17th November: Brutal

On a last minute whim I decided to enter one of the Brutal 10k races. These runs are extreme cross country courses on military training land devised by ex-army PT instructors. Living in an area surrounded by army training ranges, these events never tend to be more than around 15-20 miles from where I live so consequently are easy to get to for me and the courses are normally either very hilly or muddy, or both!

A couple of years ago I ran one of their races in Deepcut on a challenge from an ex-army friend who had decided to go for it. That was on a freezing cold Saturday morning in February, and was the first competitive race I undertook. The course that time was through pine forest and was unrelenting sharp ups and downs. They also run a CaniX race for people with their dogs who are their running partners.

This Brutal was over in Bordon camp, one of the army camps in the village of the same name in the middle of Hampshire. I cycled down there arriving just 20 minutes before the off, so enough time for a quick change and stash my bag before the race start. At all their races they provide complimentary camo-cream so you can smear it over your face to get that all messed up before the rest of you follows suit during the race!

Preparing the pooches.

Watching the off.

First up went the CaniX race. I love seeing all those excited dogs raring to run, barking and straining at their leashes and in the 10 minutes between their head-start and the main race we went through the organised warm-up which involved lots of yelling and shouting… Then we were off.

Before the event they posted on Facebook a little about the route, so we knew there would be several stream crossings and a couple of bogs to endure, so from the start it was a question of what we would encounter first and how soon. With those aforementioned streams it was not that surprising one of those fella's was first up within about 1/2 km of the start.

The first of many!

We all knew by entering the race that we would get wet and muddy, so you make the choice there and then about how you approach things. A lot of people were queuing to try and cross the stream at its most shallow and least muddy point. To me, seeing as you know you what you will be like by the end, all you are doing is costing yourself time, getting cold by stopping and waiting and postponing the inevitable rather than doing yourself any favours. Needless to say I just jumped straight in and scrambled out the other side without deviating from my path or breaking stride and off I went, with the shock of cold wet feet like lumps of iron as I continued on through the woodland path.

The next big obstacle was a scramble up a good 20ft tall embankment that needed both hands to pull yourself up due to the sheer slope and the slippery loose mud surface. Over the road on the crest and on the other side you then had to run down the corresponding descent. This with safety in mind they did restrict you to going one at a time to avoid collisions and accidents. I ended up running it sideways so that when my footing slid, all my weight was on the back foot so there was no danger of falling. A photographer was at the bottom of the mound taking photos. As you can see, I was using my arms to balance, so it looks like i could be on a surf-board, although it was not a very macho look for the photo!

Hill surfing

Soon came the first of the bogs/ swamps. These were stinking waiste-deep quagmires that were impossible to run through. All you could do was wade and pull yourself through on fallen logs and branches when you inevitably lost your balance and fell over. It is very difficult trying to judge any footing as depth varied from a matter of 6 inches down to several foot with every step and with it being mud there was no visible means of judging the best spot to tread on.

Bog trotting.

 One of my highlights was coming to the first bog behind a woman a few years younger than myself. She was running with her boyfriend, who it seemed she wanted to impress, and had made a real effort to look the part and share in his interest; wearing brand new expensive jogging gear, hair done immaculately and face covered in just enough make-up so as not to venture beyond subtle. What got me was the girly squeal as she realised she had to physically drag herself through the quagmire and made her first whimpering tentative steps, exclaiming the like of 'ewwww wwwww' and looking like she was going to burst in to tears as her shiney new running gear was getting dirty... Silly moo!

The bogs and streams carried on in a relentless manner, with just enough distance/ time between all of them to run up and down hills in the woodland to warm up after cooling down before you hit the next one.

The biggest longest swamp was a real stinking trek. People were floundering around in it caked in the black watery stench of the mud, trying to find where they could put their feet next, some even crawling through it after making an ill-judged choice on a path to get through. I was feeling kinda smug as I was faring quite well with the bogs, until I got to one which widened out in to a pool of water with a tunnel at the end, the tunnel that the army recruits have to hold their breath and swim under in full kit. Fortunately they did not want us to do the tunnel, but to exit the pool next to it. Unfortunately as I made my way into the wider pool, right in front of a photographer I lost my footing and splashed in, having to swim a few strokes before I managed to get my footing before climbing out!

Splash

Swim

Haul

Another fun part was running along a stream bed and having to scramble on all fours under the fallen trees and plank bridges to follow the path before exiting.

