15th November: CTS Gower

I returned to the Gower peninsular in South Wales today for the second in this year’s Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series. Last time around I had just come out the other side of a bout of the lurgy, found my va-va-voom had va-vamoosed and that the run was more a test of endurance of my body and mind rather than any semblance of enjoyment! I always seem to underwhelm on this great course, so today I wanted to get round giving a good account of myself rather than struggling from start to finish.

This year there was to be some added spice to the proceedings in a severe storm blowing-in off the Atlantic… Heavy rain and gale-force winds were forecast for the duration of the race, with it all kicking-off beforehand in the small hours!

Whilst registering at dawn in the promised weather, I found the event had come quite close to being cancelled the previous day when the company supplying the marquee did not provide one ‘meaty enough’ to deal with the gusty conditions, which led to it partially blowing-over and an ensuing mad panic to obtain one that was strong enough to cope… After all with no base, there’s no race!

Even though there was a fierce gusting wind and the rain coming down, it was not cold with the storm system blowing-in off the relative warmth of the Atlantic to the west, rather than the frozen North or Siberian East. Taking away the rain and the wind, the air temperature was supposed to be around the 15C mark, which for this time of year is exceptionally warm, so I elected to wear my summer base-layer and light-weight Montane waterproof jacket as if I was to be sporting winter garb then I was sure to overheat in no time... Also with the weather conditions, taking any decent photos on the route was not really going to be possible.

As I waited for the start, I greeted Tania, an old school-friend whom I occasionally bump in to on my running escapades, who was also running the marathon as prep for her competing in the Pilgrim Challenge Ultra next February. This race was the furthest she had been in a long time and she was determined to get round in one piece rather than aiming for a certain time, in order to help to build herself-up for the back to back 35 milers that make the Pilgrim Challenge! Having seen her zoom-off in to the distance when I’ve bumped in to her in the past I was wondering how long it would take before she decided she had had enough of merely plodding and accelerate away.

Looking north shortly after the start.

Once we were off, I was keeping pace with Tania and CTS regular Luke as the field headed round at a brisk pace to the almost immediate ascent of the hill and the ridge overlooking the surfer’s paradise beach of Rhossilli. Hitting the steep climb here I found my dodgy calf was giving me grief almost immediately and I had to drastically ease-off for risk of compromising the rest of my race, which resulted in being overtaken by pretty-much the entire field over this short, sharp ascent!

Topping-out of the climb on to the plateau of the hill, which gently undulates over the next few miles, now the pressure was off my calf, I was able to pick-up the pace again and managed to reel-in Tania and Luke. This stretch is one of my favourite runs; traversing a spectacular grass-covered cliff-top overlooking the beach, through the remnants of a derelict WWII coastal defence station and then the excellent steep descent at the other side in to the caravan park and the first CP at the 6 mile mark.

Hitting the ridge.

This slope is a lovely steep grass-covered one pock-marked with boulders. The thing with it being grassy is that after a bit of rain it can get pretty greasy and slippery underfoot, with a lot of the less confident (or should that be foolhardy?) descenders reduced to going down sideways with dolly-steps worried about damaging themselves on one of the rocks that just invite you to dash yourself on them like mythical sirens… I love the challenge of this and I’m pretty sure footed, so I relish the chance to steam past all those who have overtaken me on the climbs as they gingerly pick their way down, so as on previous times I just threw myself in to the descent with reckless abandon.

Luke & Tania leading the group.

I’ve seen plenty of people go down this slope on their arse having slipped over, as I merrily skipped past them, smirking as I went, but today was a pay back for my previous hubris: when looking back behind me to see how Tania was faring, I lost my footing and slid down the slope for a few metres, fortunately just on the greasy grass and avoiding the rocks that protrude from the slope here and there! Laughing at my folly I dusted myself off and more carefully picked my way down the rest of the slope and into the caravan park for the first of the day’s check-points.

Cutting through the caravan park and amongst the sand dunes, we found ourselves on the flat mile of the first of the day’s beaches, where I had to ease-back and let Tania hare-off at her natural pace as the rain ominously began to fall more heavily than before.

