then to really hammer home the blows, I somehow managed to hurt my left Achilles tendon! And that was that. From 400 km rides and ultra marathons, to hobbling down the stairs and seriously wondering if I would ever run again, or realistically be able to get back to longer distance cycling. The knee problems continued throughout the summer, and I tried various fixes and different approaches to manage what was happening. Changes of saddle height, shorter cranks, lower gearing. They all made little differences and improvements, but nothing made a major difference. Realistically, the only thing that was likely to really solve the problem was rest. But with no running the only thing keeping me sane was cycling, and to stop that too. Well, I just couldn’t face the idea of that! Slowly as the summer progressed things did start to improve, and gradually my knees have started to feel better. A few longer rides gave me hope that things were on the mend, and after many hours of stretching and strengthening exercises the aches and pains slowly started to recede. Untill, finally, in the middle of October I felt strong enough to resume some gentle running. Slowly at first, ever fearful of doing further damage, but at long last I’ve started to build the miles back up and I’m hopeful that eventually I might get back to somewhere close to where I was at the start of 2023. I should be grateful that I can do any of the things that I do. But when you go from the prime of fitness, to nothing, it’s a massive blow, and If I’m honest, my injury plagued year really knocked me mentally, even more so than physically. I found other things to do to amuse myself. I spent a lot of time tinkering with cars, and there was The Carpet Caper, The Garage Project and obviously the allotment was always in the background. In fact the allotment did really well this year, so maybe spending a bit more time up there isn’t a bad thing! But it wasn’t running, and every morning when I woke up, I lay in bed and gingerly moved, hoping that today was going to be the day when it stopped hurting and I’d be able to run down the stairs instead of wincing with every step. 2022 seemed to be a year of great achievement. Longer runs, longer rides, big cycling and running milestones ticked off. But 2023 seems like I achieved nothing. Looking back though, that couldn't be further from the truth. In 2022 I was totally focused on running and cycling, and realistically I did few of the other things that I enjoy and that provide reward in other ways. As I mentioned above there are a lot of tangible things to show for my efforts in 2023. I’m sitting in the lounge at home right now, with my feet resting on the new carpet. I’m just about to wander over to the garage and spend a couple of hours in the dry tinkering with my latest project, and later I’ll have to nip down to the shops in the little Peugeot (that’s the Peugeot that would have gone for scrap back in June when it failed it’s MOT if I hadn’t spent the time and efforts fixing it). I’ll be going to the shops to get something for tea, I won’t need to get much though, because there’s a bucket sat outside the back door that I bought back from the allotment yesterday, which has got a cabbage, some leeks, sprouts and parsnips in it, all of which I planted, nurtured and grew from seed. Seeds that I planted way back in the spring. All of which will taste far better than the soft, wilted, tasteless varieties which you buy in the supermarket. Every time I walk (or hobble) up the stairs and catch a glimpse of the carpet, I think of the work that went into fitting it, and it makes me smile with pride. Every time I get into the little Peugeot, I think of the skinned knuckles, the rust flakes falling in my eyes, and the thinking and learning that went into bringing it back from the dead, and it brings a smile to my face to know that I did that. Likewise, the allotment remains a constant throughout. A place where I can feel happy and content no matter what life (or the weather) is throwing at me. So why can’t I just be happy with my place in life? Why isn’t contentment just enough? Why must I be constantly pushing and challenging myself for greater achievements? And why have I found this injury plagued year so demoralizing? Is it that running and cycling provides something that the other achievements can’t, and thus without them I’m unfulfilled? Or is it simply that long distance running and cycling takes you to some pretty dark places mentally when you're tired and on the brink of exhaustion, and if you come out successfully the other side you learn more about yourself and what you can achieve than you ever thought possible? Is that what it’s all about? The rhythmic fall of your feet on the ground, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the repetitive beating of your heart. The knowledge that you have nothing else to do, or worry about, apart from putting one foot in front of the other, or endlessly turning the pedals? Is this all just a search