Two exhausting laps of this and the run was over. Soaked but not too cold I crossed the finish line in a time and position I was happy with. 

Final blast

Over the line.

A complimentary handful of chocolates, a banana and a recovery drink, then it was a case of getting changed for the tiring 15 mile cycle home!

I ran this race using my recently acquired trail-running shoes. They are a pair of More Mile Cheviot's that I managed to obtain FoC coincidentally just as I needed a pair! Reading Outdoor Fitness just after the Pembrokeshire CTS I noticed that their subscriber free gift offer was a pair of these trainers, so I thought why not? I read the mag each month, and if I don't get along with the trainers then I haven't lost anything even if I do sling them in the bin. Within a couple of weeks they had arrived and this was their first serious test... Which they passed with flying colours. Incidentally I decided to put elasticated laces in to them so as to never suffer the problem of stopping to tie them during a race as they will never come undone. So blister free I think these will become my trainers of choice for proper cross country running with the Asics - which are more comfortable, left for less arduous/ firmer trails and pavement pounding.

13th October: Reflection

I thought this week would be a nice and easy one after the exertions on the Welsh coast, but that would be too fanciful!.. Driving back after the run I took a call from my team's manager telling me that they only had 10 players so could I play the next morning. He'd been warned that I was not planning on being around, but if in desperation I had told him to consider me for a 3rd sub just in case of injury to a player during the game, however circumstance conspired against me and at 10:30 on Sunday I was lining up on our home pitch for kick-off and a full 90 minutes. It took a few minutes to get the legs moving, but after 7 minutes I managed to score my first goal at home for a couple of years!

I'd promised myself that when I scored I would run over to the memorial bench for my friend Ritchie with whom I played up-front with when I first started at the club over a decade ago.

Ritchie was the same age as I was and one night went home from his brother's after saying he did not feel too great. He couldn't get to sleep so went to kip on the couch so as not to disturb his wife… And never woke up. His heart stopped during the night.

So I ran across the length of the park to his bench and sat on it - much to the bemusement of my team-mates who aside from a couple of them never really knew Ritchie or the significance behind what I was doing! At half time the manager explained to the team what I had done as there were a few questions about what on earth I was on!

Anyway, we won and I felt surprisingly fresh at full-time, on the pitch as the game wore-on and others tired, my stamina certainly kicked-in and enabled me to blend-in with the pace of those around me.

Well it took about 4 days for me to stop walking like John Wayne and get the full use of my body back. No strains or long-term injuries were suffered from running or kicking a ball around… So in this time-off it gave me a chance to think about what to do next and what I learnt from the run.

The most major thing was a footwear issue… Mine were inadequate for the trail in those conditions. I just could not get enough traction through the grips with all the slick mud. Whilst very comfortable and water-resistant through their gore-tex coating my Asics were just not 'man enough' for these extreme conditions, even though they were marketed as 'trail running trainers'.

Looking at what most people were wearing for the run, it seems that Salomon, Saucony and Inov8 were the makers of choice for most. Looking at the marks left in the mud by others, these trainers certainly have better far larger lugs for purchasing a grip in the mud and I feel these are definitely the way to go for me.

The second most pertinent part was looking and interpreting the GPS data for the event in greater detail beforehand so I can gauge what lies in front of me… Lots of saw-teeth = lots of sharp ascents and descents rather than long drawn-out climbs! Failing on this point meant that I really had not put in enough hill-work (for 'enough' read any)... I had been concentrating too much on ensuring I could last the distance and not worked on the undulation of the terrain that I would face, which cost me dear in terms of time and sapping my energy, which combined with the footwear issue proved to be counter-productive. Both of these can be dealt with by a bit of sensible training and a change in footwear!

With the shortfalls here it blew-out my plan of treating the race as 4x10k legs to make it more digestible on a psychological level. By the time I had reached the third and final checkpoint, my spirit and will had been pretty-much drained as a consequence, so my time was rubbish to say the least even though I was on-track for what I wanted after the half distance. It appears that I can run for about 15 miles without too much of an issue, but any longer and I have extreme difficulty in making a good time. This must be my natural 'wall' and I need to work on psychologically breaking through this as much as I do physically. It may be a case that I have to just go for 15+ miles before I even stop for a breather as once I stop beyond 13 miles my mojo seems to disappear and I can't get started properly again thereafter.

