15th April: Snow

Finding my marathon mojo I think was largely due in part to the unusual dump of snow we experienced here in Hook in the middle of an area of Hampshire that seldom sees more than a light dusting maybe twice a winter if we were lucky… This year we had two once in a decade snowfalls  that brought-out the big kid in us all.

I’ve been battling against plantar fasciitis since setting a pb over marathon distance back in November, where it flared-up over the second half and cost me a chance of a sub 4 hour time… I went to see our local physio - the excellent Simon of SB Physiotherapy, who massaged and manipulated, stretched and taped me so I could at least make the start lines of the races I had booked, but to be blunt even in lovely scenery or surroundings they were no fun and an act of endurance rather than enjoyment, an exercise in finishing and nothing else.

Steadily the symptoms have lessened and when the snow arrived I knew I had to grin and bare it and get out into the white stuff.

Snow 1:

My first run was an early 6am meet with fellow Hooker Russell where as day dawned we cracked-out a 4 mile out and back across the fields to the next village in near blizzard conditions - the wind tearing into us as it was below -10 degrees and wearing just shorts on my legs, running headlong in to it on the way back it began to freeze my hamstrings feeling like they were going to pull and reduced my stride length noticeably to cope.

My partner in crime this morning.

Sideways snow.

Courtesy of Russell: Snowy panorama with me in the middle!

It was an eerie blue light as dawn broke around whilst we ran through the large flakes of horizontal snow that stung your face on impact they were blown so hard, certainly a memorable run for nature at its most raw.

Snow 2:

The next morning with taking a snow day I volunteered to lead a run over a different route, this time around 10k which saw us celebrating the 50th birthday of one of our fellow club members, although he declined the offer of the bumps into a snow drift! Along the way we passed sheep in the fields which made me realise they really are cream in colour when they are against something as pure white as snow. The snowing itself had stopped whilst we were out but with the dry nature of it the wind was whipping across the fields creating ‘snow devils’ which was something to be seen!

I am ashamed to admit it but for the first time on this run I joined the dark side and ventured-out wearing running leggings having frozen my hammys the day before - it felt a bit dirty doing so, but seeing as I have to carry them as essential kit on runs even if they are never worm, it seemed sensible to give them a try.

Snow 3:

Saturday saw a different direction for a 10 mile run that was an absolute giggle from start to finish. There were plenty of stops to mess around, including testing out the theory of if you can run fast enough over the top of a snow drift you won’t sink in… Needless to say it remains a theory! We even found on our travels an igloo that someone had built in a field between diving headfirst into snowdrifts and other general tomfoolery.

All this meant that come the Sunday and my scheduled Steyning Stinger Marathon I was knackered before I had even started, which led to a day of grumbling and moaning to myself as I trudged slowly around the muddy course for a very slow finish!

Snow 4:

Part 2 of the snow arrived as I was running the CTS Sussex Marathon, so the day after I accompanied my fellow ‘Hookers’ (those of us who are members of Hook Runners) for our Sunday trail run… Venturing out into yet a different direction to where I had been in the snow before we were all acting like big kids, all 26 of us who were out at the same time.

As we reached the more exposed part of the route the wind was really howling and unpleasantly biting as it cut across us drifting the snow. On the sartorial front, nearly all the men out were wearing shorts, eschewing leggings as if you weren’t in the wind it really wasn’t that cold. One man out walking his dog even berated one of the few men-folk wearing leggings as the rest of us went past with glowing pink legs on display: “Now those are real men out in shorts today”.

Snow 5:

A final lunchtime bimble on the same route as the first of my snow runs whilst the snow rapidly receded - We found a snowman and his dog on a bench along the way and by the time we returned after less than an hour out there was about half the amount of snow there had been when we set-off.