for inner peace, and a yearning to know more about myself? Every time you push into that deep dark place, where your mind and body is screaming at you to stop, but you overcome that desire and push on to finish, you learn something about yourself. And you can’t get that from fitting carpets, or fixing cars. You need to push yourself beyond your comfort boundaries to find out what you are capable of and to come out the other side stronger. Maybe, indirectly, I’ve answered my own questions there. Maybe, without being able to push myself beyond the limit of what I should be able to do, I wouldn’t be able to find out who I am? Maybe the path to true contentment lies with knowing exactly who you are. With being happy in your own body and with yourself. And maybe, just maybe, I’m still searching for that answer, which is why the thought of not being able to run or cycle, knocked me so hard? I don’t know the answer to my own questions, and I’m not really sure why this blog post has gone down the route it has. The words above aren’t what I set out to write, but the fact that I’m still sitting here writing and that the words continue to flow tells me that it’s clearly something that I’ve been thinking about for some time, and writing it down is normally a cathartic experience. What I do know is that being alone with your thoughts provides your brain with the opportunity to sort those thoughts out. An opportunity which running and cycling provides. Back in 2016, when I left the RAF, I set off on an epic cycling adventure to travel from home, to Lands End, then to John-O-Groats and back again. 2000+ miles, in around a month. For the first week or so, the time went incredibly slowly. My mind was constantly thinking, replaying past conversations, past occurrences, previous experiences, always thinking, always busy. But after a couple of weeks I suddenly realised that the time was no longer going slowly. I wasn’t thinking about those past experiences any more, I was just at peace with myself, enjoying the journey for what it was, and enjoying the new experiences I was encountering. For the first time in my life up until that point, my mind had had the time and space to make sense of all those past encounters and experiences and file them into the correct spaces. Peace had descended in my previously chaotic brain and an inner calm had replaced the chaos. Continuing to dedicate time to similar pursuits, continues to allow my brain the time to clear the fog and provide that same inner calm. It may only be 45 minutes cycling home from work, but that's long enough (provided no one tries to kill me on the way home) for my brain to park the day's events, to think about whatever project I’ve got ongoing at the time, and arrive home calm and collected. If I extend that time to the 1:30 it takes to run home, or 10 hours cycling for a 200Km Audax, or whatever, it’s just more time for my brain to sort out the humdrum of life and find its peace. And as above, if once the humdrum is sorted, you’ve got the opportunity to push into the darker recesses of your brain, then that's when you really start to learn about yourself and find out what you're really capable of and who you are. It’s not always about pushing hard into those areas where you're battling against the desire to stop though. Sometimes it’s about the slower pace. The opportunity to just progress peacefully through the countryside. The sun shining, the birds singing, the world around you tranquil and still, as you move slowly through it. We evolved over millennia at this slower pace of life. No phones, no needless, pointless deadlines to meet, no rushing from one place to the other. No spending hours sitting in traffic, no endless background noise, no TV, no crowded shops, no nothing. Maybe that’s what it’s all about, an escape from the daily grind and the harsh, noisy, realities of life? Cycling and running certainly both offer that opportunity, it’s just you, your legs and your breathing, progressing steadily along! On that note, I Think it’s time to leave this one here for the time being, as I don’t really know where I’m going with it and I’m aware that it’s not so much a blog post but more a mind dump of what’s going on in my little brain. Maybe that’s what it’s all about though, maybe 2024 will be the year when I do finally stop running and find whatever it is that I may, or may not, be searching for. Peace? Contentment? A pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Who knows? I will leave you with a link to a You tube clip that I watched the other day which sums up “Why” far better than I ever could. “Why” is something which I get asked all of the time, and I suppose my answer is above, but skip to 39:50 for Fr Johannes’ closing reflection, where he explains what I was trying to say in my uneducated way above. And on that note I’ll say goodbye for 2023 and wish you all the best for 2024, where hopefully there'll be plenty more to keep me occupied and plenty more memories to be made.