In my hydration pack I had carried around 3L on my back. By the time I reached the finish line I still had around half of it left! So I had carried around twice what I needed, expending more energy, and restricting what else I could carry in the back-pack. I think I need to step it down to 2L of fluid in the bladder for the future. The checkpoints had plenty of things like jelly sweets and flap-jacks for snacking to the point I did not need anything with me bar my gels, so again something to bare in mind.

At least being critical in an assessment of where I fell down in the race I know I can take stock, make changes and learn from historic failures!

6th October: Relentless

Dear God, that was the singularly most challenging physical act I have undertaken in my whole sorry-arsed life: The Coastal Trail Series Pembrokeshire Marathon.

In preparation I had been out on a few long runs and as blogged before, covered the marathon distance off-road in anticipation, but nothing could have prepared me for what was in store.

After a day of doing some rewiring on a house nearby to me I packed everything into the trusty old motor ready to head west to Wales in the pissing rain. After a decent dinner I said goodbye to LSS a little later than planned and hit the road at 10:30. The rain hammered down the whole journey and I witnessed a casualty of the treacherous driving conditions when passing Swindon: a taxi had spun in the middle lane of the opposite carriageway of the motorway. It had only just happened and I hope everyone driving eastwards managed to avoid the car stranded facing the wrong-way in the road.

After 4 hours of sodden tedium, I pulled in to the car park in Broad Haven, the muster-point for the run. I clambered on to the back seat and setting the alarm for 7am curled-up under a duvet for some shut-eye.

With the weather getting colder, the duvet was not as effective as I would have hoped and I awoke before my alarm feeling a bit chilly so I got up to stretch my legs and had this wonderful view from the bottom of the car-park. You'd hardly think that there'd been 36 hours of continuous rain preceding this morning.

View Right

View Left

Spirits lifted I clambered back in to the car and changed in to my running gear. Seeing as the event was organised by Endurancelife, I decided to sport my shirt from their Real Relay in which I participated. I also wore a long-sleeved base-layer, support shorts and a knee support for my right knee as on my long runs I have been feeling a twinge from it so I figured prevention is better than cure. All greased-up around my vitals to avoid the demon chaffing and the possible knitting of butt-hair as sagely warned of by Smithy after his London Marathon experience, I chowed-down to a spot of brekkie of chocolate flapjacks and a few mouthfuls of supermarket own-brand energy drink, the stuff that wants to be Red Bull but costs the same for 1L of it as does a can of the Toro Rosso… And when you drink it you know exactly why it is so cheap by comparison! I packed into my back-pack my running belt that holds my camera and some gels, and my Vango 2L hydration system - already filled with High5 Zero Extreme berry flavour and all available space stuffed to capacity with gels and breakfast bars, off I traipsed to Little Haven

A pleasant walk of about 10 minutes along the undulating coastal road, past the delightfully graffiti'd place-name sign brought me on to the edge of the village and down a 1 in 4 gradient hill to the start which was still being constructed.

 
Those running the Ultra marathon had already been briefed and were warming-up ready for their off whereas all us marathon runners who had opted not to go for the early start tried to keep warm in the chilled morning air before heading to the village hall to register.

 After registration, still trying to keep warm, we all traipsed back to the start for the safety briefing. The nature of the courses on the Coastal Trail Series and the fact that they are run through the winter season means safety is taken very seriously by the organisers. You can only run it if you take along some survival gear in the form of first-aid kit, foil blanket, emergency whistle, phone, food for energy, an hydration system, and be suitably attired as well. This is before the briefing about the hazards of the particular course you are running on the day… And in this it's always cheering to be told of someone dying the previous year whilst on the course. Fortunately in our case it was not a runner, but a walker who was attempting to cross one of the numerous stiles along the cliff-top path, had stumbled and gone arse-over-tit ending-up a soggy red mess on the rocks below.

Chastened by the safety briefing making it clear that we really are out on a limb doing a run such like this - there is little support other than the 3 check-points, we awaited the off… And the race was upon us.

Remember that hill I mentioned we walked down to get in to the village, well as we left the start line backwards, we realised this was the first of the day's challenges and set the tone for the rest of the race. Everybody put a brave face on this fiendish climb and made doughty efforts to climb it at a jog, but near the summit only the truly keen and super fit were running, and off the snaked in to the distance leaving us envious lesser mortals to our own personal races and finishing in one piece.