It was great to be out running in the snow - I was Spud-less throughout as whilst he enjoys playing in the snow, he was not keen to go out running in it. Having a pair of More Mile Cheviots with the large amount of grip on their soles was excellent as I was able to run with confidence through everything - that said I did realise the perils of running in the snow on one occasion when my foot went down a hidden rabbit hole covered with snow causing me to tumble - a lucky escape as I could so easily have damaged my ankle. We probably won’t have snow like this now for anything up to a decade so to be able to act like a large child in it was very welcome… Until the next time my white powdery friend!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

9th April: Trainer Failure (CTS Exmoor 2017)

In the last entry I alluded to my trainers falling apart mid-race in the Exmoor CTS marathon last year... Well this is what happened.

I was pretty chuffed with the trainers LSS had bought me for Christmas: 2 pairs of Karrimor XTS. In appearance they looked like wannabe minimalist Inov8’s being low drop and consequently very flexible and also very comfortable... I was really enjoying wearing them and eager to get running I toed the line at the start of 2017's Endurancelife CTS Exmoor marathon under the blazing sun in temperatures already in the late teens at 9am.

It was about a mile in and on the climb up on to the cliffs of the shorter 7 mile loop that I felt a pinging sensation at the front of one of the trainers. I looked down and saw the sole had detached from the toe of one trainer... I thought nothing more of it, blundering on regardless.

Shortly afterwards I felt the other trainer ‘ping’ and sure enough that one had the sole separating from the upper. Bugger.

The start of the failure.

I carried on running but could feel my right trainer sole getting further and further separated from the upper and in real danger of total failure... 2 miles in and I’m looking at a DNF through footwear failure if I’m unlucky!

Crossing the moor I felt the sole catch on a rock and fold back under my foot. Looking down it had separated from the upper all the way back past the ball of my foot. I realised the other foot had peeled-back about 5cm and the was worsening. To get by I had to drastically alter my running style, pronouncedly heel-striking so as to try and preserve the trainers until I was back at the start. I looked like I was running whilst wearing flippers, with the soles making a slapping, clapping sound at me with every step, much to the amusement of those who were overtaking me.

Getting worse!

At 4 miles I reached the aid station and asked for gaffer tape to try and bind the soles to the uppers but they had none... It was going to be a long slow sole slapping 3 miles back to the start to try and get some tape from there.

I arrived at the start just as the half marathoners were being unleashed on the course and had to wait for 300 of them to run past before I could get in to the marquee. Inside I asked a Marshall for some gaffer tape and they refused to let me have some!.. I explained clearly why I needed some and reluctantly they found a roll and supervised me using it in case I used too much! Great, don’t you love being treated like a 3 year old!

It was all to no avail though as with the moisture of the ground soaked in to the trainer fabric, the glue would not adhere and the tape slipped off the front of the trainers, so I was faced with a choice: DNF or a walk to the van to change into my only other footwear: walking trainers... Half a mile up a 16% gradient hill and I was at the van contemplating chucking it all in, but after a can of red bull and a strong word with myself I put the walking trainers on and eventually rejoined the race having lost over 30 minutes with this on top of about another 20 from the enforced slow pace of the last 4 miles.

The trainers at the van.

A good race time was gone, but the sun was shining and with no pressure I would not suffer too much in the warmth from overheating via my exertion, so a leisurely bimble it was for the rest of the day surrounded by some cracking scenery!

The trainers were binned after a poor showing of just 150 miles and you know what, the other pair went at the same mileage which kind of explains why they were on sale in Sports Direct in the first place - I did not really trust the second pair for racing in after I had accumulated about 70 miles, can’t think why!.. Still combined both pairs of trainers were £30 for 300 miles, so not too bad on the money per mile stakes but frustrating as I was certainly not expecting a trainer failure mid race! Karrimor trainers seem to be a bit of a lottery - they either go for 700 miles a pair or 150, still at least they're cheap as trainers go when they do give-up early.

At least by means of compensation on a compromised race there was plenty of time for pictures of trail porn along the way without pressure for a decent finish and I maintained my 100% record of finishing my races rather than DNF'ing over footwear rather than something worthwhile like injury!