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! A rare treat this week folks. I’ve been running. And it’s been a long, long, time, since I’ve done any of that. In fact it’s been 8 Months since I last did any competitive running, and there hasn’t been much running of any kind in the interim either. Before we get to the interesting stuff though. Saturday was spent freezing my bits off, putting the gearbox back in “The Boys” car. You’ll no doubt be pleased to know that I’ve replaced the knackered Input shaft bearing which I’m hoping was the source of all the noise, and managed to get all the gears back into the case. Helpfully, “The Emma” didn’t complain when I brought the gearbox into the house on Thursday in the hope that it would warm up enough to allow me to get some sealant onto the mating faces. And she still wasn't complaining when it reappeared Friday night, in the hope that the sealant might actually start to cure before I put it back in the car. It says on the packet to apply it in temperatures above 10 degrees, but nothing about what to do when it’s -10, so into the hall it came to warm up. And “The Boy” needs to be thankful, as do I, that I’ve got such an easy going Wife. (Although if I’m honest I think she just likes the easy life, and it’s easier to either ignore my antics, or just say “Yes Paul” than it is to try to stop some of my silly ideas. It’s back in the car now though, so that's a positive. Although I still don't know if it’s fixed because A) The sealant still hasn’t gone off and I don’t want to fill it with oil until it has. And B) Whoever's been in there before me has managed to strip all of the threads out of one of the mounting bolt holes, so now I’m waiting for a thread repair kit to arrive before I can finish putting it back together. It’s progress though and a step in the right direction, so I’m happy about that. And on an even more positive note the bearing that I’ve replaced was definitely knackered, and it’s always reassuring when you find that the item you suspected to be unserviceable is, and you’ve actually got something to point at and say “that’s the problem”. There’s nothing worse than taking something apart and either finding nothing, or finding that the bit you suspected to be the problem is actually OK. Anyway, that’s enough about that for the time being, let's get back to the main event. The Mapledurham Half Marathon. Yes, it’s only a half and a big step down from where I was this time last year, but I was really looking forward to this one having not run for such a long time and it’s another step in the right direction! I’ve run a lot of this course before, but not for a few years, and the last time I did run it, it was only 10 miles. The Half has been added at some point over the last couple of years and although much of the route is the same as the ten mile, some of it was going to be new to me. After Saturday's freezing temperatures, I’d almost been hoping for more of the same on Sunday. It wasn’t to be though, and by the time I got to the start the temperature was into positive numbers (although still chilly) and by the time I’d collected my number and started getting ready it had started raining. A bit of freezing rain never did anyone any harm though (probably) and it was easy to forget the cold, wet, raindrops, landing on my head, amongst the excitement of being back at the start line for the first time in many months. There’s something special about standing in a wet field waiting for someone to shout “Go”. There’s always an apprehensive excitement in the air, and an all prevailing tension. Final stretches, endless checks of watches. The odd bit of small talk, “have you done this one before?”. But deep down everyone’s thinking the same thing, “How am I feeling”? “How’s this going to go today”? “Are my legs feeling good”? “What about that little niggle”? “Come on let’s go”! The 10K runners set off first on Sunday for an extra lap of the field to ensure the distance was actually 10K, and passed back through the start to much applause, whilst we waited to be released. And as they disappeared into the distance, so we in turn moved up to the start line. “Hang back me, this one always goes out fast and there’s some good runners here”. “There’s no point killing myself in the first mile, it's been a long time, but remember what you learned from all those previous races”. “Start slow to finish fast”! As predicted, once we got going, the front runners were away like scalded cats. The first couple of miles are along a concrete farm track, which makes for some fast running, but I quickly settled into a pace which I felt comfortable with and felt I could sustain for the duration, whilst the front runners disappeared into the distance.