The first section of the course was the route that those doing the 10k race later-on would be traversing. Heading north along the muddy puddled cliffs once through Broad Haven on a fairly easy undulation until we reached Druidston before heading inland and our first sight of the energy sapping glutinous slick mud that would characterise most of the course! The fields through which we were traversing had been well trampled and churned-up by cattle and so sodden were they with the rain that you were ankle-deep most of the time and struggled to make headway greater than a walking-pace with the risk of turning ankles and inflicting injury so early-on in the race.

A tarmac section offered some respite as we ran about a mile till we diverted back on to the footpaths. It was here I had my first fall. Descending a short hill, I was looking ahead paying too much attention to the hairpin right turn at the bottom which meant I lost my footing on the slick surface and found myself sliding downwards to the end of a 15ft drop in to a gorge and some rocks. Fortunately I was able to arrest my slide in time, but it made me see that the course and conditions certainly demand respect at all times.

We headed back in to Broad Haven, running through the car park that was filling nicely with those awaiting the 10k - all looking at us runners festooned in mud with some trepidation as they realised what they had let themselves in for. Across to Little Haven and past the start/ finish line and off we climbed back up on to the coastal path, and the start of the spectacular scenery, and the more spectacular mud. The path was so churned-up in places it was impossible to run as there was simply no traction to be had. It was hard enough trying to get up the hills at a walk the grip was so poor, that I had changed tactic from running 10k's and resting 10 minutes at the water stations to walking up the hills as I found it impossible and running the flats and descents. A lot of the time you are sliding around there is a mere hedge between you and the sea a couple of hundred feet below.

Some shots of the scenery can be seen below. It truly was a pleasure to be out running in this kind of surrounding. The sun was out to around 15 degrees but feeling hotter as there was no shelter from the glare. Not a wave to be seen down below, just you and the birds. It was pretty much just me by myself for the rest of the race as I was well and truly towards the back of the race, not that I was racing anyone other than myself.

My initial goal of beating my previous time for the marathon was on-track until the half-way mark, but the cloying mud had taken a big toll on my physically and I found I was walking more than running at times as I struggled with the terrain.

By the time the furthest point was reached, Gateholm Island (pictured below) my mind was turning to survival and merely completing the race. All thoughts of a time had blown away on the coastal breeze. As an aside, Gateholm Island featured on Time Team in its first episode of the 2012 series, digging-up what was a monastery on the far-end of it. From heading past it you can understand why it was chosen for its offer of solitude by the fact that it is only accessible by a tidal causeway.

 I managed to keep myself going by looking forward to my recovery shakes and an ice-bath once I had finished… The last leg seemed to last an eternity, although the ever changing views aground the cliff-tops certainly offered something to take the mind off the pain. Within a couple of miles of the finish my body had reached the point of exhaustion and the inner voice was telling me to stop and sit down and take a rest - the voice I know not to listen to and just fight on through it. Soon enough I was at the finish line, managing a steady jog for the last half mile or so and the tape was broken in a running time of 6h18m - Unerringly accurate a prediction when the organisers on their website tell you that you take your time for running a marathon and add an hour to it which will be the time you will roughly finish a CTS Marathon!

After crossing the finish line I collected my bag and wandered, or should that be hobbled, down the beach and stripped-off my mud splattered trainers, knee brace and support bandages. Bernard had not given me any real problems which was a relief, although he did not appreciate running on large loose stones. To give myself a good recovery I waded out in to nature's own ice-bath drinking my recovery shake and munching on a flap-jack. I stood in the very cold water for 10 minutes, bracing myself for the first agonising brush of a freezing wave on my ball-bag which soon happened!.. Once that was out the way I was able to relax and drink my shake with ease!

You never get this on a road race :)

Having successfully warmed-down it was time to go home... The problem was the car was over in Broad Haven, and I was still in Little Haven... With that big hill in the way. I really did not fancy another trek up that hill again along the road to the car park, so a bit of lateral thinking here, I'm wet, the sand is soft and flat - okay there's a small rocky headland that may need climbing over, but this route was certainly the most appealing method of trudging back to the car.

The flat walk to the car-park!

16th September: Burn

The second long training run for the CTS Pembrokeshire. This time I opted for a 3/4 length marathon distance. Starting from my house it was off on the roads to pick-up the canal at Winchfield, follow it to Greywell then across fields and woodland following the collapsed Greywell tunnel to the abandoned section of the canal and a jog to its terminal point. From here I took a northerly path to get a decent-sized hill under my belt in the form of Scures Hill, through the grounds of Tylney Hall with its golf-course and across the fields of Rotherwick to home.