Certainly a real contrast on conditions from one year to the next when you look at the pics in the previous blog entry compared to this one... It was actually easier to run in the conditions this year as it was not too hot and maintaining a level body temperature was easy, unlike when these pics were took where the temperature had jumped over 10 degrees in one day making it difficult for everyone as consequently no-one was acclimated to running in 20 plus degrees temperature and strong sunshine!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

8th April: Claggy Exmoor.

Having re-found my marathon mojo at the start of the month whilst running down a hill in a flurry of snow I was actually looking forward to today’s run rather than just enduring it.

Hanging around in the rain.

 The fun bus is still suffering from a severe case of engine-knack so I had to borrow LSS’s somewhat smaller motor to get down to Exmoor for the Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series marathon. Driving in the darkness I arrived at the Hunters Lodge event base in Heddon Valley on the stroke of midnight having seen a first for me... A Polecat! Just a half mile from my destination and one ran along the side of the country lane towards me and stopped for me to get a good look as I drove past, which was awesome!

The initial climb to the cliff tops.

Sleeping on the back-seat of a hatch-back folded like a Swiss Army knife is not the most comfortable way to spend a night pre-race and when the rain starts battering down on the roof at 4am waking you then it just adds to the ‘fun’. Having only fitfully slept from when the rain started I went to register pretty-much as soon as I could, queuing in the rain and standing in mud that was getting deeper the more people walked over it.

Running through the clag.

At the briefing I managed a brief chat with Luke and also Gareth from my running club who had made the journey down to beast himself over the terrain. Shortly after we were all gathered around in the rain and were unleashed on to the course; a figure of 8 with a westerly loop of 7 miles run first before the easterly one of 20.

A brief clearance of the clag.

The weather report had been for heavy rain all day so we were all ready for a proper soaking, with everyone to a person in a waterproof girding themselves for a damp run to say the least... Which completely threw us all when we climbed up on to the cliff-tops to find we were above the rain and just the occasional bit of low cloud and sea fog in front of us rolling up from the sea.

The stream-like path over the moors.

The air temperature was a comfortable 7 degrees or thereabouts so pretty soon everyone was overheating in their waterproofs, so like most of the field from halfway back I stopped in a sheltered spot and took mine off... But lost about 10 minutes trying to ease it into my already tightly packed camelbak so I could carry on, whilst everyone else scampered past me.

Expecting the hound of the Baskervilles to come galloping towards you.

Pretty much at the rear of the race I was now able to indulge in a rare spot of overtaking as I undulated my way along the coastal path to the furthest westerly point and the trek up on to the moors... The paths here were streams with all the rain and now being on the high exposed parts the fog was properly shrouding everything reducing visibility to around 20m... And that was about as good as it got for visibility for the next 20 miles!

Blair-Witchy woods.

The Exmoor route is a beautiful course of rugged wilderness and scenery, but today nowt of this was to be seen... I’ll say this for lack of visibility; it certainly heightens your sense of sound as you listen-out to try and figure what is around you; the sound of rodents in the undergrowth, the bleat of new born lambs somewhere distant, the gargle of a pheasant and the crash of a wave reminding you that nearby lies a cliff.

More limited visibility!

I meandered through the murk chatting with those whose paths I crossed: a couple of lads over from Jersey whose friend was really struggling in the mud through his trainers not being man-enough to cope, a Belgian expat who lives a mere 20 miles down the road from me, and eventually a lady from Devon who was getting back to trail marathons having had some bones in her foot fused!

As I hit the aid station at 17 miles having just worked my way through a bit of a ‘Blair Witch-y’ woods I saw Gareth already there trying to force himself to eat and suffering from the heavy going of the trail... We shared the next mile or so before we hit the long drag up on to the coastal path again where he disappeared off in front lost to the mist and I ploughed onwards alone.

Up on the coastal path on the descent to Lynmouth, I was able to see a sight you don't often see thanks to the conditions: the white line in the sea where the fresh water from the river estuary meets the salt water of the sea known as the 'salt wedge'.