With the pace settled, the end of the concrete quickly arrived and we peeled off into the woods for the first climb of the day up a muddy footpath. Falling in behind the man in front, as we neared the top he offered to let me pass. An offer I kindly declined, knowing that the pace we were doing was fast enough and if I overtook I’d have to pick up my pace further, rather than hold him up in the process. A rousing performance from one of the lovely marshals manning a sharp turn, directed us across a muddy field and into the woods for the first time, where dead leaves lay thick in the wet mud and heavy drops of rain dripped from the trees as we passed. Through the 5 mile mark and I was feeling good, I was working hard but not too hard, and my knee, whilst tender, was holding up Ok. Coming up to the 6 mile mark I gained a couple of places as we slipped and slid along a muddy track. The ground underfoot already churned up by the 10K runners, who had taken a shorter route to this point and arrived ahead of us. Another uphill section, saw another couple of places gained. My start slow, finish strong tactic starting to pay off. And as we approached the 9 mile point, having again rejoined the route of the 10 Km runners, the first of the back markers from that race hove into view. I fully appreciate how demoralising it must be to be passed by someone who set off ten minutes after you and has done 10 miles to your 10Km. But, as the one doing the passing, it’s a massive morale boost, and with almost 10 miles in my legs, any morale boost was more than welcome. Just shy of the ten mile mark the 10Km / 10 mile and half marathon routes split again, and as I followed the route for the extra 3 miles to make up the half marathon, most of those in front peeled off, their day done, leaving just a few visible in front of me. Repeating the slippery muddy trail from earlier I picked off another runner and on the next climb the only other person I could see in front of me fell behind. The pacing strategy was certainly paying off, and as I started the descent back towards the start I was able to pick my pace up slightly. More backmarkers, this time from the ten mile and ½ marathon groups, gave me plenty of people to chase after during the last mile and a half, and I put in my fastest mile of the day racing towards the line. Heart beating, breath ragged, legs pushing long strides, I crossed the line in 1:47, a time which was good enough for 25th place from the 97 starters, and more importantly, a time I’m more than happy with considering this year's lack of miles and injuries. Yes I could undoubtedly have gone faster, but today wasn’t about times, it was about seeing how my legs felt over the distance and having fun. And by god did I have fun. I didn’t realise quite how much I’d missed running until I started getting ready for Sunday. Collecting up the bits that havent been used for all those long months where injuries have stopped me running. Safety pins to attach my number, trail shoes from the van, gloves from the drawers upstairs, water bottle from the cupboard. All little things that were so familiar and then weren't. The drive up to the start, the excitement and apprehension waiting for the off, and the thrill of the run itself. Legs working hard, breath ragged on the climbs, pushing hard to catch the person in front, working even harder as you hear someone catching from behind, and the joy of being outside, propelling yourself through the damp winter countryside. Muddy paths, stiles to climb, puddles to run through, slip sliding from one side of the path to the other. Open countryside, wooded climbs, fast descents and boggy paths. Oh yes, I’ve really missed running!
Good news everyone. Firstly, for those of you who've noticed that I've missed a couple of weeks of Blogs, I am still alive, (which may or may not be good news depending on your viewpoint). The real good news though, is that whilst I haven't been here wittering on about a load of old rubbish, you haven't had to read my old rubbish either. So, like I said good news.
