April 2012

[Sweder]

The time has come for all good chickens to roost in aid of the party.

To mix things up a little I decided to use Sunday - my last opportunity for a long-ish run before the 15th - to try a little mental test. I'm impressed with the likes of Dan (and SP before him) to run repetitive loops that include passing, or even stopping off at, home. I figured this would be helpful in terms of teasing the mind, testing my resolve. If I ran out and back loops to include stopping off at - in fact entering - my home could I resist the temptation to cut things short?

Some familiar discomfort in my right calf pursuaded me to err on the shorter side of my target distance, around fifteen miles. Three trips to Blackcap and back would deliver that nicely. It would also allow me to run the first loop with the hounds, killing the proverbial two birds (hopefully one a ready-to-roost fowl). With perfect conditions - spring sunshine, moderate breeze, dry underfoot - I set off. In a nutshell it all went rather well. I confess to using 'route shuffle' on the return legs - easy first then moderate, leaving the hardest route home for last - but otherwise I acheived the desired feelings of 'oh no not this bit again'. The mental challenge of popping into the house to take a swig of water was certainly apparent but I felt it stoked rather than dampened my enthusiasm. I had to stop myself heading out for round four as it turned out, exactly what I'd secretly hoped for but not dared to expect.

The calf remains sore today but I plan to do very little with it aside from lay it on top of the opposing shin in repose between now and race day. Less will have to be more once again.

In football news I had a most enjoyable weekend.
The Rooks hosted play-off rivals Hendon in what turned out to be a dramatic affair. Listless and clueless Lewes deservedly trailed as half time approached when during a rare forray into the Hendon half they managed to get the ball in the nett. The lines official on our side of the field, a good ten yards behind the 'line of skirmish', flagged wildly for god-knows-what and the leveller was chalked off.

Stung by this affrontary the home side unleashed hell in six glorious post-break minutes, banging in three goals as much with their force of will as with heads and boots. Hendon reeled and it took until injury time for them to muster a second, a belter blasted left-footed by their skipper. Lewes held on for the win, sending the Dripping Pan faithful into delerium. Match report from our scribe-in-residence @TheBallIsRound (Stuart Fuller).

Yesterday, after a hurried shower and a trip to the recycling centre, I donned the feathers to cover Lewes Ladies v Cambridge United in our last home league match of the current campaign. Having dropped only two points all season the girls are keen to remain unbeaten, 'Invincibles' if you will. Despite a strangely subdued performance they saw off the light blues 3-1 before receiving the impressively large league trophy from the Mayor. I broke my Harveys embargo to toast the team, sneaking off as the drinks really started to flow. Steely-eyed manager Jacquie Agnew looked on, thoughts turned already to the Cup Final on the 18th v Eastbourne Town and the last league match four days later away to Luton. I'll be there for both.

With promotion assured we can look forward to welcoming the likes of Tottenham Hotspurs and West Ham United to our 'umble 'ome in the autumn. Bring 'em on.

One last thought.
I heard yesterday that a natural wellspring has been discovered beneath the Ethiad stadium. Reports are that Man City are planning to bottle it. Pip pip!

[Bierzo Baggie]

Sweder, you might have come across this already, just in case you hadn't..
http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/2012/apr...-true-dead

Sounds like Caballo Blanco went in a similar way to Bill "studmarks on the summit" Smith..

[Sweder]

Sad news indeed, and, appropriately enough, slightly mysterious. Micah True's pre-Tamahumara history is as fascinating as the Canyon Tales themselves. Hope he hooks up with Tess, Gypsy & Moyleman. I think they'd enjoy each others' company on the long runs.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Tragic news indeed. 58 is just way too young. A heart problem nearly did the same for my super-fit sister-in-law just two weeks ago. Get yourselves checked folks - at the very least you should always know your blood pressure and cholesterol levels.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Tragic news indeed. 58 is just way too young. A heart problem nearly did the same for my super-fit sister-in-law just two weeks ago. Get yourselves checked folks - at the very least you should always know your blood pressure and cholesterol levels.

Good advice.

[glaconman]

http://qrisk.org/

Although this will calculate your 10 year risk with just age/sex as input it's clearly better to know all the inputs to allow an accurate risk estimate.

MLCM, you obviously won't have a UK postcode (this is used to lookup a social deprivation score) but it will default to an average when blank.

[El Gordo]

http://qrisk.org/

Although this will calculate your 10 year risk with just age/sex as input it's clearly better to know all the inputs to allow an accurate risk estimate.

MLCM, you obviously won't have a UK postcode (this is used to lookup a social deprivation score) but it will default to an average when blank.

Thanks GM. I can't help thinking that the test is a bit rudimentary, but FWIW, it seems I'm marginally beating the market:

Your 10-year QRISK®2 score 8.1%
The score of a typical person with the same age, sex, and ethnicity* 8.5%

I've been logging blood pressure on and off over the last couple of years. My readings had usually been on the slightly high side of the normal range, but not outside it. Interestingly, since losing around 20 pounds in the last few months, my BP readings have noticeably dropped.