All well and good in theory but practice proved problematic!.. As I joined the canal, the ligaments in my right knee felt like someone had set fire to them, so I had to stop for a few minutes and stretch-out the knee, which seemed to ease things up. Well it did until I got to Greywell and it flared-up again! When here I decided to move the elastic bandage protecting Bernard to my knee. Whether it was a placebo effect or not, it seemed to do the trick!

I had decided to do this run with my Karrimor running belt and the two water bottles that sit in pouches either side. I had run the Hook 10 miles with these and all was fine so I thought nothing of it. Unfortunately the capacity of both bottles amounted to a mere 1/3L of fluid, which ran-out when traversing the Greyell Tunnel, leaving me parched for the last third of the run in the warm autumnal cloudless skies.

Another un-anticipated side-effect of the running belt was the chafing caused by the full bottles. By the time the run had finished I was red-raw with the top layers of skin removed… The below picture is how it appeared a couple of days later!

Fun when it continually weeps and glues itself to your clothing :(

As I ran through the grounds of Tylney Hall, I passed the air-raid shelter built for the property in WWII. It was very cunningly built into the main avenue from the rear of the house so that you cannot see it from there, the illusion is just a continual stretch of grass! During the war a stick of bombs were dropped around here straddling the railway line about a mile from the property that resulted in the death of a bomb-disposal expert who was killed when one of the bombs that failed to explode detonated whilst he was working on it.

The photos show the view up to the rear of the house and walking through the inside of the shelter, one photo taken without the flash, the other with.

Looking back up at the big house.

Entrance including 'blast wall'

It be dark in here!

That's better!

Built cunningly in to the terrain.

1st September: Start

With time now ticking towards almost a year I felt Bernard was finally being beaten in to submission through time rather than anything else. I have made sure that for all the time I have been on my feet of late that I have had sorbothane shock absorbing insoles to give as much support and cushioning as possible, so without telling LSS of my true intentions i decided that the time for my first marathon was now. Having survived Winter Hill I knew that I should be able to make it so off I went.

Waking early I hopped on the train from Hook to Brookwood to follow the Basingstoke Canal all the way home.

When I go for my half marathons I tend to run all the way to the Barley Mow pub in Winchfield before picking up the canal and heading homewards so the route is a familiar one with the psychological boost of knowing once I get to this point then I truly am approaching the end.

I have cycled the length of the canal a couple of times so I am familiar with the terrain and doing it in this direction I am well aware of what awaits me.

At 8am I emerged from the station and began my trot. Within a mile I had joined the tow-path and it was just me and it standing between me and home.

The start

The weather was slightly overcast so perfect for running and with the date being the first of September the air temperature was still pleasantly warm.

The first thing that struck me on this first stage of the run, apart from how stagnant the water is around there with a thick scummy layer of duck-weed and algae giving off a mighty honk, was how the 2 cans of energy drink were going right through me. Every 10 minutes or so I was having to stop to drain the vein!

Stagnant water covered in duck-weed = lovely aromas ;)

I had set myself a target of 10 minute miles for the duration and according to my Garmin I was pretty much on-track for that over the first half. My only contact with other humans was the occasional cyclist passing me in the other direction. Most of them in pairs and in their 40's, and about a dozen joggers also in pairs going the opposite way. The interesting thing was the ratio of women joggers to men was 8 to 1 over the whole route with a full ate range represented. Most of the women running in pairs. Maybe with it being a Saturday they have been able to leave their other halves at home to care for the kids whilst they take advantage of some safe running in daylight, or that jogging seems to have fallen out of favour for fitness with men - eschewing it for gyms and cycling.

As I approached Farnborough Airport, I was at the halfway mark and paused briefly for a short rest as I took this photo from the bottom of the runway. Munching on a cereal bar and slurping down a gel.

The view along the runway @ Farnborough

Hindsight is a wonderful thing and I realise that this stopping was probably the worst thing to do as from this point it was incredibly hard to consistently get things going. From this halfway point my mile times fell off a cliff, rocketing from the 10 minutes to a mix of 13 to 16. 