You can't have good news, without bad news though. So the bad news is that, as I've just mentioned, I am still alive, and because I haven't been here for a couple of weeks I've got loads to tell you all about. Which means now your going to have to read loads of my old gibberish. No I'm only joking, this is going to be short and sweet, because the reason I've got behind on the blog posts is that I've been busy, and I'm still busy, so the catching up will just have to wait. What I will do though is give you a quick update on the last couple of weeks and then hopefully I'll be back on track and we can get back to some proper updates. Looking back to my last update, I think I'd just got back from my mini adventure up to Cosford for a seminar (yawn). But, as if that 300 mile round trip wasn't enough, I'd lined up a cheeky little Audax for the Saturday too. It wasn't supposed to be anything too strenuous, just a little 100Km jaunt round the local area from Reading. But it seemed a shame to drive to Reading just to go and play bikes. What seemed like a far better idea, was cycling to the start, doing the 100K and then cycling back again. Why do 100Km when you can round it up to 115 miles instead? What didn't seem like quite such a good idea, was the fact that it was lashing it down with rain when I set off from home at Audax O'clock (stupidly early) and the forecast for the day didn't look much better, although the rain was supposed to stop around 10:00. As I sat at the start pouring the water out of my boots and wringing my socks out, my brilliant idea of extending my day didn't seem like quite such a brilliant idea after all! Luckily, the forecast turned out to be right, and whilst it was an incredibly humid day, by mid morning the rain had stopped and stayed away for the rest of the day. And if I'm honest, there's not really much else to add about that one. Apart from saying that it turned out to be a good day out, along a fairly testing and hilly route. A route that was no doubt made harder by the mud and general detritus littering the roads after the weeks of rain which we seem to have had in the preceding weeks.
As if that wasn't enough bike fun, last weekend saw some real silliness, in the form of The Moonrakers and Sunseekers 300Km. 300Km, that doesn't sound too silly I hear you all saying. And you'd be right. It isn't.
What is silly, is starting at 22:40 on a Friday night after having done a full days work and pushing straight through the night ready for breakfast at the half way point, before pushing on back to the start point ready for tea on Saturday! 22:00 is normally bed time, so heading down to the start line at that time seemed a bit weird, and I was just about ready for bed, not ready to head out into the cold and dark for some bike fun. Cold it was too. The forecast was for -1 overnight, but it was hovering around freezing as we headed out from Bristol bound for Devises and Salisbury, en-route for Poole for breakfast. Pushing through Bath as the pubs discharged their happy punters, the cars glistened with frost, and the almost full moon shone down from a clear sky. By the time I reached Devises it was certainly colder than -1, and by 02:30 as I got to Salisbury it was bitterly cold and my water bottles had started to freeze. Now, I know how -1 feels and it needs to be colder than that for water bottles to freeze in my experience, so I'm guessing that the forecast temperatures were a bit out!. 2 base layers, a winter jacket and a down jacket, Long cycling leggings plus a pair of running leggings over the top, 2 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of gloves, a neck warmer and a hat, and despite riding hard I was just barely warm enough. The thought of having to stop was almost scary, because I didn't have any more clothes to put on, and if I had to stop, it was going to get very cold very quickly. Despite the cold, riding through the night was magical. Fast, flat roads, that you'd never be able to ride with the daytime traffic made for some fast, easy miles. The night, dark and still, the odd red light of the riders in front, glimpsed on straight bits of road. Groups of riders at the checkpoints, all wrapped up against the cold, desperate to get moving again to warm up, but needing the time off the bike to stretch tired muscles. A group of lads, obviously on their way back from a late night out, provided some amusement at the final night time control. As I arrived at about 04:00 they were deep in disbelieving conversation with another group of riders regarding where they had come from and where they were going. "Bristol, no way! And your going back there. Today?" - "Your heading to Bournemouth next, we were there earlier, it's miles away!" By the time I reached Poole and the welcome sight of the scout hut where a lovely group of volunteers provided a much needed hot breakfast it was approaching 06:00. And as I departed, with my belly full, and water bottles unfrozen for the time being, the first hints of dawn were just starting to turn the sky from jet black, and push the moon towards the horizon.
I'm not afraid to admit that the leg through the dawn and up to Yeovil was brutally hard. The temperature was still well below freezing and the dawn is always the hardest part to stay awake. As the sun rose so the desire to sleep became more and more pronounced, until at some point around 07:00 I awoke with a jolt as my brain realised I'd stopped pedalling and was in danger of falling off the bike if I continued to sleep.