The diagonal line of the 'salt wedge'.

Through Lynmouth we had to scale the path up to the cliff tops - part of it was blocked by a fallen tree you had to scramble under - I put my hand right onto a holly leaf doing this which was a shot of pain to the system. Once on the top it was a blast along the tarmaced path heading through the ‘Valley of the Rocks’ where I was able to have a relatively close encounter with some of the wild goats thanks to a brief gap in the fog, before it enveloped us once more and I battled on to the finish passing a lovely waterfall, crossing the line about 30 seconds after Gareth who it seemed I had been steadily reeling-in since he steamed up that hill.

Goats!

A good hard workout today but not much in the way of trail-porn to picture and a whole world of difference from last year with its 20 degree heat and strong sunshine and thankfully today my trainers remained intact, unlike last year!

Something I have really started to notice of late is that I seem to eat a fraction of what I used to on these races. Today I made it around on 2.5 energy bars and a couple of gels. I put this down to changing my drink to an electrolyte+carb one rather than the previously used electrolyte only. I suspect I’m getting a blast of energy now with every sip of fluid which is helping me a lot although I am not taking-on any more fluids as a consequence. Definitely a change for the better.

Gareth in both ruin & ecstasy in a matter of seconds.

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

18th March: CTS Sussex - Marathon Mojo Relocated.

It has been a while, I thought you had hidden under a rock somewhere on the trails, skulking, lurking, proving nigh-on impossible to find for a fair few months as I slowly recover from plantar fasciitis and an accompanying loss of fitness… So good to once again feel the warm embrace of my marathon mojo!

The marathon field steaming off in front of me!

Fair to say I have not been feeling the love whilst marathoning of late, where a mere 2 weeks ago in the Steyning Stinger I struggled once more and lost heart in the claggy mud on the course. Although I was able to reconcile this with having run 4 miles, 10k and a half marathon over the previous 3 days - well I did not want to miss-out on having fun in the snow as its a once every 5 years occurrence down this way!

Chasing the horizon.

This morning I was fresh, feeling fruity having not really run for the last week and looking forward to the Endurancelife Sussex CTS marathon, even the fun-bus being in the garage with an engine knack so I could not do my normal trick of drive there the night before could not dampen my spirits.

Attempting to give some scale to the gradients we climbed.

Borrowing LSS’s car I awoke at sparrow’s fart and drove through the dawn to get to the event base at Birling Gap in the freezing cold conditions.

At least it wasn't muddy!

Walking to the marquee to register it was in to a bitingly cold wind, the kind that just rips any heat out of you. Whilst the car’s thermometer was reading -2C air temperature, the wind though was strong and Baltic which dropped the temperature to around -10C and by the time I’d walked the half mile into the sheltered gully where the marquee stood my fingers had frozen through my gloves. Returning to the car to shelter, mercifully with the wind at my back, I breakfasted, changed and awaited the briefing.

Approaching the last of the Seven Sisters.

The briefing had everyone huddled together like penguins for warmth in the marquee before heading to the start at the last possible moment and we were unleashed on the course.

The nature reserve below us.

With the wind at our backs we made our way up on to the ‘Seven Sisters’ and ran the rollercoaster of the hills to the nature reserve and headed inland, 4 miles ticked-off fairly quickly before a couple of minor climbs through the fields and woodlands that afforded shelter from the wind to the point hats and gloves were being removed to allow cooling as for the first time our bodies were able to properly warm-up. Through the first checkpoint and across a causeway and overlooking the chalk horse on a hillside you could feel the first small flakes of the forecast snow; there’s nothing quite like the sensation of a snowflake landing on your tongue and melting on it!

Horse chalk carving - apparently the result of a bet!

Traversing the causeway we hit the major climb of the day, 2.5 miles of almost continual ascent up onto the ridge that is the South Downs Way. We skirted around the feet of the Long Man of Wilmington - proof that our ancestors predicted people would run past here using ‘cheat-sticks’ or ‘wizard-staffs’ when they carved it into the chalk.