Off the beach and we had the ascent on to the highest part of the course: the inland stretch across the moorlands of the peninsular, with the inevitable exposure to the elements that it would bring… And it certainly brought it! The rain was hoofing it down, propelled broadside into our faces by the raging gale. Progress was reduced from any attempt at flat-out running to a jog/ fast walk through the battering we were taking. For the whole of the ridge’s length you had to hold on to your hood to keep it over your head and shield your face, unable to raise your head to look in front of you at where you were going with the horizontal onslaught that stung your face, reducing you to staring down at the ground a metre or so in front of you to make sure you knew where your feet were going! My tired legs were screaming at me to take a rest and just walk this section, but the survival instinct was saying to carry-on till I was over the other side and off the exposed terrain… Eventually after a good few miles of buffeting we dropped-off the top of the moor and instantly the wind waned to a mere breeze as we hit the shelter of the leeward side of the hill and we could enjoy the respite as we headed through to the next checkpoint.

From here it was a short descent through the village of Nicholaston across more dunes and on to the next beach crossing and back in to the teeth of the gale once more! it seemed on this stretch to be even more ferocious than on the ridge, the relentless blast across the flat mile or so of the beach seeming to concentrate the wind’s power, forcing you to a near standstill in its more powerful gusts. Attempting to run was a folly as with no point of you in contact with the ground, you were being blown-back so much that a speed-walk was the only way to make progress; tucking your hands in behind your back and leaning in to the wind to slipstream as much as possible and make the crossing as quickly as you could.

Looking forward across the beach.

Back across the beach.

At the other end of the beach is one of my least favourite parts of any course, the hundred or so steep steps that take you back up on to the cliff-top path. On my other runs here I have been reduced to a near crawl ascending these; having to stop a couple of times to drag my sorry arse up them with how wiped-out I have been in getting to this point. Fortunately, with only being able to walk the last mile in the teeth of the gale, I was fairly well rested compared to previous times and I was able to climb here without any bother… Although the next stretch was very treacherous with it being incredibly slippery underfoot with the mud covered in a layer of fallen leaves that were disguising protruding tree roots, so caution needed to be taken rather than powering through as I have managed in the past!

Out of the woods and on to the grassy cliff-tops it was again a case of attempting to progress as best you could in the face of the elements, which I found to be good fun with the challenge it added, rather than the slog I have previously endured; continually having to have your wits about you to stay upright over the muddy sections and the rocky parts of the cliff-tops whilst trying to keep my hood over my head in the driving rain… No iPod in the ears to listen to podcasts or tunes as I went with the roar of the wind so loud that it would cancel-out anything playing!

Rounding the 'Worm's Head' to the finish.

As I rounded a headland I spotted Tania a couple of minutes in front with about 10k left to go, so I was faced with the internal dilemma of carrying-on at my own pace or to push myself and attempt to catch her by the finish… Although this soon became a moot point as I climbed to the top of one hill, walking through a gate and saw Luke about 30 seconds behind me, so I waited for him to catch up and we jogged-in this last 10k to the finish line and a triumph over the elements.

Turning away from the sea to the finish line.

I managed to cross the line faster than last year, with still some fuel in the tank and only 12 minutes slower than my first time when I ran it in perfect weather conditions - which gave me comfort that my run was certainly stronger than in previous efforts once you factor in the day’s conditions!

Meeting-up with Tania afterwards she had turned almost as blue as her waterproof in the wind and rain, but was happy to have got around in one piece in anticipation of her February ‘A’ race… And was very relieved to have a B&B with a hot shower close-by to warm herself up and relax for the evening!

A welcome cold beer in the Worm’s Head with Luke afterwards and it was the drive back from the South of Wales to the middle of Hampshire.

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

16th November: CTS Gower

Now we're safely in to November, the Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series is back in full swing, so with their 2nd leg of 10 happening it was a drive down to the Gower for me and the latest in the litany of marathons I have behind me.