It's well worth getting a decent home monitor - Amazon has loads of inexpensive ones.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Interestingly, since losing around 20 pounds in the last few months, my BP readings have noticeably dropped.

Excellent! Well done EG, that's excellent news.

[glaconman]

I can't help thinking that the test is a bit rudimentary

Years of research by one of the country's top epidemiologists. The most comprehensive longitudinal studies of it's kind involving 30 years of primary care data from hundreds of UK practices. Accepted by NICE and most cardiovascular experts as the best risk assessment tool there is.

Perhaps it's the style-sheet you don't like.

Well done on the weight loss EG. Keep it going.

[Sweder]

Some might say I’ve left it a little late. Warm weather altitude training (we’re a thousand feet above sea level) seven days before a marathon might actually be considered posthumous given that, in theory at least, I should be well into my feet-up, piling-on-the-carbs slothful taper. Such is life. An opportunity came along and I seized it greedily without much thought for chronology. Some would point accusingly at my dislike of spreadsheets, nodding sagely as they prepare valedictory pronouncements of the death of my marathon dream. But the damage was inflicted long ago, Bubba, and had little to do with badly timed trips to the Andalusian desert.

It’s been a shambling wounded bear of a campaign, a series of well-intentioned false starts crippled by workus interuptus and a conspicuous lack of steely-eyed focus. Chief amongst the distracters has been my new-found love, Lewes FC, in all its manifestations. Donning the feathered Rookmeister cloak has fed my inner Toad. I’ve parp-parped my way from poorly-attended Under 18 games on a cold wet Monday night to the dark wilds of Essex for cup games against East Thurrock to the unashamed triumphalism of the (still) unbeaten (in the league) South East Combination League Champions. Their reward next season will be to host the might of Tottenham Hotspurs, West Ham United et al. Exciting times at the Dripping Pan.

So here I am, shacked up in a Villa on the edge of the desert 45 minutes north east of Almeria surrounded by the most seductive hills under clear blue Spanish skies. Given that everything else in this assault on Brighton has happened arse-about-face, why not? Why not indeed. I snuck out early, having slithered silently into my running garb, and set off into the west. Not half a mile in I met a man with two strange, bug-eyed dogs who seemed intent on ripping me to shreds. Guessing my intent the raisin-faced chap pointed out a well-hidden trail ascending from the roadside up a vertical wall of rock and scrub. Here be trails. I scrambled up, feeling the heat of the rising sun on my back as I kept careful watch for critters of the venomous kind. The scorpions in this region won’t kill you but they’ll still give you a nasty nip, as will the spiteful, leafless plants that whip your ankles. They lurk amongst the soft grasses, slashing flesh as you skip by, feeding on the yelps that slip from unwary runners’ lips.

I reached the summit, breathless but relieved to be away from those slavering jaws, surveying the scene. A perfect miniature of the Bob Graham Round stretched out before me, circumscribing the ex-pat settlement of perfectly kempt villas and immaculate tiled terraces that form Los Carrascos in the shadow of Arboleas. My heart lept as I set out along the dusty track, plunging into steep swoops only to slingshot up the next sinew-stretching climb. Troughs and valleys lay below, some bearing the scars of agricultural effort, others dotted with olive trees. In the distance the speckled acres of citrus trees glistened in the sun. I ran on for a few miles more, eventually dropping off the side of this crazy carousel into a flatter dust trail along the edge of a bone-dry river bed filled with arm-waving giant cacti and towering grassheads.

How did we come to be here, in this chalky-bright retirement community of wrinkled sun-dried Northern Europeans? It’s all to do with Mrs S’s relatives, one of whom built the first-ever dwelling in this dustbowl before joining forces with the locals to build and sell a succession of houses. He bailed at just the right time, switching his attention to the modern-day cash-cow, the Solar Panel Farm. He owns a thousand-panel crop a few valleys away – ‘my retirement’ – and he owes his good fortune to an encounter with The Lord. The local Xunta, the mere tip of the beaurocratic iceberg that sinks many an earnest endeavour in these here parts, were poised to bring the whole scam to its knees. Our man in Los Carrascos had filed all his papers in triplicate but the night before the Big Hearing had received a summons to reveal his banks statements for the past three years. In four sets, if you please.
‘I had one of those printer/ scanner/ copiers but the black ink was spent. There was no way to get a replacement and we had to be in Almeria before the judge in the morning. Then an inner voice told me to take the old cartridge out of the bin. It was dry as a bone but I put it in anyway and – Lo! It printed! One, two, three, four copies, page after page in perfect copy! Incredible.’