The Longman resplendent with his ultrarunning 'cheat-sticks'.

Once up on top the wind ripped into us and the snow, now bigger dry flakes, flew past us horizontally; gloves and hat were donned once more to protect from the elements… It was here as I topped-out and began to change from power-hike to run that I felt alive and full of enjoyment of what I was doing and really ‘in the moment’ as those into mindfulness would no-doubt say - I realised here that I had not looked at my watch for a good 4 miles as it really didn’t matter, I was drinking-in the atmosphere, the wilds of nature around me, savouring every step, hell even the climb up the hill had not seemed too bad compared to previous outings! As the plateau turned to descent over the next 3 miles I could feel I was running stronger than I had the last few months on a race-day… I also realised that at 2.5 hours of racing time had passed and I had not eaten anything beyond a handful of jelly babies at CP1, so on one of the climbs I chomped through an energy bar before arriving at CP2, grabbed another handful of jelly babies and started the mooch back to the coast.

The looming Beachy Head in the murk.

Today I did not seem to match the pace of anyone, so I was left to my own devices and to keep me company I donned my headphones to listen to the wittertainment of the Kermode and Mayo film review podcast (Hello to Jason Isaacs), in part something to drown the roar of the wind I knew I would soon be hearing for a good while!

Climbing into the snow flurry born on the wind.

The CTS Sussex marathon course is one of 2 loops centred on Birling Gap, so returning to the start point you know there’s a foray to Eastbourne over the cliffs of Beachy Head then back along the ridge of the South Downs; a slightly shorter loop than this first one just completed… As we homed-in on the coast and left the shelter of the woods behind at 16 miles, we were hit by the blast of the wind once more and the realisation that there was 10k of this to contend with; a good hour plus of exposure to it and battling the teeth of a near gale that bit ferociously with its icy fangs… The wind was hitting my left cheek hard and relentlessly and in a couple of minutes it was frozen, stinging in pain through the cold onslaught till it became numb before I could soon no longer feel it. Fortunately I had a buff around my neck as well as the one acting as a hat so I pulled it up over my cheeks, which was a first for me; having to run with my whole face covered through cold! I had my safety specs on so as not to be blinded by the flying snowflakes hitting my eyes and allowing me to keep my head up and see where I was running without the water on my eyes freezing, which was far better than people who I was passing with their hoods up and heads down staring at their feet so as not to have their eyes battered.

A rare selfie!

Dropping down to Birling Gap straight away we had the climb up the side of Beachy Head, watching the steady stream of 10k and half marathon racers coming towards us all looking exhausted, pained and battered by the cold wind; thousands yard stares on their faces as they concentrated solely on a finish and getting warm again. This mooch over the wide grassy slopes was great fun, leaning in to the wind on the way up the hills, then feeling the wind drop as you hit the bottom of the troughs.

Beachy Head and the lighthouse.

Once we reached the edge of Eastbourne and the final checkpoint we had the turn for home, the final 10k up on the ridge overlooking the coast with the wind mercifully at our backs. This assistance and the hard ground under foot made short work of the next few miles and the teasing approach to the finish where within sight of it you are led away for a final 2 mile loop… I had the music on shuffle at this point and was singing to myself - mercifully there was no-one around me to hear that I can’t carry a tune in a bucket as I belted out some Del Amitri amongst others, the final half mile accompanied by the Prodigy’s ‘Charly’ which made me cross the finish line with a bit of a boogie: big fish, little fish, cardboard box style!

A little more sheltered from the elements as Eastbourne approaches.

Not wanting to hang a round I made my way back to the car ASAP and got driving home as I had arranged to watch the last of the 6 Nations games in the pub with friends accompanied by as much filth I could eat off the pub-grub menu.