It was too cold to stop, but that microsecond of sleep seemed to do the trick, and, when minutes later another rider caught me from behind and pulled alongside to chat, I knew that the sleep issue was behind me. The brutality continued though, as we made out way through the long steep hills and deep valleys of Dorset. Pretty little villages nestled in the frost covered valleys, smoke rising lazily from their chimneys as the inhabitants awoke to another day, whilst we toiled silently up long climbs and rolled down steep, ice riddled, country roads. Tiredness, the steep climbs and icy roads all combined to bring my average speed down towards 10 MPH and the morning dragged intolerably onwards as I slowly but steadily made my way towards the next checkpoint at Podimore services. Arriving just before 11:00, a bacon roll, chocolate muffin and hot brew worked their magic, and it was with renewed vigour, if not increased pace, that I set off again, for the final couple of legs to take me back to Bristol. It remained brutally cold all day. My water bottles finally defrosted about 12:00 and although the sun shone for most of the day, there was no warmth to it, and no reviving of tired bodies through it's magical powers. A packet of biscuits powered me on towards the days final checkpoint, where another brew helped revive my freezing fingers, and the final few miles back into Bristol were made easier by the company of another rider who sort of knew the way (I say sort of because it was a bit of a joint effort and we still managed to go wrong a couple of times. Tired brains really don't like dealing with afternoon city traffic and complicated directions). Just under 17 hours after setting off, and just before it got dark again I was back at the start. The overnight adventure finally done. But what an adventure it had been. Brutally hard at times, viciously cold, but magical none the less. At times I wanted nothing more than to get off the bike and give up (interestingly all of the hard times were during the day and not over night as you might expect) and by mid day I was cursing my stupidity for signing up for such a silly ride. But by the time I'd got back to the start, sat down for a few minutes and had a brew, I was more than ready to go again. A stupid idea? Of course not. A magical adventure and more memories tucked away ready for my old age? Too right. Now where do I sign up for next year? (Hopefully I'll find time to write this one up properly over the next few weeks, because it really was a brilliant adventure!)
Before you all say it, and I can already hear you all thinking it. "Two little rides and we've not heard from him for weeks, that's not busy, what's the lazy so and so playing at?"
And you'd be right. It's not the cycling fun that's been keeping me busy recently, it's this.
For the non mechanically minded amongst us, that's the inside of a car gearbox. Or more precisely, that's the inside of "The Boy's" car gearbox.
A few weeks back, he mentioned that he was looking at new cars because he didn't think that his little run around would pass the MOT and the gearbox was on it's last legs. Now, we've all got things that were good at and things that were not so good at. Being an attentive father, standing on the touchline watching "The Boy" kick a bag of air around or going to children's parties, isn't my strong point. Helping "The Boy" out by swapping his car for my newly acquired MX5 whilst I get his through the MOT and have a look at the gearbox problem, now that's more within my skillset. So to that end, a week or so ago "The Boy" bought his "Old Man Mobile" (Honda Civic), (What self respecting 25 year old drives around in a Honda Civic? A sensible one that's who) up and took his life, and hearing, into his own hands by driving the MX5 all the way back to Cardiff (he's a braver man than I am, that's for sure). I put "The Old man Mobile" in for it's MOT and it passed with no real problems (slight corrosion to a brake pipe, and misting to the headlights. Both of which are easy fix's, and to be expected for a 18 year old car). Which just left the slight issue of the gearbox sounding like someone had filled it full of old spanners. Which is what's been keeping me busy. In between the cycling I've been laying on the cold, damp, floor, taking the gearbox out of his car, in the hope that I can fix it. And to that end, I'm going to have to go, because whilst the gearbox is out, sitting here tapping away at the keyboard isn't going to get it fitted back in again is it!
Something different this week blog fans. I’ve been on an adventure!