Rhossili on the Gower peninsular was the venue once more, so I drove down the night before and made camp in the back of the van, mercifully in an area free of doggers!

Funky cloud formations, If I was in Hicksville USA I'd be claiming UFO's

All rested I woke as the sun began to rise, revealing some bizarre clouds hanging over the sea beside me. Admiring the calm of the seas and the slight surf that looked promising for the local surfing community, I walked the half mile off to the event base of the Rhossili Bunk House and duly registered, taking my competitor’s shirt for the event in a ladies small as I had promised my eldest daughter one for her to run in.

Early morning surf.

I knew that Barry Miller was due to be running today having become a proud holder of the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning having successfully completed the 4x100 mile qualifying races over the course of the summer - completing 1 race of that length is phenomenal, completing 4 over the course of a couple of months on a different continent is something else, and to further put this into perspective, only 14 people achieved the grand slam, and of the 14 Barry was the only one not to be an American!.. Barry was running today along with his other half Kirstin in the half as a build-up to her tilt at the Portsmouth Coastal marathon in December, and fellow Real Relay alumnus from the leg before mine, Stuart March, was also supposed to be giving it a go but decided to drop through illness so came along to support the others anyway.

The calm before the storm.

After the briefing we mustered at the start and headed off on to the loop out from the Rhossili Bunk House round to the headland where we had parked. This initial descent down on to the cliff-top path was through some seriously muddy fields, and just as I built-up some good pace on the descent passing a good chunk of fellow runners, that was until I lost my trainer twice in the space of a couple of minutes. I had no choice but to embrace the joy of walking through mud with one sock clad foot, feeling it all squelching up between my toes as I located my shoe, then savoured putting a soaking cold muddy sock in to the trainer and hope that I would not be chaffing as the mud dried out through the heat of my feet as the race continued over the next few hours.

Returning to the car park.

In putting my trainers on I had slipped quite a way down the pack and soon after re-starting I suddenly felt flat and lethargic as soon as the trail took a turn for a slight incline… I just could not build any rhythm as I ran and the sweats from the Rivington marathon returned, making me feel very disheartened with what I had experienced on that run. I had hoped I was over the illness - I was no longer ‘ill’ as such, but I had not run a step since Rivington and I had not appreciated what the bout of flu had taken out of me. This was compounded as more and more people made their way past me, pushing me further back down the field to near the back… Before losing my shoe a second time.

Hitting the hills.

As we arrived back at the car park we diverted up on to the hills that overlook the village and ran the ridge overlooking Rhossili Bay with some early morning surfers out enjoying the waves.

I was looking forward to the descent at the end of this section to the first check point: a very steep grassy downhill pock-marked with boulders. I did leapfrog a few people here who were carefully picking their way down the slope as I steamed past them to their amazement!

Heading out to the beach.

Follow the chevrons.

Once through the checkpoint we turned on to the first beach section of the day; picking our way through the pebbles to find the flat stretch of hard-packed sand and the mile journey to the other end of the beach.

The first of the day's beaches.

Safely across the unrelenting sandy surface we turned inland and slowly made our way up the big-arsed hill from another caravan park and on to the moor for the inland leg of the race that makes about a 1/3 of the distance. Here I caught up with a fellow marathoner who was dropping back through the field so was able to chat for a while as we crossed paths. He had also run the Rivington Marathon a few weeks before and he was finding this course incredibly hard by comparison. With us climbing up on the the highest point of the course I hope it put a perspective on where he was with regards to how most of the harsh climbing had been done and that with the Rivington under his belt he really should not be too phased by the course here. He had finished the race a decent chunk of time in front of me so he should have had the confidence that he would make the end relatively unscathed.

On these Endurancelife runs, when you see an effing big hill you know you'll be going up it!

Traversing the moors I also caught up with some of the back of the field of ultra runners - most of whom seemed to have been caught out by taking a wrong turn and diverting down to CP5 rather than continuing to CP2 which had cost them anything up to 3 miles - translating into around 45 minutes of lost time, hence me now being in amongst them as their head-start had been eroded by their directional misfortune… Two of the runners were a father and son duo, which I think was pretty cool; the 2 generations of the same family being out there on the trail together, geeing each other along to the finish.