Today the course was an iron fist in a velvet glove; plenty of genuinely runnable sections and stunning views but combined with the bitter cold and wind it packed a mighty punch! I loved it - My neighbourino Pini insists that the harder the conditions are the more I take a perverse enjoyment out of the races and the better I do - he certainly has a point as its good to wear a finish with tough conditions as a badge of honour. More than anything though I’m just relieved to have found my marathon mojo again - yes the foot is still uncomfortable and not fully recovered, but now I seem to be able to get some pace going and I have hopes of getting myself ready for ultra season and the biggest challenge so far of the Lakeland 100.

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

18th September: Village running.

Hook, the village in Hampshire where I live, has always had an open to all-comers annual village ‘Hook Fun Run’ of 10 miles, 10k and 1.5 miles… Every evening those who live here can bare witness to people out by themselves jogging circuits of the central block (a 1.5 mile loop). There is a thriving kids football club, the men’s football club is one of the strongest in the local area and the village has recently set-up its own rugby and cycling clubs and can even claim to have raised an international class runner in Charlotte Purdue, so there are plenty of active people here interested in their fitness, but until now no running club!

Those in the village who organise the Fun Run wondered why this was the case, so having chatted amongst themselves they approached some people they thought would be like-minded on this matter to ascertain if there was an interest in having one.

Soon some posters appeared around the village mentioning a public meeting in one of the village halls and those who had previously run the Fun Run and lived in the village received an email informing them of the meeting… Neighbourino Pini had seen these, as had Moose, so the three of us all decided to trundle along to offer our support.

The car park at the Elizabeth Hall was approaching full. Looking in to the main hall there was a group of people sitting in a circle, none of which looked to be typical running types judging by their size (says 15 stone of idiot in an unironic manner), then I noticed the signage and realised it was the local branch of ‘fat-fighters’ meeting (“Dust. It's actually very low in fat. You can have as much dust as you like.”)

I thought of the irony of those living in the village looking to lose weight had all driven a mile or less to get to their meeting and clogged-up the car park, as I moved down the corridor to the smallest of the small meeting rooms right at the very end, which was already heaving… All the seats were taken and people were standing around the sides of the room with all the bodies raising the temperature inside to a stifle. Soon the kitchen next to the room was opened and the serving-hatch lifted to fit more people and allow them to see what was happening. Moose, Pini and myself took station in the doorway to the corridor as it had a little bit of a draught and allowed those who wanted to be closer to the action to do so.

As we stood there waiting for the start, Moose took the piss out of Pini and my sartorial choices: Pini had arrived wearing his tee from the Costa Rica marathon and I was wearing my Lakeland 50 shirt - leading to Moose accusing us of ‘bollock waving’ over our choices as he just wore a polo shirt rather than anything marking one of his Iron Man/ ultra marathons or assorted triathlons!

Soon we were joined in the doorway by a guy called Steve wearing a finishers shirt for a triathlon who had also seen the notification of the meeting and was interested to find out how many others in the village were like-minded.

Lou, who had convened the meeting called it to order, and you could tell she was a little overwhelmed by the response from the village. Lou admitted she had expected and hoped a handful of people would attend to get things moving and had never dreamed that she’d be sharing a packed room and more with the 70 plus folks who had crammed-in!

Straight away it was plain to see for Lou that there was definitely an interest in the village to set-up a running club and those of us present all filled-out a sheet of contact details and what we are looking for in one and any assistance we were able/ willing to offer in its formation or running (no pun intended).

After a sweaty hour and a bit in the room, the meeting closed with the idea of a follow-up in the near future to get things moving on a formal basis… In the meantime those of us on Facebook were pointed in the direction of a page that had been set-up for the club and away we went off into the warm dusk… Moose, Pini, Steve and myself opting to walk to the nearest pub for a few beers and a chat outside as the evening was still young.

Fair play to Lou for going out on a voyage in to the unknown by calling the meeting and getting everyone there… It just goes to show how there really was an untapped demand in the village for a running club and who knows what the interest expressed tonight will lead to, even if only half the people there follow-up on their initial attendance.

Watch this space to see what happens.

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.