A few weeks ago, work decided that it would be a really great idea if we all slogged up to RAF Cosford for a seminar. Ohhh I hear you all saying, a seminar, won’t that be nice! Well, for a starters don’t be fooled, from what I know of seminars, it’s just another name for a collective bollocking, or the chance for the management to foist their latest stupid ideas on us, whilst trying to sell it as good for the environment/planet/whales/insert trendy topic of your choice. What’s this got to do with anything though I hear you thinking? Well, bear with me, because, whilst everyone else in the office was moaning like the devil about having to slog all that way for no real reason, my little brain was thinking ‘H’mmm Cosford, that must be about 150 miles away, I wonder if I could go by bike’. A quick look at the map confirmed that my initial mileage estimates were about right. But, whilst 150 miles is achievable in a day, someone somewhere decreed that cycling kit isn’t suitable attire for a seminar, so I was going to have to take a load of clothes with me, and 150 miles in a day with Panniers and a load of extra weight isn’t much fun. But what about splitting it over 2 days? A bit more Googling found 2 cheap Travelodge rooms, one in Worcester for on the way there, and another, just outside Stratford on Avon, for on the way back, making it a much more appealing proposition, and a far better idea than having to drive and suffer the delights of the M40, M5, M6 shenanigans!
Looking at the weather forecast during the week, I wasn’t so sure that my brilliant idea was actually as brilliant as I first thought, but having already got wet so many times this year, another couple of times was unlikely to kill me. And unlike the last couple of weekends, there wasn’t going to be an escape option this time. In for a penny, in for a pound, what's the worst that can happen?
Saturday, it looked like the forecasters may have got it wrong, because it was a beautiful day, which I took full advantage of by getting out early for 10 miles of running along the frosty, then foggy, then sunny local trails, with the conditions covering all 3 extremes in the space of 90 minutes, but enough about that, I Know that all you want to know is how wet did I get on Sunday? Well, you’ll be pleased to know that the answer is very, but not as wet as the weekend before, which whilst I think about it was so wet that when I cleaned my bike on Friday afternoon I could still hear water sloshing around in the rear wheel. On removing the tyre there was a good cup full of water trapped between the inner tube and tyre and in the wheel rim, which when you consider that the inner tube expands to fill the entire space within the tyre is pretty impressive, and something that I can only think of happening once before, when I’d had an equally wet day out!
But enough about that, let's get back to the tale in hand. Sunday morning, it appeared as if Saturday's sunny day had never existed, with the dawn bringing an unwelcome return to rain laden skies which could barely hold back the weight of water contained within the low scudding clouds.
There was no chance to wimp out this week though, it was all or nothing. Having learned my lesson last week I was fully prepared with all the waterproof kit when I set off from home just after 7. There’s not much to say about the first few hours. The rain held off for a while and moving steadily along familiar roads as I headed towards Hungerford before skirting the edge of Swindon to head into the Cotswolds, it was an enjoyable morning. As forecast though, by mid morning the rain had made its presence felt. Not the torrential downpours of the past couple of weeks, but a steady drizzle that persisted throughout the remainder of the day.
With the rain a constant companion, the views through the Cotswolds were somewhat restricted, but with the miles ticking steadily along it was easy to gauge progress by the changing terrain and the changing stone. Hampshire flint gave way to Cotswold limestone, before that in itself was replaced with Worcster sandstone.
It’s the little things like that which you notice as you cross the country by bike that make it such a special way to travel. You see things that you would never see from the motorway at 70MPH. But from the saddle, every hill, valley, village, town, country road and track has something to offer and something to occupy your thoughts. By mid afternoon the Cotswolds were behind me and I was making steady progress through the flatter lands of Worcestershire, heading for the day's destination at Worcester. Apple orchards replaced rolling arable land as I made my way through villages familiar from last year's Easter adventure when I followed the same route, heading for Oswestry. The weather had been better on that occasion, but despite the rain I was still almost disappointed as Worcester rolled into sight and the warmth and comfort of a bargain Travelodge room beckoned for the night.
Sunday night, as I lay warm and safe in my hotel room the wind roared around the building and the rain continued to fall. Monday morning dawned no better with repeated blustery showers darkening the skies as I had breakfast and made ready to leave.