Crossing the moors.

Once the 8 miles across the moorland were completed we headed off the ridge down on to the sand dunes, weaving our way through them and on to the beach with another mile of sand to traverse… There were plenty of dog walkers out along the beach, pretty much all of them seemed to have springer spaniels, and there were even a couple of kite surfers out to hit the waves in the bay. Knowing what was in store at the end of this beach made me wince at the anticipation: The steps of doom. The feckers never seem to end. You go from sea level on to the cliff-top path by a series of steep irregular steps that just go on and on. The dog walkers on their way down were having difficulty enough descending the steps, let alone us lot attempting to scale them… All you can do is just keep climbing one at a time, stopping several times to catch breath for your bursting lungs.

You steps, how I hate thee!

Eventually you hit the top and the woodland path that leads around the headland before spitting you out at the 20 mile mark at CP4 and the final stretch of beach.

Another beach... At least its not a hill :)

The terrain underfoot.

Once over this final stony beach we were back on to the final section, the grassy cliff-top path of the last 6 miles back to the finish. By this point I was absolutely spent, so even though the terrain was not too taxing, just the grassy and stoney path undulating along as you meandered over the coastline, I was finding it incredibly hard going, an absolute chore as I dragged my sorry arse towards the finish line.

Looking back along the coastal path.

The finest sight of the day!

This route is a tease, as you can see the finish from a few miles off, but rather than leading us straight there we veer away from it, so where before it was getting closer, you all of a sudden see it getting further away and all the frustration that entails, until finally you hit a turn in land and you have to deal with the ascent to the finish line… 

The teasing sight of the finish in the distance, only for us to wander beyond it.

Leaving the coast to head inland to the finish (finally).

With around a mile and a bit to go my Garmin ran out of battery with how long I had taken to run the course, and by not paying proper attention to where my feet were going, I kicked a rock with the outstep of my left foot, tearing a hole in the upper of my new trainers - the perfect end to the run. Yelping with the pain and turning the air blue with some choice anglo-saxon I hobbled up the trail towards the end, crossing the line almost an hour slower than last year.

I found the run incredibly demoralising in not being able to give a good account of myself. My bout of flu really had taken a lot out of me, far more so than I had thought. My legs were leaden throughout, I was unable to get a rhythm and despite the beautiful surroundings of the Gower I did not really enjoy the run as an experience and to cap it all I ruined a new(ish) pair of trainers in the process.

To try and take my mind off the sufferfest I had the iPod on shuffle for a decent amount of time, for what its worth this is what cropped up and had me singing along - well I was all by myself with no-one to disturb with the fact I am unable to carry a tune in a bucket:

No 1 Dominator - Top
Ironic - Alanis Morisette
Intravenous - Catherine Wheel
Moondance - Pele
Salsoul Nugget - M&S 
Love Spreads - The Stone Roses
Melt - Leftfield
Music Gets the Best of Me - Sophie Ellis Bextor
U Got To Let the Music - Capella
Mersey Paradise - The Stone Roses
Make it Mine - The Shamen
Transmission - Joy Division
Fuck Off - Maniac Squat 
Whatever It Takes - Belinda Carlisle
Who’s Got a Match - Biffy Clyro 
Chump - Green Day
Quiet - Smashing Pumpkins
For What it’s Worth - Placebo
A New Decade - The Verve
Ode to Love - Top
I Believe - Tim Booth & The Bad Angel
Summer Baby - Pavement
Mer Du Japon - Air
I Love Disco 2000 - The JAMMs
Performance - Happy Mondays
Worry Rock - Green Day
Half Man Half Machine - Goldie Lookin’ Chain
Complainte Gallaise - Tri Yann
Original - Leftfield
3 Times and you Lose - Travis

17th November: Gower

Not David the languid free-flowing arguably most technically gifted batsmen produced by England in the latter half of the 20th century, but the peninsular in South West Wales just beyond Swansea and setting for the latest round in the Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series.