The stretch of the canal from Brookwood through to Fleet is extensively bordered by military land and as such was an area of national importance from the late 19th century to the end of the second world war as the hub of the British war machine. As such the canal was fortified to protect from invasion and some of these still remain:

Pill Box

Tank-Trap, although why a tank would try driving down the canal is beyond me!

 The further in I got to the run then the more the cloud-cover began to lift and the temperature rose. By the time I reached the most exposed part of the route the sun was blazing down, with little shelter on offer for this Elephant Hawk moth caterpillar that was crawling across the tow-path.

A tasty snack!

Eventually I made it home with leaden legs, completely cream-crackered but able to at least lay claim to the boast that I have run a marathon, a huge psychological lift so that the first 'competitive' race I run will not be totally foreign to me as I will have the distance under my belt - or in this case 27 miles so a little bit longer.

As a recovery I made myself a bacon sandwich for a blast of proteins and staggered up the stairs in to the coldest bath I could run to ease my aching muscles, confessing to LSS what I had done, which she had kinda guessed by me saying I was off for a long run and had not returned within 2 hours.

What I have learned from this run is that the wall is hard on the body just to keep yourself running and stopping makes it so very difficult to restart. Also cans of energy drink before a run are not necessarily the best thing.

18th August: Hill

Back over Christmas time when I went up to the in-laws place in Cuppull, Lancashire, I became transfixed by the sight of a tv mast on a hill lightly dusted with snow in the horizon. This is the furthest the eye can see from there, and the thought of a challenge lodged in my mind.

Previously LSS's parents lived in Blackpool and I would go running on the beach bare-footed when there, and even on one occasion I ran to Fleetwood and back along the beach and the sea wall path.

With the flat of the seaside land left behind, there is now the undulating terrain to run across where amongst the now long abandoned mine shafts of the Yarrow Valley, Arkwright built his first mill and kick-started the Industrial Revolution.

After a good check on the map I found that the TV mast in question is mounted atop 'Winter Hill' a place that has seen a fair bit of tragedy over the years, from murder to plane crashes... The most infamous of these being the 'Winter Hill air disaster'.

Sitting down and planning a route through perusing the OS & road maps on-line I found the distance to it was only 8.5 miles, with the return matching that of course!

So early one morning I awoke and dragged my sorry arse out of bed and away I jogged. The previous night it had rained solidly for around 12 hours so the ground was still pretty damp and the sky overcast.

Crossing the motorway chasing the TV Mast

Crossing the reservoir

As I got to Rivington Hall park, the going underfoot changed to uneven cobbles, greasy cobbles still slick with the water coming off the hill, so rather than jogging up them, progress slowed to little more than a walk through not being able to gain traction, even with trail running trainers. I picked my way up to Rivington Pike, the first summit on the hills, then off across the moor to the summit of Winter Hill and the TV mast.

Rivington Pike

From the pike, the view was simple grassy moorland on an incline for about a mile till the mast. Great I thought and off I jogged… Until I found that the moorland was in reality peat bog!

Bog!

It seems there are several springs on the hillside, something the OS map had already warned me of, but with all the rain they seemed to be springier than normal. I jogged along the bog with care, sometimes watching the ground shimmy and shake all around for a couple of metres as you put your foot down hard on to loose peat. Several times I fell over as I lost my footing, with foot and leg disappearing into a hole in the mud. Eventually I made it to the mast. At this point the tip of it was obscured in the low cloud cover, but I had made it to the summit. Sheltering on the leeward side of the building I stopped for a couple of cereal bars and a breather before the journey back.

Shrouded in mist

The Air disaster memorial

The facts of the hill

A bleak place for a life to end.

The murder memorial standing alone.

With the fun of the bog-running up to the mast I decided that the only thing for it was to go hell-for-leather across the slight descent of the moor to the foot of the pike.

Looking back to the Pike from the mast

Bolton Wanderers' Reebok Stadium

A dozen falls later and sinking up to my waiste at one point I had made it back to the pike... Unfortunately picking-up a groin strain in the process, the journey back down the slopes and the jog back to Coppull became a slow torturous affair of jog-walk-jog.

Eventually I returned covered in mud to the in-laws to recover.

Muddy feet

The hill & mast from the house. The mast is just left of the tree.

29th July: Relay

The first three madathons I had signed-up for in Feb to April but had to bail on were organised by a company by the monicker of Endurance Life. Since then I've been checking in on their events schedule via the book of face, and out of the blue, something interesting popped-up.