Following the Miracle of The Printer Cartridge he then witnessed the Lord moving in mysterious ways at the hearing. Having been told for six months that his plans would most definately be thrown out that very next morning the glassy-eyed Almerian official told him there’d been a terrible mix-up and the authorities had been wrong all along. He was terribly sorry for wasting our man’s time and he could now go back and start reaping his Solar fortune.

These tales unfolded over freshly-brewed coffee on this Easter Monday and it appeared He Wuz indeed Riz. Our host, a genial fellow replete with trademark Stringfellow (for he is of that clan) mullet and shirt-harnessed bowling-ball belly, shared his epiphany as if bringing joy to the world. Stories of hands-on healing and enlightenment flowed like slurry as the sun rose. I shuffled away to avoid what turned out to be almost three hours of uninterrupted diatribe. Had he brought forth a fresh loaf and a basket of fish I might have combusted in a fit of incredulity so great the residual tremor would have registered in Molly Malone’s.

The track brought me back across a small bridge over the dry river. An ancient shepherd sat soaking up the sun under an old straw hat, his mangy cur waddling across to warn me off should I have bad intentions towards their woolly charges. I scampered up the asphalt to rejoin Little England, stepping neatly from tumbleweed central into patio'd heaven.

A shade under five miles tucked away, a journey I shall repeat later in the week, maybe an hour earlier to dodge the deceptive mid-morning heat and a mile or two longer to take in a few more hills. A little much in the final days before the Big One perhaps, but wholly in keeping with this strange, topsy-turvey year.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Nice!

Are you anywhere near Calar Alto? It's one of the few mountain passes in Spain that goes over 2000m and I know it's somewhere in Almeria. Might be worth a visit if it's nearby...

[El Gordo]

Good writing. Love the dense, descriptive detail.

The way you started off I was expecting to read about a 22-mile mountain run in hiking boots. I'm sure you'll be fine. Would have thought 5 miles, even if repeated as threatened, should be OK. When did you ever do things by the book, and when did this defiance ever set you back on race day? All I'd remind you of (as if you needed reminding) is that your race-day fitness is supposedly dependent on what you did 2 or 3 weeks ago rather than anything that might happen this week. But nowt wrong with a sprightly leg-loosener or two.

[marathondan]

Yep that'll keep you sharp, and this sounds like a perfect way to relax in the run-up to a race, evangelical outpourings aside.

You're not on the same flight back as Antonio by any chance, are you?

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Sweder could lose both legs in a freak tractor accident involving an insane gherkin farmer and he'd still run a PB on race day. You can't keep the man down!

[marathondan]

Sweder could lose both legs in a freak tractor accident involving an insane gherkin farmer and he'd still run a PB on race day.

Isn't there an insane gherkin farmer living near Bierzo Baggie? Lost his tractor license due to poor mental health, but still runs trail races occasionally?

[Bierzo Baggie]

Sweder could lose both legs in a freak tractor accident involving an insane gherkin farmer and he'd still run a PB on race day.

Isn't there an insane gherkin farmer living near Bierzo Baggie? Lost his tractor license due to poor mental health, but still runs trail races occasionally?

Noooo, you're getting mixed up with my friend Lugo-scooter man. Rented out his rabbit farm to run bizarre ultra challenges (he calls them "projects" .....Lugo to Freiburg on an unmotorized scooter... Kilimanjaro and Aconcagua naked).
http://retosjuanessa.blogspot.com.es/
These are the stories I've never told .... for fear of being called far-fetched

[marathondan]

Noooo, you're getting mixed up with my friend Lugo-scooter man. Rented out his rabbit farm to run bizarre ultra challenges (he calls them "projects" .....Lugo to Freiburg on an unmotorized scooter... Kilimanjaro and Aconcagua naked).
http://retosjuanessa.blogspot.com.es/
These are the stories I've never told .... for fear of being called far-fetched

He's trying to organise a 225 km semi-naked winter mountain ultra. All I can say is... Jesús!

Edit: Bloody hell, I just read his bio. Unbelievable.

[Bierzo Baggie]

He's trying to organise a 225 km semi-naked winter mountain ultra. All I can say is... Jesús!

Edit: Bloody hell, I just read his bio. Unbelievable.

Last Summer I actually wrote about a walk in the Aquilianos with Suso (short for Jesus ....it just had to be!) but I never posted it because it was ...well...just too bizarre.

And the amazing thing is that the guy's genuinely terrified of heights!

If you check out the blog you'll also find he writes really well and takes some great photos.

[El Gordo]

He's trying to organise a 225 km semi-naked winter mountain ultra.

I'm up for it. Anyone else?

[Sweder]

All I'd remind you of (as if you needed reminding) is that your race-day fitness is supposedly dependent on what you did 2 or 3 weeks ago rather than anything that might happen this week.

That's what I'm afraid of. Oh well.
The Divine Touch does not extend to internet connections in Arboleas I'm afraid. Enough time to say yes, Antonio and I are traveling back together on Saturday morning. I'm hoping to meet him in Molly's tomorrow evening for a cheeky livener.