Following my normal pattern, I left late on Friday evening killing the time of the drive by listening to the commentary of England losing 2-0 in an abject performance in an international friendly to Chile. A few hours later and having travelled through a village that sounds like some veterinarian ailment suffered by sheep: Scurlage, I pulled-up at the Worm's Head car park around midnight before hunkering down for the night... It turns out the etymology of 'worm's head' is a corruption of the Viking word for Dragon: 'wurme'.

This was the first time I'd taken the van to an overnight trip and it was great to have the extra space in the back in which to stretch out. With the walls, floor and roof of the van insulated the temperature was fine, not that it was too chilly outside in the first-place.

I awoke the next morning and had the delights of this view from behind the van, looking down the cliff to Rhossili beach below.

Breakfasting on flapjack and coffee and keeping an eye on the time I decided to saunter off to register for the event. There was no early start offered for the marathoners so running-out with the ultra's was not an option (although with my times improving I don't really need to be doing this now) so it meant the slight luxury of a 45 minute later start.

The walk to the event base of the Rhossili Bunk House only took around 10 minutes so it was an easy trek not expending too much energy. Upon leaving the Worm's Head car park looking at the beach you could see the huge hills overlooking and the ominous dawning realisation that these were most likely to be ascended on the course pretty-much immediately!

Hmm might we be scaling these?

Back in the van after registering I changed in the back and read a little as I psyched myself up for the journey ahead. With the temperature predicted to be around 10 to 12C all day and little wind to speak of I decided not to bother with a jacket and instead just had my long-sleeved base-layer with my CTS 7x shirt on top for the run. Walking back to the Bunk-House again for the safety briefing I watched a sheep-dog practicing by itself; herding half a dozen ponies whilst the farmer tended to some cows in the shed next to the paddock, whilst the pack of ultra-runners could be sighted haring off in to the distance behind the field.

No warnings of deaths en-route this time!

As we milled around for the safety briefing a couple of people had a chat with me about the shirt, asking what ones I had run before and if I had done this one. One gent has thrown himself in for the 7x challenge this year and today was his first steps to the goal, so naturally I wished him all the best as if my portly frame can make it then he certainly can!

And then we were off in to the morning sea air, jogging down towards the coastal path before turning right and the path around the Worm's Head headland back towards Rhossili. Jogging past the car park and my van, countless supporters were gathered waving on their family members and loved-ones as the car park swelled with those arriving for the half marathon, 10k events and day trippers. Rhossili and the surrounding area is also a surfing hot-spot, so there were a few day-vans, mostly converted VW Transporters parking-up with their occupant's decks lashed to their roofs.

Nearly at the top!

My earlier hunch about the hill by the beach was as correct as it was unsurprising and we had to scale this to the cliff top as we traversed the undulations northwards. I had the chance of a chat with a couple of people along the way, one gent is starting-out marathon running and this was his third, having just run the Bournemouth and Eden marathons. He has decided to do them mostly as XC to save the wear and tear on his body and enjoy the scenery.

Running atop the hills.

Looking back to Worm's Head.

Wending our way along the cliff top we passed the remnants of a WWII radar station facing out in to the Atlantic. All that remains are the concrete foundations for the steel masts and the buildings, the only man-made structure to be seen for a few miles before and after!

The former radar station.

The good thing is that for every climb there is a descent… And boy was this descent fun! It was probably the most exhilarating piece of running I have had the pleasure of doing! We went from cliff top to sea level, 500ft to 0ft over a quarter mile - that works out as a 1 in 2 gradient. Being a fat-bloke I carry a bit more weight out front than others, so when I lean forward momentum takes over and the speed quickens. I found myself bounding down the hill-side like a hyperactive mountain goat, overtaking people gingerly side-stepping or baby-stepping downwards. A bit of a killer on the big-toe nails with them slamming in to the toes of the trainers it may have been, but one hell of a rush! and at the caravan park at the foot of the hill was the first check-point of the day.

Starting the descent.

The beach below.