Blustery winds, sunshine and showers set the scene for the day's ride, but with only 50 miles to go I was in no rush. A few easy miles along the Worcester and Birmingham canal allowed a pleasant and easy escape from the city, setting the scene for most of the day. Quiet traffic free lanes, pretty little towns and villages, and a strong cross tail wind to push me towards my destination. What's not to like about that? In fact there was nothing to not like about Mondays miles. Apart from one brief shower the rain stayed away, the strong wind was dragging warm air from somewhere to the south and the temperature was positively tropical for the time of year, and whilst the roads were muddy and wet, I was warm and dry. Result!
Wednesday's work day dragged intolerably on, as I watched the clock, patiently waiting to get on the road. 16:30 finally arrived though and I set off into the dusk heading for Alcester and my planned overnight stop.
There’s not much to say about those 50 miles in the dark, except to say that riding into the night was as magical as ever. Progressing steadily along dark roads and lanes, the odd house, windows curtained, doors firmly closed against the night, throwing shadows onto the road as I silently pass. Owls call in the distance, unseen creatures disturb the roadside undergrowth, as they go about their business. The pace is always slower in the dark, you can only see so far ahead no matter how bright your lights are, but the slower pace feels faster nonetheless. No visual clues to suggest mileage, no distant hills to work towards, just the hum of tyres on the wet road, the gentle brush of your clothing, the odd rattle from the panniers as you rattle over some unseen hole in the road and the pool of light that guides the way, never to be caught. The increased resistance and the road climbs and you start changing down gears the only indication of the terrain you're crossing. Work down the gears, still climbing, heart rate climbing, but there’s no more gears left to go down. A few pedal strokes out of the saddle to stretch tired muscles, and the climb continues in the dark. The tops unseen in the darkness, manage the effort, keep the breathing under control, strong, steady pedal strokes, how much further, no idea. And then the effort reduces, the unseen incline must be lessening, but is it the top, or just an interlude. In the daylight it would be easy to see, but in the dark, it’s just another guess and piece of the mysterious world you're passing through. In this instance it is the top, and the speed quickly picks up as I descend the other side. No time to relax though. Back up the gears to maintain control, start braking to scrub off some speed, there’s too many unseen obstacles in the dark to let the bike have its head. And so it continues. The 50 miles to my night stop take exactly 4 hours and that includes a stop to pick up some tea and bits for breakfast. Not fast by any stretch of the imagination, but as I get into bed, it’s with a sense of satisfaction at a job well done and some more magical memories to look back on when I’m too old and frail to “play out” any more
An early start Thursday morning saw me on the road just after 07:00, destination home, mainly via the same route as I took on the way up. It was a pleasant morning too. No wind to speak of, the sun made the odd appearance, and it was warm enough for just a body warmer, instead of a full jacket.
Once the early morning traffic had cleared, and I’d had words with the dozy idiot that pulled out of their drive right onto me, “Sorry mate I didn’t see you”. I’m glad I’m wearing a dayglo jacket and got all my lights on then, and it’s a good job I saw you! The roads were quiet and dry, allowing for good progress. The Cotswolds looked magnificent in the autumn sun. Beech trees, their leaves still bravely clinging on against the recent storms, golden yellow, adding majesty and colour to the browns and dark greens of the roadside fields. Church spires, the only sign of villages nestled in the valley bottoms hinted of hidden villages to investigate, whilst Kites circled and wheeled overhead, calling to each other in the still Autumn air. This or a few hours sitting in traffic on the M5, that’s an easy choice to make! A portion of chips sat on a park bench at Highworth provided sustenance for an afternoon in the saddle and I made it back as far as Hungerford before the rain made a reappearance. Not heavy but gentle drizzle, adding to the puddles lining the roads and necessitating a return of the rain jacket. The rain didn’t manage to spoil the day though and I was back home again just before 16:00, tired, dirty, damp, but happy. One thing’s for certain, if you’ve got to go to a boring old seminar, it’s far better going by bike than car, even if it does rain most of the way! Oh, and that's another 300 miles added to the years total! |
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
March 2024
Categories
All
|