With Britain going nuts for the impending Olympics, the torch relay has begun visiting village after village in Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The torch relay itself is something that was specifically started by the Nazi party for propaganda purposes for the 1936 Berlin Olympics to show-off the supreme physical specimen of the Aryan Race… Only for the mighty Jesse Owens to slap the lousy Austrian painter back in to his rightful place. 76 years later this is thankfully all that is a hang-over from those Berlin games. Nowadays the torch relay has metamorphasised from a true relay as it was the last time in Britain for the '48 games to a largely corporate farce. The torch itself is carried by people for no more than 300m at a time - the vast majority of the torch bearers being employees nominated by the main sponsors of the games, celebrity bell-ends trying for quick bit of free and easy publicity and those like Lakshmi Mittal, the richest man living in Britain who 'bought' the ability to carry the torch for his stroll of a few hundred metres. After its mile long parade in the place where the torch is visiting it is packed back in to its sponsored bus and driven off surrounded by its entourage of corporate sponsor provided BMW's and copious amounts of police to protect them from god-knows-what to the next town to repeat until the end of the day where the party remains for the night in some hotel.

Well the people behind Endurance Life saw this going-on as it passed by them in Devon not long after the relay's start from Land's End and felt that the 'relay' was not in effect a 'relay', just a tour of sponsor's logos from town to town. With their knowledge of the running community they had a Baldrick-esque 'cunning plan' of running the same route as the torch, passing a baton from person to person continuously through day and night, whatever the weather, from the start in Land's End to finish at the Olympic stadium in Stratford… A Real Relay.

Some ingenious use of plumbers pipe and a Yellow Brick GPS unit formed the baton so its whereabouts could be continuously tracked via the internet and 10 days after the Olympic torch started its motorised procession from Land's End, the Real Relay commenced jogging off on its 8,000 mile journey in aid of the CHICKS charity. Every person running a leg is supposed to donate at least £10 to them to raise money to help CHICKS with their giving underprivileged children from the cities a chance to get out in the countryside for a break.

The relay itself was broken down in to stages of around 10 miles each, chunk by chunk being released through the website and by grace and good fortune I was at my computer at the right time to bag the Tadley to Basingstoke leg when these local stages were released.

The day arrived and I persuaded LSS to be my photographer and chauffeur to get me to the start and take the pics.

We hopped in the car and headed across country to Tadley and the car park of the Broomsquire pub. Just as we were 100m from the pub I got a call from Stuart March, the runner of the previous leg to whom I was to take the baton from, asking where I was as they had arrived. 10 seconds later we were in the car park and out we jumped and LSS was on hand to photograph the handover as without any warm-up I took the baton, donned my camelback and off I trotted eastward.

Handover from Stuart March @ The Broomsquire in Tadley: Stage 557-558

When I hit Silchester I made a bee-line for Calleva Atrebatum the abandoned Roman town and splashed my way through the mud and puddles along the road that has been traversed for 2,000 years since they rocked-up on our shores and for a further millennium before hand by Ancient Britons who had already made the site their home when the marauding Italians stumbled across them and concurred with their choice of location for a town.

Jogging through the middle of the Roman town I exited via the east gate and turned south, following the town's walls till they swung away from the road as I continued towards Bramley.

The view south along the town's walls

The country lane towards Bramley was a pleasant one, with any monotony being relieved by having the 'Blades' Aerobatic team rehearsing a display for the Farnborough Airshow directly overhead at low altitude.

Southwards through the edge of Bramley and on to the Vyne National Trust property. Just past the main gate for that I was able to take a turn for a cross country route through the edge of Basing Forest and out through Carpenter's Down and in to Popley, the first part of the Basingstoke sprawl. From this point on it was purely residential street running B.O.R.I.N.G. until I hit the station. After that it was a jog through the shopping centre, then the last climb past the 'Wote Street Willy' to the top-of-the-town handover to Martin.

Here's the lift of the route from Runkeeper with all the vital statistics:

There was a photographer from the Basingstoke Gazette waiting to take a photo of the handover for a small piece on it. The Olympic torch relay had been through the centre of Basingstoke just 3 days before and had been handed over outside the Willis Museum, the spot where we had coincidentally chosen to stage our handover.

Here's some other pictures of the run en-route:

The baton: Never, never, never give up!

Not at all staged for the camera!

The adoring throng of enraptured onlookers!