Looking back... You can just see the little figures on the crest and descending the green strip in the middle.

Emerging from the checkpoint we headed on to the beach and the first of the 2 extended beach runs. Each of these 2 sections is a mile of flat unremitting sand, with a third half miler thrown in for good measure after these two! The hardest part of the beach run is working your way through the ankle deep loose sand from the dunes, on to the beach top and then finding your way down to a point close to the water's edge where the sand is at its hardest and easiest to run on, and continuing along this section in as straight a line as you can to get to the other end of the sand. This stretch had me reaching for the headphones and listening to something to counteract the unremitting slog across the flat featureless terrain.

The mile of sand.

The end of the beach was the furthest north that we reached on the course and we headed in an easterly direction back on to the cliffs with the bay formed by the estuary of the River Loughor to our left. Ascending on to the cliffs I spotted a Stonechat - a striking coloured red and dark brown finch-like bird in one of the gorse thickets.

Running along here admiring the scenery, I made the fatal mistake of not paying enough attention to where I was putting my feet and tripped on a rock jutting out of the ground and turned ankle. Not fighting to keep balance as the terrain was soft slightly muddy grass I just fell on to my knees, picked myself up and hobbled-on hoping to not have knacked my ankle too seriously. After a minute or so of taking it easy, no pain had started to shoot forth, so I figured I had dodged the bullet this time. Nonetheless I necked a couple of anti-inflammatories as a precaution can carried on regardless and soon we wound our way down to the second of the two caravan parks and the second checkpoint not far beyond that.

From here we headed up on to the exposed moorland, traversing the ridge of the highest point of the peninsular as we worked our way notionally from westerly to easterly points of the course. Traversing this leg I had the chance to chat with another fellow runner in the form of Luke Carter who said he recognised me from a few of the races last year. He too was sporting his 7x tee under his jacket and like me he has the bug for these runs. He had run this race last year and was telling me that the difference between the two was immense, as last year it was a quagmire and that fun descent I mentioned before was so treacherous that a lot of people had decided it was safer to slide down slowly on their arse rather than attempt remaining upright! The conditions were so much better this year that he was already over an hour in front of the time it had taken him to get to this point in the previous running, and then he disappeared off in to the distance to finish around 10 minutes ahead of me by the race's finish.

Views from on the moor, left and right.

The end of the moorland section gave us a good downhill stretch to the next checkpoint and our second beach stage. After a section of running through the sand dunes we traversed a bridge over a stream and then the solid mile of sand.

Crossing the bridge

Soon after starting on this soulless stretch I found myself being joined by an overtaker who ran with me for the length of the beach. Since finishing uni in Swansea he has found himself in running as a hobby and lifestyle that defines him and he goes out for around 70 miles each week. This area of hills and beaches is one he loves to run having done it countless times, so with all of his practice in the area he was made-up to be running in a timed event on his training ground! It seems he has a few like minded friends who enjoy their distance running and doing things out of the ordinary. Earlier this year they completed what they describe as the 3-3-3 challenge: 3 marathons, 3,000 miles and 3 weeks. They flew out to Houston and ran the marathon there, then drove from Houston to Vegas where they based themselves whilst they ran the Red Rock Canyon Marathon, before getting back to their rooms at the MGM grand that night and chilling in the hot-tub with a few beers before heading off to the Bellagio for a buffet Kobe beef supper. Truly a once in a lifetime day! The last leg was a drive to LA and running the marathon there.

The LA marathon happened to be on St. Patrick's day and just for amusement's sake they decided to run it in super-hero costumes, namely Batman and Robin. It seems that those running the LA marathon are a bit too serious and po-faced as he cannot recall seeing anyone else running in fancy dress… Except for one man.

This one man was spray-painted green head to toe wearing only green shorts and trainers, so could only be described as a kind of leprechaun and was running whilst drinking beers with a maniacal glint in his eyes that could only mean he was high on something, be it life, liquor or lines of the white stuff!

At the far side of the beach saw for me the hardest part of the run; what seemed like an unending sheer staircase cut in to the side of the tree covered cliff. Each step was a foot in height so you were climbing plenty of elevation in not much forward travel. This just knocked the wind clean out of me in the same manner as the evil hill on the last CTS event I ran at Flete.

Around halfway I stopped for 30 seconds just to compose myself before slowly traversing onwards. to the top. As soon as the top was reached then it was gently undulating woodland path which brought with is another peril. With the autumnal shedding of leaves they were now lying over the path on the wooded floor, so were camouflaging the exposed roots and rocks, which made it an interesting section to traverse as I was reluctant to get up any speed with the risk of a plummet off the sheer cliff-side if you took a trip and a tumble! The woodlands eventually gave-way to more stunning cliff-top views out over the Atlantic as the final checkpoint loomed ahead about a mile away.

Lovely slope to a sheer drop onto rocks.

The final leg of the run started with a shorter beach section than the previous 2, this one only about half a mile, before heading up some steps onto a path behind some houses and then back up on to the cliff-tops with more undulations than we had come-across before. It was unrelenting changes of ascent to descent, some sharper than others, all of them reminding me of the Pembroke race and how far I have come since then just over a year ago.

Eventually I could see Rhossili once more and the flags of the finish line, although we just seemed to run parallel to it on our right not teasing us by not getting any closer until eventually the path took a right and finally we were approaching the finish flags and the end of the race.

Finishing this year there were no dog-tag as before, but a 2013 series medal with the race name stamped on it… Only another 6 to hopefully collect over as many forthcoming months :) Picking-up my bag I walked back to the car feeling surprisingly sprightly, most probably high on the endorphins from finishing the run, and feeling sorry for those whose races had taken a heavier toll on their bodies in far worse a shape as they limped and hobbled away. Whilst my time was not brilliant, I had finished around 2/3rds down the field, I was happy with how strong I had felt - especially in the latter stages of the race and immeasurably better an all-round showing than this time last year where I finished 3rd last in my first competitive run! It also put my performance in October's Clarendon into perspective where I did not perform to the level I thought I would have on a course far easier than this!

After my post-race protein shake (I can't wait to finish that foul stuff) and a couple of scotch eggs keeping warm in the back of the van, I changed and drove back stopping for a celebratory Whopper en-route knowing that part 2 of my weekend's activity was still to come. On the way back I passed Swansea airport, which is far more grandiose sounding than the reality - its about the same size as our local airstrip of Blackbushe (as recently featured in the film Rush doubling up as a 70's Grand Prix circuit), but there was a Hawker Hunter. in the RAE colours that we used to see flying out of Farnborough Airdrome when I was growing up, parked next to the runway, which I hope they get flying again one day.

This week I had been wearing new work boots which had been rubbing my little toes like crazy, blistering them in the process, so I knew my feet would not be good after the race before I had even started, but nothing was going to put me off the marathon! No matter how much vaseline I put on the toes before the run I knew it would not prevent the inevitable bursts and soreness, so this morning when I had to put on my football boots to play a full 90, as there were only 11 players available including me, it was truly agonising until about 10 minutes in to the game… It was one of those days where we turned-up with a scratch 11 fearing for the worst, only to find the opposition had just 10! So definitely worth putting in the extra shift to help-out and earn us a hard-won 3 points.

Needless to say after 90 minutes of solid stop-start running I was feeling the exertions of the last 36 hours!

10th November: Inspired

After the blow-out of last week where through working stupid hours I managed the grand total of 0 minutes exercise and with the CTS Gower marathon looming on the horizon I really needed to redouble my efforts in exercising/ training this week no matter how late the finish of my work or what the weather was like.

Having to confess to my fellow hamsters on Facebook on Sunday about not having managed anything, my paltry performance was brought in to perspective by Beth Risdon, author of the Shut Up and Run blog that I follow, who was in action in the Florida Iron Man race the previous day.

Beth had posted her race number on line and you could follow her progress through the Iron Man website, so all day from the off I was checking-in on a regular basis to see how she was faring. She has become an Iron Man (should that be Iron Woman?) from scratch in the space of a few months. She runs a great deal anyway so had a good level of fitness to start with and had completed triathlons and a half iron man in past years but doing an Ironman was not on her radar until she was approached to do one! You can read her account of her achievement on the blog with her entries for the run, the bike and the swim, and those waves getting in to the sea looked pretty damned gnarly!

Seeing Beth going about her way to finishing the Ironman was awesome, and a real motivator to get off my sorry arse and do something!.. And there was also another couple of motivators as well.

This week the organisers of the Brutal run series in whose events I have run have started a running club on Strava, which I use for tracking my cycling, with the intention of allowing those who run in their events to keep tabs on how they perform against others in training or running in general each week. At the same time, one of my clients in the village who is a keen XC runner with her dog and is getting involved in CaniX running also set-up a running club for the village so those who sign-up can again see how they stack-up against fellow members.

Unfortunately the running on Strava is kept separate from the cycling, so any mileage on your bike does not count towards your weekly output for the purpose of the running clubs, which is understandable. If you have a varied diet of training on both then you can feel that you are missing on competing against everyone else by interchanging your disciplines, however if you're just using it to keep tabs on yourself and you know you'll never top-out the rankings then there's no harm in ensuring you're not propping up the foot of the rankings at the very least!

Taking my inspiration from all of the above I resolved to get out as often as I can this week on a mixed-bag of activities.

Monday saw me return home from work early for once, so I was able to get out and go for a cheeky 10k XC on my canal route as the sun hung low in the sky. Fully rested after the week of nothingness I was feeling good from the first step and when I finished the run, having dodged cows, horses and one of this year's Roe Deer fawns on the common, I had finished the route in the fastest time I have recorded in the 4 years I have run it!

On the Tuesday I cycled off to the leisure centre in the next town for a 500m swim before jumping on the bike for the ride home. This was the first time I have ventured in to the pool since the sprint triathlon and the combination of the swim with an immediate cycle it acts as a form of 'brick' training combining the changeover from one discipline to the other.

I was determined on Wednesday to get out on a run no matter how late after Kelv sussed-out of cycling again, so at 10pm with the wind starting to get up and the rain drizzling down I emerged from the house for a session of pavement-pounding, the first time I've been out running circuits of the block in the village for a long while as I try to minimise my pavement mileage.

Having missed on the ride the previous day, Thursday saw me out on the bike on my normal circuit, although this one had an enforced detour as the underpass was underwater through the amount of rain we have experienced of late.

All of these activities were undertaken on an empty stomach - I don't tend to eat whilst I'm working, only drink so I tend to get-by on tea (if offered) or sugar free energy drinks, which is less than ideal for getting out and exercising! and I keep-on being scalded by people for doing it this way, but the way I see it is if I can consistently burn off more than is put-in, then I may cease to be a fat bastard at some point in the future

Friday and Saturday saw days of rest and today with football called-off I had the chance to get out on a longer run. In the morning after a decent lie-in LSS and I took the dogs on a long walk down the canal following my 10km running route. After a spot of lunch and washing two filthy spaniels I managed to get myself together for a run as the sun began to set, retracing the first half of the dog walk from earlier before pushing-on over the abandoned side of the canal and then through the Newnham, to Rotherwick and home.

I wanted to have done some hill-reps in preparation for next weekend's marathon - which (from looking at a GPS tracking of someone who ran it last year) has a combined ascent of more than Ben Nevis over its length! But the lateness of the day meant I could do the near 12 mile route but without hill-reps before darkness would leave me stranded, so I opted for doing the miles rather than the reps. Even so, on the last section back in to the village from Rotherwick over the fields I found myself in near darkness!

This week is certainly a contrast to the previous, with managing activities on 5 days out of the 7, each of them weighing in around the hour or longer. I'm hoping to build on this for the future and do this every week, however I'm conscious about not over-doing it this week with the marathon coming along on Saturday… As such I will not run beyond Wednesday and will certainly not be doing anything on Friday as the evening will see the 3-4 hour drive down to the Gower peninsular in South Wales.